[Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

[Maltacus]

Chapter XV-V. Scarlets and Shackles

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

When they came out of their hiding place, Jaina only stared. Before her stood not the one ranger squadron under Kalira, but four. And kneeling in front of them were no less than twenty men and women in dirty red garments and mail and leather armours. Their hands were tied together in a long line and their eyes had been covered by strips of cloth sheared from their shirts and cloaks.

”Twenty, Dark Lady.” one of the new rangers reported in Thalassian. Jaina guessed she might be a lieutenant like Kalira and Anya. ”One dead, one lightly wounded.”

”Good work, Anthis.” Sylvanas answered without any hint of surprise. ”That makes our total twenty-one. That should even your odds a bit in the negotiations don’t you think, Lady Proudmoore?” she added towards Jaina.

”Er…yes, ah, of course…” Jaina stammered. She didn’t know if she was most taken aback by the sudden appearance of eighteen rangers that Sylvanas had kept her in the dark about, or how they had seemingly without any difficulty, or even much effort, been able to capture a matching number of armoured enemy soldiers. She didn’t know what to quite think of what she saw. The rangers each held daggers or short swords ready, and their faces were impassive and their eyes on Sylvanas only. Jaina could see their prisoners’ different state of mind. Clenched jaws on some, trembling chins on others. Shaking, laboured breathing. Bloody but shallow cuts here and there, dirt and mud. Dark stains on their trousers.

It was war and Jaina hated it.

But it was still war.

She closed her eyes briefly and tried to steady herself. Her mission remained the same. Negotiate. Find a solution that did not have to be paid for in blood, if she could. For the sake of both sides.

”Anya! Tell the guard to be ready if needed.” Sylvanas called out. Was that what she had named Anya’s squadron? Jaina shook off the thought, she had more pressing concerns.
Sylvanas walked up close to Jaina. She seemed to struggle with something.

”Lady Proudmoore…good luck.” Sylvanas’ jaws were working as if she debated whether to say something or not. ”Cyndia matters greatly to me and all of us. But she is not alone in doing so.” Sylvanas handed Jaina three gilded medallions. ”Here. These are likely their officers’ insignias, hand them over as proof that we have their scouts. You have one hour.” Sylvanas said curtly, almost tense.

It was a strange sensation to be alone again.

Jaina walked across the open fields from the edge of the forest towards the town gates and felt…how did she really feel about this? She had been forced to adapt to being watched closely during just about every waking hour and most sleeping ones too she assumed. But the unnerving presence of emotionless rangers around her had turned into a comforting one of guardians and friends, and while Jaina would not deny that they were at times a bit too close by (she could do without someone standing guard outside her bathroom) she found herself missing her dark companions very much right now.

The terms for the negotiations that Brokk Ironpick had been sent with were simple. The Scarlets would meet her outside their walls and Jaina would relay the Banshee Queen’s terms and then withdraw. It was almost as simple as it could be, and Jaina could not imagine herself appearing as a threat with the heavy brass shackles weighing down her forearms.

The weather was clear but the sky cloudy, and under other circumstances it would have been a fine autumn day to walk along a muddy road towards a Lordaeronian town. Jaina could see red-clad guards by the gate, and that they had spotted her. They looked like they were expecting her approach and Jaina dearly hoped Brokk had been earnest with them.

Like with most towns Jaina knew of, there were some houses outside the walls too. Farms, tanners, an outlying tavern that catered to thirsty peasants making camp outside the walls for market days, sometimes a sawmill. The same was true for Hearthglen.

When Jaina was nearing the gates a Scarlet soldier pointed to a small house to the side of the road.

”In there!” he ordered.

Well, Jaina hadn’t exactly expected them to be friendly.

She swallowed and approached the door. Before she had gotten close enough to knock it was opened by a man in red robes and a hood. He stepped aside to let Jaina come in without a word.

The inside of the house, or cottage perhaps being more apt, was as sparse as the exterior. A low ceiling and a single table with crude benches on each side greeted Jaina. Opposite of her was seated a man and a woman in red robes and pieces of ornate armour, both older than Jaina and with deep furrows in their brows and coarse faces. She got a distinct impression that neither of them used to smile or laugh very much, or encourage others to do that.

”Ahem, greetings.” Jaina made a small bow, careful not to bang her head against the ceiling when she rose. ”I am Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramoore, representative of Queen Sylvanas Windrunner of Lordaeron.”

”If that was true you would know that a lady curtsys, young miss.” the woman told her condescendingly.

Jaina added a curtsy, but did it with an ironic half smile that signalled that she gave in to a request she thought silly or overly stubborn. The Scarlet priestess (at least Jaina guessed she would be) just huffed at her.

”Now, now, let us sit down and begin.” the man began in a more kindly tone. ”I am Brother Hans of the Righteous Order of the Scarlet Crusade and this is Sister Grete. My child, we tank the Light that you have been allowed to escape the tainted clutches of the undead and come back to us. Will you accept the Light’s blessing?”

Jaina had to fight down an instinctive urge to ask if there also was an Un-Righteous Order of the Scarlet Crusade. She had a feeling that Brother Hans and Sister Grete would not appreciate that logic to the same degree as Areiel or Velonara would.

”Yes, I guess so?” Jaina answered. To her knowledge Light spells were rarely harmful - to the living – if that was the intention and not simply reciting something.

Brother Hans did indeed channel Light magic. Jaina could not detect what it was like she could with most arcane spells but she had seen enough priests at work and been healed enough times to note that it appeared more like an small wave washing over her than a lingering actual blessing. She ignored it for now, it wasn’t why she was here.

”Well, Brother Hans and Sister Grete, since we meet here I take it that master Brokk Ironpick has briefed you on the premises of the negotiation. The queen holds in captivity one Henry Turner, a member of your armed forces.” Jaina cleared her throat. Did the Scarlet Crusade actually have anything but armed forces? ”She offers to exchange him in return for any Forsaken you hold captive.”

”That much poor Brokk has told us.” Brother Hans nodded sadly.

”Then I first need to inform you that the circumstances have changed on that point.” Jaina carefully put the three medallions on the table. ”The queen now holds twenty-one Scarlet Crusade soldiers to exchange.”

”May the Light shelter their souls.” Brother Hans bowed his head momentarily, solemn as if Jaina had told him they had all died.

”So the queen is ready to exchange them for the return for those of her people that you may hold captive. She has asked me to inquire specifically if you hold a formerly elven ranger by the name of Cyndia Hawkspear captive.” Jaina asked as normally as she could. A bad feeling was growing in her.

”My child, I would like to believe the words you speak, but the Light is not fooled by trickery. It sees the truth in us all.”

Jaina frowned. What did he mean?

”I do not follow, Brother Hans. I assure this is no trick of any kind.”

He looked sadly at Jaina.

”Yet still I detect Fel magic about you, my child. So I must regrettably ask you, what manner of demon are you?”

As he spoke the last words Brother Hans just about lit up with channelled Light spells, rising from his chair with Sister Grete following suit.

”No! I am not a demon!” Jaina frantically tried to make sense of it all. ”These are magically warded shackles, nothing else.”

”Witchcraft.” Sister Grete sneered. ”Mages deal with corrupting powers that human hand were never meant to touch.” she declaimed.

”No, I swear, it isn’t like that…”

”Maybe you are human and your heart was once good, my child, but you are tainted by Fel magic and you openly consort with the vile undead without any sense of remorse or revulsion.” Brother Hans said as if delivering a final verdict. ”The taint of Fel and Undeath are like a plague, and must be purged from humankind at any cost. You must turn from it’s dark ways, my child, and repent so that at least your soul may be redeemed.”

Jaina recoiled, terrified and disbelieving.

”Find comfort in the Light…”

[Alwyn]

It doesn't sound as if negotiations with the Scarlet Crusade will get very far, considering their zealous determination to purge humanity of the taint of their enemies! I'm wondering what will happen to Jaina. Good update!

[Maltacus]

Chapter XVI. Rams and Rage

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

”Sylvanas!” Anya screamed.

”I see them, damn it, I see them!”

Sylvanas continued to curse in Thalassian interspersed with the tongue of the Amani trolls as she witnessed three Scarlet figures dragging a fourth away from the lone cottage towards the town gates. The fourth one had a sack or some kind of cloth covering the head but the clumsy pants and wide mariner’s jacket stood out, as well as the shackled hands when she twisted and managed to elbow one of her captors and almost hammer down with her fettered hands before staggering forward after a blow to her stomach from another of them.

Sylvanas was already smoking, struggling with finding a reason not to sweep down over the city in her banshee form and personally rip each and every living thing in red to pieces. She had unconsciously taken a step forward she realised when Anya reached out to touch her shoulder.

”Dark Lady, we are with you wherever you go. But it’s a long way and the sun is still up.” Anya pointed out woefully.

She was right.

Sylvanas bit down a wordless snarl.

She had to be better than this. She was their Dark Lady. She could not afford to make decisions in this state. She could not afford another Cyndia.

But the Scarlets had her mage.

”Back to the camp.”

Their camp was of course little more than an open patch next to the road overlooking Hearthglen. Sylvanas stormed through their sentries’ line and her demeanour was enough to inform Kalira and the rest about the general state of things.

”They will not negotiate.” Sylvanas growled through clenched teeth.

”And Lady Proudmoore?” Kalira asked, even though the answer was rather obvious.

”Taken by them.”

Sylvanas’ vision was reddening when her eyes fell on their pitiful prisoners, those pathetic stains upon the race of humankind not fit to breathe the same air as someone like Jaina Proudmoore, those loathsome, filthy vermin who would dare to even think about laying hands on a woman endlessly worthier than themselves that they were not even fit to lay eyes on!

There were dark rangers posted all around them with drawn blades with their eyes on her. Sylvanas angrily raised a clenched fist.

”Dark Lady!” Anthis Sunbow’s clear voice cut through the air. ”Forgive my obvious mistake, but for a moment it almost seemed like you were going to waste valuable assets just out of rage!” she called out sharply in Thalassian.

Sylvanas and Anthis stared at one another, neither so much as blinking. Sylvanas finally lowered her fist slowly. Anthis was right, of course, just as Anya. And now that she had mentioned it, Sylvanas could think of one or two uses for that human blight.

”Bring up the guard.”

It took little time for Baron Frostfel to march the deathguard and dreadguard into position before her, their column stretching far along the road and each armoured soldier marching in perfect lockstep beneath the critical but undeniably proud and eager eye of the baron.

”Baron Frostfel, are the rams prepared?” Sylvanas inquired curtly. Her anger still simmered beneath the surface and only waited to boil over. It was likely evident for anyone who knew her the slightest, but it did nothing to deter the baron’s enthusiasm.

”Zey are, My Queen! Give ze order and we will break those gates like dry twigs.” He indicated three thick logs carried in roped slings by formations at the back of the column.

”How many torches?”

”Torches, My Queen? Let’s see, I would guess around thirty. Why, do you think we will need them? I was under ze impression zat we aimed to surprise ze Scarlet rabble?”

”We will need more torches, baron. Much more. And do not worry, we will indeed have a surprise for them.” Sylvanas instructed through gritted teeth.

”I shall see to it. Zere is a groove of pines up along zat ridge zat should do fine for firewood.”

”Post dreadguards with the prisoners, and see to it that each one is given a torch. You may inform them that they will soon bring their holy Light into the darkness. Be ready to attack by sunset.”

”Certainly, My Queen!”

”Anthis! You three are to take your squadrons and circle around out of sight of the walls. Kill everything in red you encounter, I want them blind and deaf when we advance!”

Her orders were being carried out and Sylvanas resolved herself to her least favourite part of warfare - waiting. There would be at least three hours left of daylight she reckoned. Enough for her three outer ranger squadrons to get a good look at the surrounding area and for Baron Frostfel’s guards to hack down enough wood for a good number of torches.

And more than enough time for the Scarlet Crusade to do something despicable and permanent to Proudmoore.

When Sylvanas had been a new ranger Areiel had once tried to have a serious talk with the group about respect for the enemy, the enemy at that time being the Amani. She hadn’t gotten through, at least not in the way she hoped to, of that Sylvanas had been sure. While the classical reminders of not underestimating your opponent - and in their case not mistaking the trolls’ seemingly bestial ways for a lack of cunning and planning - had been received without comment Sylvanas had been sure that Areiel wanted to touch upon something deeper with her lecture. Too many elves had come to regard the trolls as simply evil, and something of a pest to be controlled, which was a dangerous path to walk without becoming complacent and without giving in to habitual brutality that over time turned commanders reckless and soldiers into the beasts they claimed to fight. At least that was her impression of the point Areiel had been trying to make.

She had made a comment then that came to Sylvanas as she waited. Areiel had pointed out that if captured, one should hope that the enemy would turn out to be a downright evil bastard. An honourable enemy would finish you off quickly, and maybe more likely not capture you in the first place, while a cruel one would want to take the time to toy with their prey. And that time meant more time to escape.

Which one were the Scarlets? When it actually came to a living human in their hands? Sylvanas could not know. Logic pointed towards them trying to get all information they could out of Proudmoore, but logic was not a defining feature of the Scarlet Crusade. Sylvanas knew too little of them to be able to accurately predict their intentions, she realised. On the one hand most of them hailed from Lordaeron and Proudmoore had a lot experience dealing with that kingdom and it’s people, which even made up the majority of her own subjects in Theramoore, and should be able to turn that to her advantage. On the other, what if the Scarlets in their twisted fanaticism would consider her former ties to Arthas as grounds to brand her as some sort of traitor? The similarities with Sylvanas’ own rhetorics during their walk from the Lordaeron harbour did not escape her and it left a bitter taste.
Anya kept near her, and as usual read her like an open book.

”I’ve posted Clea and Kitala to keep watch, in case they bring Lady Proudmoore outside for some reason.”

”Good.” Sylvanas glared ahead of them. ”Anya…do you think they will kill her?”

”No. Not now. I think they would do it publicly in daylight in that case, and make a show of it.”

”Why are they doing this, why would they abandon twenty of their own like this?”

”Do they fear Lady Proudmoore being free more than they want their people back?” Anya suggested quietly.

”But she’s one of the living, and a human as well. Why would they?”

”And she is a mage, what if they fear her magic?” When Sylvanas didn’t answer Anya continued. ”Like we do.”

Sylvanas caught the hint of sadness and accusation and she did not object. Anya was right, wasn’t she? Sylvanas had treated Proudmoore with only suspicion, fear even, despite everything she had done for them.

Hadn’t she?

Keeping her mage locked up, no matter the potential risks of her wandering around in a hostile city, did not sit so well with her anymore.

A new and terrifying thought struck her. Sylvanas feared the Scarlets harming Proudmoore, but what if they were in fact not treating her badly and what if Proudmoore would…turn sides? Sylvanas wanted the idea to be absurd but it would not leave her and with it her older misgivings resurfaced.

The living did not trust the dead.

Proudmoore had not been unkind to any Forsaken but none of them had a beating heart and never would have. Sylvanas had worried about her exposure to the Forsaken in Lordaeron but should she have feared exposure to the remaining living of Lordaeron? She had seen one of them hit her with her own eyes, and she wanted to break every bone in his body for it, but Sylvanas had personally nearly killed her with a banshee Wail. What would they have to tell her about Sylvanas and the rest of them, not least her dark rangers, and would Proudmoore believe them? What people would she favour if it came to that, the dead or the living Lordaeronians? Who would her own people in Theramoore prefer her to choose?

What would Sylvanas do if Proudmoore had really turned against them?

The thought would not leave her alone while she joined her squadron in keeping watch and waiting for the impossibly slow sun to sink beneath the tree tops behind her. She could not decide which frightened her the most, her mage coming to harm or her mage abandoning her.

Finally the last rays disappeared behind her and the shadows grew long until they fell over everything. Sylvanas rose, and saw that Kalira was already waiting with her squadron behind her.

”Forward.” Sylvanas growled, and her banshee form boiled inside her.

***

Anthis, Amora and Vorel had done their job well and three separate columns of deathguard and dreadguard infantry were guided under what cover there was to be found to be in position facing the northern, western and southern of Hearthglen’s town gates. The town was a market town and while the mostly open ground around it benefitted a defender it had neither moats nor reinforced gatehouses.

With each column were also seven red-clad torchbearers each escorted at swordpoint by a dreadguard, and more torches were distributed among dreadguards spread out behind them. When each column advanced within sight of the walls it gave the impression of a vast army spread out in the darkness, further reinforced by small groups of soldiers marching back and forth so they were visible coming in and out of the torchlight as if units were constantly forming up and regrouping.

True enough the town was soon filled with shouts and ringing bells, and the Scarlet garrison manned the walls quickly. Priests chanted and called on the Light but found themselves targeted by black arrows and forced to focus on protective spells for themselves and their allies closest to them. As of yet there were no paladins visible in the Scarlet ranks, or at the very least none of visibly high skill in Light spells.

None had noted the two dark ranger squadron coming from the east, where the Hearthglen keep was built into the town wall.

The keep was shaped like a large square tower, around four storeys high with a flat roof overlooking the walls and the town. Sylvanas led her and Kalira’s rangers to the foot of the wall and then, effortlessly enough that it should be considered downright cheating, simply floated quietly up to the roof in her banshee form along with those of her sisters who could do that. Sylvanas had time to remember that Cyndia had been one of the few that actually liked to stay in her banshee form, hovering among the treetops to watch the moon on quiet nights. Anya and Clea had dispatched the tiring lookouts without a sound and it was quick work to throw down a rope and haul up the darkfallen rangers.
A hatch led down to the top floor of the keep and the dark rangers spread out in pairs to search them, Kalira at Sylvanas’ side. Time was against them but they also could not risk alerting someone that might decide to use Proudmoore as a hostage against them.

Or…no. Sylvanas would not have that thought.

The upper floor and the next had been hastily evacuated when the human kingdom of Lordaeron fell and still held mostly the living quarters of some lord and lady that had once resided there. Moving downward the rangers met up with some stragglers of the garrison but with surprise and for once even the numbers being on their side they had little difficulty against common Scarlet soldiers. Servants’ quarters and barracks gave way to the kitchens and storerooms as they descended. The keep had four storeys above ground. It had two below.

When finding no sign of either Proudmoore or Cyndia on the upper floors both Sylvanas and Kalira had quickened their pace in mute agreement, and they were the first to reach the dim and narrow stairs to the first level of the damp cellars. Only a lone lamp illuminated a long corridor lined with bolted doors but it was of little consequence.

”Keep watch.” Sylvanas whispered and began to examine the doors. Some were barred but unlocked and contained various kinds of food kept cool beneath the ground, or tools and various spare materials. Even some barrels of arrows, she noted with contempt at the idiocy of leaving them inaccessible in the basement instead of near the rooftop where they could be put to use. But there were no empty rooms she could find on this level, and no sound came form the locked doors that Sylvanas did not dare to break open yet for fear of discovery. More and more her attention was drawn to the next stair that yawned as a dark maw at them from the other end of the corridor.

When the three ’Naras – Nara, Lenara and Velonara – tiptoed hurriedly down to join them Sylvanas beckoned to Kalira to follow her and hissed to the others.

”Keep searching this floor but do not break open any doors until I say so.”

She and Kalira descended the last stair on quiet feet. The lowest level had fewer rooms and were quite clearly the keep’s dungeons. A few doors had small barred windows, others not. The walls around them were coarser and dirtier than the floor above, and even with her dulled sense of smell Sylvanas could pick up a something foul ahead. She and Kalira stood still to listen and watch for movement. It was pitch dark apart from a faint light coming from something further down the corridor. It would be a lamp or a door. Sylvanas signed for them to move forward slowly, until the crack of a whip and something between a gasp and scream and sob sounded from the faintly lit opening ahead.
In the blink of an eye Sylvanas was at the door. In another she kicked it in and sent it splintering against the wall on the other side.

Her mage was slumping with her face against the hither wall, hanging by her shackles tied to something above her. Her frayed jacket had been cut in two and hung like limp broken wings from her arms. Her badly fitting shirt was ripped apart to reveal her back. And her back was covered in thick red stripes.

A Scarlet priestess of some kind just looked up and time seemed to slow as Sylvanas took in her frowning face, her harsh and disdainful appearance and the whip in her hand that dripped with blood.

Jaina’s blood.

Sylvanas had centuries upon centuries of battle experience and training with the finest swordmasters Quel’Thalas had produced, with legions of rangers that longed to bring their fabled Ranger-General down in the sand, with her wicked big sister and her farstrider friends. She forgot it all in an instant and hurled herself half in banshee form upon the vile excuse for a woman in front of her, bringing them both crashing into the stone tiles of the floor. But as much as her banshee form was harder to harm with common weapons it was also all the more vulnerable to the power of the Light. A shield shot up around the priestess and physically repelled Sylvanas, searing her very being. She crawled back and willed herself to resume her corporeal form.

I must not Wail.

Sylvanas’ daggers were out in an instant and the Scarlet priestess hefted a mace to meet them, but Sylvanas sent her flying backwards almost contemptuously with a hard kick. Whatever protection the Light afforded did however dampen the fall enough for the priestess to raise her hand and send a bright flash of something out around her, momentarily blinding Sylvanas. Before her eyesight had fully returned the blurry shadow of Kalira flew past her shoulder with her sword drawn and cut the priestess’ mace in two with a downward slash. Holy Light washed over Kalira who snarled, and met the lunge of a conjured glowing blade with her own, swatted it aside and with the return slash opened a deep gash across the priestess’ throat.

The sneer gave way to wide-eyed terror as the woman sputtered and gurgled, in vain trying to stop the bleeding with her hand clasped tight over the laceration. She glowed with what was no doubt some manner of healing spell but Kalira’s blade interrupted the attempt when she thrust it through the mail armour beneath the priestess’ breast plate, with enough force to send her slamming against the wall behind.

”Where.” Kalira made an upward thrust, further impaling the priestess who now thrashed in a last, terrified attempt to escape her. ”Is.” There was a grating sound and a sharp crack when the tip broke through her spine. ”My.” Kalira pressed close against her with both hands holding the sword hilt that was now right at the wound. ”CYNDIA!”

But no answer came apart from a choked gurgle when the limp body of the Scarlet priestess fell over to collapse in a twitching and bleeding pile before Kalira, who spared it one last kick before she looked up again.
Sylvanas turned around. She took in the cut skin on Proudmoore’s back in detail and the blood still trickling from some of the deepest gashes.

I must not Wail.

She slowly approached her mage’s side, almost tentatively so as not to spook her.

Proudmoore looked up at her, and Sylvanas caught just a glimpse of the dark, swelling bruises on her cheeks and the look of utter despair and distress before the mage turned her face away again, shaking and breathing in short and shallow gasps that grew ever more frantic, as if she could not stand a moment more of being seen by Sylvanas in this state.

It was like the way Proudmoore had once shied away from her gaze and curled into herself, that first morning together when she had gotten her first meal onboard the Banshee’s Wail. Only so very, very much worse. Sylvanas felt like something cracked and broke inside her upon seeing it.

How could she ever, ever, have had the despicable idea of imagining Proudmoore turning on them?

Sylvanas wanted to find the words to express how infinite the wrongness of her mage suffering like this and feeling ashamed for it was. She would give what twisted remnants that were left of her soul for something that could take away the crushing look of guilt in Proudmoore’s eyes. But no words came to her, and all she could do was to haul herself up by one hand to reach to hack at the thick ropes that suspended her mage’s shackles.

Kalira appeared near her while Proudmoore stumbled a little when her arms were cut loose. The ranger lieutenant had visible burns but just snorted dismissively when Sylvanas briefly looked her over. But at least Kalira’s appearance made Proudmoore look up once again.

”Cyndia?” Sylvanas tried so hard to keep her voice soft and gentle but the banshee inside her boiled and wreathed and made her voice echo more than usual.

”I saw no one else.” Proudmoore croaked, with her voice thick and hoarse. ”It’s just me.” she added miserably, and seemed to shrink before Sylvanas and Kalira as if it was something she was to blame for. ”Apart from the dear Sister Grete that you’ve just had the pleasure of meeting, that is.” she remarked bitterly.

I must not Wail.

Sylvanas viewed the repulsive room, reflexively looking for any faint clue that could tell her something of Cyndia. There was a bed of coals still glowing in what seemed like a fireplace, and some iron pokers lay half embedded in it. Rusting chains hung from various places along the walls and different pieces of twisted mockery of furniture set with restraints and spikes – who came up with such things? – lay scattered across the floor after the fight with the Scarlet Sister Grete.

She did not trust herself enough not to Wail in Proudmoore’s presence right now.

”Kalira.” She could hear how otherworldly she sounded. ”Escort Lady Proudmoore to the keep’s gate. We’ll meet up there.”

Sylvanas hurried up through the stairs, calling up her rangers as she passed them. How long had it been? Was the battle already underway outside the keep?

The ’Naras and her own squadron had gathered by the gate when Kalira caught up with them, half leading and half supporting Proudmoore.

”Lady Proudmoore is alive but wounded and we have found no trace of Cyndia.” Sylvanas had just informed them, cold and stony.

”How is she hurt?” Lyana demanded, because of course Lyana would not even think about shutting up about that.

Kalira wasted no time on answering but simply spun the mage around. Proudmoore made no motion to resist it, only hanging her head as far away from the others as she could with her tangled hair falling over her like a curtain.
Upon seeing her exposed back, the rangers cursed. All but Anya.

Anya cried.

It was a pitiful, anguished scream of hurt that was something between a sob and the cry of some wounded beast, and a pair of black tears trickled down her cheeks.

”Kalira, sweep the rest of the keep with your squadron and clear out any remaining Scarlets, then cover the south wall from the rooftop.” Sylvanas commanded icily with a voice that now crackled with power.

”Clea, Kitala, guard the southern side of the gate.

”Lyana, keep watch over Lady Proudmoore. Clasp her ears.”

Sylvanas started walking towards the thick oaken door of the keep.

”Anya… Kill.”

With a resounding crack of splintering wood and clattering metal the keep’s door flew across the outside street to impact against a nearby house.

The Banshee Queen stepped out to rise above the ground in swirling, boiling black mist.

And she Wailed.

From three directions around the town of Hearthglen rose the uniform metallic beating of weapons against shields and iron-shod feet marching as one when the deathguard advanced. In their middle came tight formations with their shields held up around the battering rams that were being moved into position.

Sylvanas stepped onto the ground again in time to catch Anya’s quiver being thrown to her from somewhere to her right. She pulled her own bow from her back, nocked and drew, all in one deathly cold motion. There was no escape from black arrows coming from the wrong side of the battlements and all across the northern wall Scarlet soldiers huddled behind their raised shields in anticipation of the next one.

A little bit to their side shadows formed, hardly visible to anyone except the most keen-eyed dark ranger. Under the hail of arrows from the Banshee Queen, the shadows danced among the defenders and left only blood and death behind.

And the shadows sang.

”Shadows to the right of me
Shadows to the left of me
Only darkness I shall see
Death ahead of me…”

***

It may have been only minutes or it may have been hours that Lyana held her close with her own cloak draped over Jaina’s shoulders and her hands clamped down over the hood covering Jaina’s ears. Jaina could not recall. Eventually something happened that made Lyana rise and tug at her to follow the ranger out of the small guardroom where she had taken Jaina.

The town of Hearthglen was a slaughterhouse. Blood covered the streets and bodies were visible almost everywhere. Jaina absently registered what she had been taught and what she had seen for herself of sieges. A heap of bodies near the gate, heavy fighting once it had been breached. Bodies lining the ground next to the wall, shot or thrown down. Bodies in the streets facing away from the gate, a retreat turning into a rout.

It all sickened her. Jaina hoped it always would.

Lyana guided her towards the western gate of the town. Sylvanas was there, along with Kalira and a burly Forsaken knight with great white moustaches and flowing hair. He was complimenting her eagerly in thick eastern Lordaeron accent.

”…only a true hero of ze Forsaken could mastermind such a crushing victory! It is a true pleasure to fight at your side, Dark Lady.” Then the knight looked like someone who suddenly remembers himself and turned at once to Kalira. ”And at your side too of course, ah…Fair Lady. Ze swordplay of yours is a thing of beauty rarely seen!”

Another time Jaina might have smiled at someone calling hard, strict, no-nonsense Kalira ’Fair Lady’.

Sylvanas turned to her. There was blood on her arms and legs, and her eyes glowed in the darkness. Jaina averted her eyes. She could not bear to face Sylvanas right now.

”How is she?” Sylvanas asked Lyana.

”These wounds need cleaning.” Lyana said determinedly. ”I don’t want to bring her back into the keep but I think our best options are the bedclothes and maybe some spares form the upper levels. And water. Lots of water. Clean. And wine or something to purge the wounds.”

She was probably right. Jaina winced every time Lyana’s cloak bounced against her stinging back and she was starting to shiver in the cold night.

”Lady Proudmoore.” Jaina looked up towards Kalira. Cyndia’s squadron commander. What would she have to say? ”We found no trace of Cyndia, and I understand that you did not learn anything of her while you were captured.” Jaina nodded regretfully. ”You still did a brave thing for her sake and for my rangers. You have my gratitude for that.”

Hard and harsh or not, Jaina decided then and there that she could probably learn to like Kalira.

Anya, Clea and Kitala had gathered around Sylvanas and Kitala was whispering something to her to which Sylvanas nodded.

”It would seem that most of our torchbearers actually survived the night.” she noted dryly. ”I would say, Lady Proudmoore, that they are all yours.”

”I want to see them. Now!” Jaina blurted out, to her own surprise.

Sylvanas led her through the grisly street towards the western gate. There were seventeen Scarlet soldiers remaining, each kneeling with a dreadguard behind that looked like he was only waiting for Sylvanas to give the order to behead the lot of them.

Jaina breathed heavily. The patronizing, surreally calm voice of Brother Hans and the accusing eyes of Sister Grete came back to her. The contemptuous strike with the back of her hand that turned to beatings with a stick. Her cutting Jaina’s clothes apart and baring her back. Jaina trying to stay quiet and unmoving when the first lash landed on her. Her own screaming and tears of pain when the next ones bit down into her flesh where it was already cut. Her fear of never leaving that awful place.

Kitala’s fingertips brushing over her ear brought Jaina back to the present. Anya looked at her with wide eyes and smudged black lines running down from them. Clea and Lyana stood behind her, covering her from the light breeze just like the rangers had when she was exhausted at sea.

Jaina would be brave for them.

With as much dignity as she could muster, Jaina removed her cloak and handed it back to Lyana. She slowly approached the Scarlet Crusaders with her head held high, despite wanting to hide away.
Jaina regarded them silently.

”I was foolish to think that your order would respect an envoy like civilized people.” Jaina swallowed. She tried to keep her voice clear and steady but it was hard.

One of them spat at her.

Jaina could hear Sylvanas hiss and knew she would be just about ready to give the order for the dreadguards to finish them all.

Jaina held out her hand to halt her.

”The Queen of Lordaeron considers you to be of no further use. But I came here with a very simple mission, so I will ask you one very simple question. Do one of you know of a dark ranger by the name of Cyndia Hawkspear?”

”Traitor! Traitor of all humankind!” The words came from the woman closest to Jaina. She was tall, and not very alike Sister Grete, but Jaina was suddenly sure that she would have received the same treatment from the one before her.
She met the eyes of the other prisoners. Sullen, hopeless looks and fervent anger was returned at her, but none deigned to answer.

”I came here with an offer of peace!” Jaina’s voice quivered.

”Peace? There can be no peace with undead monsters!” a swarthy man with a bloody gash along his arm yelled at her. He sounded enraged, and at Jaina even more than the Forsaken dreadguards around him.
All around him, Jaina could see the others eyeing her with matching expressions. Disgust. Contempt. Loathing.

They hated the undead, but they hated Jaina even more for not sharing in that.

Jaina slowly turned around. She reached for the flapping rags that had been her shirt and pulled it aside.

”WHO…” she shouted, and hated herself for how she could not keep her voice steady. ”…ARE THE MONSTERS HERE?!”

Jaina had briefly closed her eyes to hide her pathetic tears and steel herself against the stinging pain when her cuts were stretched by the movement of her arms and shoulders. When opening them, she found herself looking right into Anya’s.

Beautiful, precious Anya.

Her cold and smooth fingers caressed Jaina’s damp face and wiped away her tears, so gently that they may as well have been a light wind brushing against her cheeks.

”Whore!”

Jaina straightened herself. She faced the tall Scarlet woman reminiscent of Sister Grete without wavering.

”I would rather be a ranger’s whore, than anything that you are.” Jaina met her eyes without flinching. ”And one day, the Dark Lady will trust me enough to no longer wear these.” She raised her wrists slightly to display her shackles. ”And then we will revisit that comment.” Jaina said icily and then turned to the dreadguards in silent vigil. ”Soldiers of the Forsaken! Your blades deserve better than to be sullied.”

Jaina lifted up her sleeve-like remains of the jacket and spared the Scarlet men and women no further look when she walked demonstratively to Sylvanas and almost defiantly made a deep courtly bow before her.

”Dark Lady. I am finished here.”

”As you wish, Lady Proudmoore.” Sylvanas replied with equal formality. ”Are you sure about this?” she added much lower, and in Thalassian. ”You want me to let fanatical enemies of all undead just go?”

”Let them see for themselves what it is like to be alone out in the dark and the cold.”

”They hurt you!” Sylvanas hissed and Jaina caught sight of the smouldering anger in her eyes, buried just beneath the surface. The battle, it seemed, had not sated Sylvanas’ lust for Scarlet blood.

”But you rescued me. You’re better than them. Be better than them. Please.” Jaina whispered.

”I most certainly am not.” Sylvanas almost sighed, in a way that Jaina couldn’t interpret. ”But I stand by my word and the decision is yours, however inadvisable I think it is. They will hate you all the more for this act of chivalry, I believe.”

”If any of them dare to show their faces near the Undercity I swear I will shoot them myself, Dark Lady.”

That actually made Sylvanas smile.

”You had best start practicing then, ranger Proudmoore. Perhaps we can arrange something one day.”

Jaina was about to reply but could not hold back a shiver from the cold air and started to cough.

Sylvanas frowned and held out her cloak invitingly. Jaina would likely have blushed terribly any other day but she was too cold and tired to care right now, and she also found that she desperately wanted to be close to Sylvanas. The Banshee Queen held the garment up around Jaina with her arm so it wouldn’t touch her back too much, and Jaina edged maybe a little bit closer to Sylvanas than she absolutely had to.

”I’m…” Jaina coughed again. ”I’m sorry, Dark Lady. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I was totally wrong, and your people had to suffer for it.” Jaina whispered and felt so very small before Sylvanas. ”I feel so stupid.”

Jaina shied away from the Banshee Queens gaze and looked down, but remembered herself when she realised that it would leave her staring more or less at Sylvanas’ upper chest. Before Jaina could come up with a better direction to divert her gaze to she felt Sylvanas’ other hand carding through her hair and carefully forcing Jaina to look up at her.

”I have already told you once to not talk nonsense or shoulder the blame that belongs to others, Lady Proudmoore.” Sylvanas held her firmly, not so it hurt Jaina but enough to prevent her from looking away. ”Do I need to repeat myself?” she whispered threateningly and Jaina let out a small and quiet, sad laugh.

”I failed you. And because of that all of those people had to die. And there were Forsaken among the dead too, I saw it.”

”Deathguards. Devoted volunteers, our best heavy troops. They have found their true death in battle against our worst enemies and given my people their first victory. They do not deserve to be pitied, but respected.” She eased her grip on Jaina’s hair a little. ”And Kalira is right. You did a brave thing and if the Scarlet Crusade fail to see reason when it is staring them in the face the fault is theirs and theirs alone, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina found that she was breathing easier. Calmer. Sylvanas frightened her something terrible when she was like this but Jaina was still calmed by her. At least for the moment, the Banshee Queen was frightening enough to scare her anguish and anxiety away.

”You’re not...angry with me?” Jaina asked and still felt small against Sylvanas.

”Oh, I am furious with you for getting yourself hurt like this when being brave for me, little mage.” Sylvanas whispered, like thick smouldering honey dripping into Jaina’s ear. ”But it is you who is owed an apology, Lady Proudmoore. I was wrong to move so early in the day, I should have sent you forward close to the sunset instead so there would have been no need to wait before attacking. Please forgive me.”

Sylvanas’ hand had left Jaina’s hair and now cupped her cheek. Jaina felt more tears welling up, out of relief or exhaustion or lingering fear, she didn’t now.

”I want to go home.” Jaina whispered. ”To the Undercity, I mean.”

”So, you prefer my dungeons to those of Hearthglen?” Sylvanas asked wryly.

”I would rather have your dungeons and your rangers than a castle brimming with maids.”

”Then we shall waste no more time out here. But I fear we must get you inside first to see your back tended to, or Lyana will have both our heads.”

Sylvanas turned to look over her shoulder towards Kalira and the Forsaken baron.

”I will return to the Undercity with my squadron shortly. I want this hovel turned inside out and every scrap of supplies ferried home. Kalira, you have the command. See to it that the Scarlet prisoners are released as per Lady Proudmoore’s request.”

Still with her cloak held around Jaina, Sylvanas guided her to the nearest building, which ironically enough was the small cottage where Jaina had first met the Scarlet Crusade priests. Jaina could hear Sylvanas’ rangers shout suggestions to Kalira of useful things to pillage as they followed Jaina and Sylvanas inside.

”Maybe some nightgowns from the upper floors of the keep, and bedclothes and pillows!”

”Some food from the cellars too! Not even Kul Tirans can live on fish alone!”

”New boots!”

”A cloak or a coat for the nights!”

”And a nice dress!”

”And herbs and potions if you can find it! And clean bandages if there are any!” Lyana was the last to add to the grocery list as she closed the door behind them all.

The building was just as cramped as last time but Jaina did not mind it. Clea lit a fire and Anya and Lyana went to make a quick inventory of the bedroom and kitchen. It quickly turned out to be unsatisfactory.

”We can’t make do with this, I need something to cook in. And we have to find some bloody potions!” Lyana muttered loudly. ”Lady Proudmoore, come into the light here, let me take a better look at you.” she continued in a much kinder tone.

Jaina obediently sat down in front of Lyana. She wasn’t quite comfortable with her body being the focus of so much attention but at the same time the dark rangers’ care for her was comforting and Jaina would do as she was told. They had risked their lives to rescue her. It was the very least she could do for them.

Lyana’s fingers were gentle when she folded away the tatters of Jaina’s shirt but it still stung to have it touch the cut skin and Jaina winced and gasped from it.

”You poor thing…” Lyana's finger trailed the unbroken skin on Jainas’s back. ”Dark Lady, we have to rinse her back at least and bind the wounds. I’ll need a better pot than this junk, and something to hold a lot of water and to use as bandages. And some wine or such.”

”Clea and Kitala, search the nearest houses for what Lyana needs. I have to see to some things with Kalira and Anthis in the meantime. Lady Proudmoore, you will be in good hands. Lyana is extremely skilled.”

Jaina nodded. She was starting to feel warm, maybe feverish even, and honestly too tired to have an opinion of much at all.

Sylvanas, Clea and Kitala left, and while Lyana sorted through whatever useful things she could find inside Anya carefully cut away the last bits of Jaina’s ruined clothing from her arms. Jaina leaned forward on the table and rested her head in them. She closed her eyes, until Anya edged a folded blanket under her arms. She stroked Jaina over her hair.

”You’re burning, Lady Proudmoore.” Anya said tenderly, and Jaina could only manage a tiny nod. Equally tenderly, the dark ranger put her pleasantly cool hand against Jaina’s forehead. ”Try to sleep if you can. We’ll watch over you.”
Jaina suddenly noticed how Anya smelled of blood up close. Her dark attire didn’t reveal much but Anya had obviously not spent the night fighting from a distance.

”Anya…are you…are you…alright?” Jaina whispered weakly.

”I am now.”

[Alwyn]

Nicely done, I particularly enjoyed the build up to the Banshee Queen's Wail, the reactions of the rangers when they saw Jaina - and Jaina's request to Sylvanas.

[Maltacus]

Chapter XVII. Saving

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Westley would long since have lost count of how many times he had hefted yet another heavy and unwieldy shovel or pick or mallet from the corner of the stables, had he ever bothered to count in the first place. The large iron spit felt impossibly heavy in his hands tonight though. What did it matter how many times you had hammered out a hole for a fence post at a time like this?

The Scarlet Monastery was a fortified stronghold with limited space for anything but the bare necessities of normal life. Together with the strict hold of the order in, well, just about everything, that meant that there weren’t many people out and about after nightfall when the lack of daylight prevented most outdoor chores.

Staying out of sight in the streets was easy. Westley had over a year of experience trying to stay out of sight as much as he could, after all. Crossing the courtyard was harder. He knew of no other way inside than the main gate of the monastery and there were no windows at ground level. There would be at least fifty long steps out of the shadows before he reached the dark entrance. The only bright side of it was that the gate was unlocked at all times unless enemies had been sighted from the monastery. Far too many errands needed to be carried out inside or outside the structure for it to be deemed worth bothering with.

Halfway across Westley stopped and listened. There were no screams to be heard this time. All was quiet.

As he took the first step inside the hall Westley realised his mistake.

”Where are you going?”

The gate was left unlocked at night. It was not left unguarded.

There were two of them, one on each side in the small gatehouse where they had some cover from the wind. A bearded middle-aged warrior in full plate and a younger in chain mail, both with swords and shields. A knight and his squire, most likely. While the oaths to the Scarlet Crusade supposedly superseded all previous standing and allegiance it was an open secret that most knights who had joined the order kept acting as knights and that it depended on the good graces of enough nobles in other human kingdoms to display a good deal of deference to their position.

All of that could have been fact or fable, it did not change the fact that they had asked Westley a rather obvious question he had not prepared an answer for.

”To the…eh…smithy.” was the first thing he came to think about. He carried a metal tool after all. But no one with his wits about him would take an iron spit to the smithy unless it was about to break utterly. Or maybe if the iron was intended to be melted down to be reforged into something else but no such orders had been issued.

However, the man who had questioned Westley was not someone with his wits about him. He was a knight. His hands had grasped lance and sword from before he learned to talk properly, but never a shovel or scythe. He knew a hundred ways to deprive someone of his life but hardly a tenth of all things needed to sustain it over a hard winter and a hungering spring.

He was completely ready to believe than an uncouth and filthy peasant like the slow-witted stablehand before him would take a slightly rusty iron spit to the smithy for some unimportant reason or another.

”Off with you then, and stay out of the chapel. In the name of the Light!” The last greeting sounded more like an admonishment. Westley repeated the words and hurried inside and to the left where the stairs he had recently learned to dread led him to the underside of the monastery.

He had been to the actual smithy close by many times with a bent or broken thing of one kind or the other but he was not quite at home among all the winding paths leading to storerooms and work areas and most of all to Brother Wroth’s abysmal cellar closest to the courtyard.

Westley was shaking. There was no denying it. He grabbed the spit with both hands as if that would steady him but it only made him think of the time he wasted. He did not have much time.

The door to the cellar was not locked, he knew that since before. But it was hardly any easier to open because of that. He found himself staring like in a dream at the small line of reddish light that seeped out from underneath the door. Was Wroth inside now? He should have heard something.

But what if he shouldn’t? What if Wroth was toying with the undead elf girl and keeping quiet only to surprise her when she thought he would be gone?

What if he knew Westley was coming and was waiting just behind this door?

What would he do?

Westley could always make up some sort of lie, that he was sent to fetch something, that he had heard an unexplained sound. That he had reconsidered and wanted to give the undead ’thing’ what it deserved like a true son of the Light. But he knew inside that Wroth would see through him. The man was terrifying not just in the way he displayed fervent zeal in torturing but just as much for how it was almost like Wroth could smell a persons fear on him.

Wroth was with him whether he was there or not. And maybe he would always be.

NO!

Westley closed his eyes and kicked the cursed door open with all his might. It swung open and crashed into the wall with an almost painful sound that seemed to echo in the otherwise quiet cellars.

Wroth was not there.

The coals were still red. Their cruel sheen left the room covered in long shadows and dark spots and corners everywhere. Westley’s eyes adapted slowly to the gloom.

She was still there. But she didn’t move.

He approached slowly, one hesitant step at a time. What could an undead elf do? Could she even speak Common, and was there anything he could say that she would listen to?
He could barely see in the gloom but he thought that her eyes appeared mostly closed, not as in sleep but as in rest, or disinterest. He could hear no breaths though. But then, she was supposed to be undead and they did after all not breathe.

Her arms and feet were fettered by heavy chains, inscribed by symbols of the Light that glowed white-yellow but were not enough to illuminate any other part of the room. She was stretched out along a thick bench that Wroth had adopted as his makeshift torture rack. It had acquired a good amount of scorch marks by now. The legs were as thick as the beams in the stable and the chains were bolted to each.

Westley hadn’t prepared any detailed plan for how he would break either them or the chains without alerting the entire monastery, but what could he do? He raised the spit high in two hands, aimed for the chain link closest to the leg, and…

Her eyes opened in a crimson flash.

”Flaming idiot.”

The spit clattered to the floor and Westley staggered back, with his own eyes fixed on hers.

They shone.

They actually shone, red like the still smouldering coals in the dark.

”He’s hung the keys by the door.” It was like her dry and tired, not to say outright bored, voice carried with it the rolling of a red pair of eyes. ”The hook on the right side. So I can always see them hanging just out of my reach, you see.”

Westley blinked.

She had spoken Common, quite clearly.

”Do you intend to stand there all night, or are you in fact here to have your share of the fun with me?”

Westley scrambled for the door, reached up to get the keys but in his haste dropped them on the floor. He bent down and searched the pitch black part of the room with his hands, finding nothing until the light grew and he finally found them and…

The light grow from the lantern held aloft in the hand or Brother Wroth.

Westley turned on the spot like a hare before a wolf but Wroth was too quick for him. Westley’s hand flew out as he felt his throat constrict from the hand grabbing his collar from behind.

”Little traitor boy.” Wroth mused quietly in his worst kind of voice, the one that promised long and deliberate pain being inflicted. He sounded…pleased.

Westley felt himself pushed forward and he staggered and almost fell, hitting his knee on something and receiving a kick at his back that pushed all the air out of his lungs.

”You pathetic. Little. Filth.” Wroth bent down to pick up a poker that had been left half buried in the coals as he approached Westley. The tip glowed faintly and Wroth seemed to tower over him beyond all sense and reason, like a demonic monstrosity that was made of fire and darkness and knew no mercy or compassion.

Which Wroth did not.

Westley crawled backwards on the floor while dozens of memories passed before him. Wroth that pushed him into the ground the first day he had arrived. Wroth that kicked his wheelbarrow of unremarkable but carefully harvested cabbage into a ditch and left him to explain a broken wheel axle and a mud-covered load to the quartermaster. Wroth that above all hated Westley for caring about his horses and called him a deviant for wasting his false compassion on something that was not a human, and therefore a ’something’ and not a ’someone’.

Wroth who had given the order to…

Westley felt something hard and sharp on the floor behind him. The keys.

Wroth was coming closer, making no haste and smiling contently like at a bottle of exquisite wine or a delicious meal presented before him. Westley was crawling further back, bumping into the rack.

He reached blindly in the air behind him and found cold, statue-like, smooth skin and coarse iron and…

Wroth casually punched him in the stomach, and Westley groaned in pain.

”I will make you watch tomorrow, you know.” Wroth smiled, still sounding immensely satisfied. ”I will make them scream their lungs out. I will drive a spike into each of their hooves and watch them lie there on the ground where they rightly belong. I will gouge out their eyes and make you eat them, and then I will do the same to you, and the last sight you see will be your Light-damned horses as I cut open their bellies and drive a red-hot poker into them.”

”Don’t you flaming touch them!”

In response Wroth raised the iron poker in his hand, as if inspecting it.

”This one, maybe…” he grinned.

Click.

There was a rattling of chains and a metallic clatter.

Wroth raised his hand to strike down at Westley, oblivious to anything else.

A pale hand caught his arm in an iron grip and a voice unlike anything Westley had ever heard or imagined reverberated across the entire room.

”You will not touch him.”

The elf squeezed and the iron poker fell out of Wroth’s hand to the sound of bone cracking. Westley looked in disbelief as she lifted Wroth with a snarl and hurled him into the wall beside the door. He hit it with an audible thud and slid down to the floor.

A string of curses drew Westley’s attention to the elf. She was struggling with the key and the lock keeping her feet fettered to the bench. The chains were as thick as the ones that had kept her arms bound and the lock was black and rusted. Both had been inscribed with symbols of the Light. They seemed to cause the elf great discomfort for she would retract a hand or a finger at times as if she had touched something hot that burned her.

”Let me.” Westley said, unsteadily. ”The Light will not harm the living.”

The elf looked at him and quirked an eyebrow, but handed him the keys nonetheless.

The lock was rusty, and Westley suddenly became afraid that he would damage it further. What if he broke the key? He turned it back and forth, trying to soften up whatever corroded lump that was impeding the key.

”The Light…has forsaken you, boy!”

Wroth rose, furious and more terrible than ever. Blood and dirt was covering his face and in the darkness he appeared more undead than living on his own. He clutched a long knife in his hand.

Westley would never be free from him.

His breath echoed in his ears when he bent down. His heartbeat echoed in his ears when he absently, indifferently as if watching himself from a distance, picked up the still red-hot iron poker of Wroth.

Wroth had spent the last year making prisoners scream from the cellars and bullying the servants who were not sworn brothers or sisters of the order.

Westley had spent the last year hauling stones and digging ditches.

How surprisingly light that tiny rod of metal was in comparison to a woodsman’s axe after half a day’s gruelling work.

”You would stand against your own kind…for that thing?” Wroth hissed.

Westley’s grip hardened.

He had broken his back and endured all the spite and all the humiliation for two things and two things only.

And Wroth would have them butchered and tortured for no reason at all but his own amusement.

How flaming dared he?

”You…are not my kind.”

Wroth held up his knife but the tiny thing did not stop the iron rod. Wroth cried out and dropped the weapon. Westley struck down again, and again, but Wroth was at his core still a trained soldier, and old reflexes finally resurfaced for him to turn away and make Westley hit his shoulder and upper back with glancing blows rather than a bone-crushing impact.

He did however not turn fast enough when the rest of the chains clattered to the floor and the blurry shadow of the elf swept past Westley and slammed into the wall with Wroth’s throat between her fingers.

Wroth…withered…in her grip, Westley could not describe it better. He shrunk and shrivelled, as if he suddenly aged decades worth or if all the fluids of his body evaporated, and his skin turned from red to pale to grey.

”I am Cyndia Hawkspear, dark ranger of the Banshee Queen and the Forsaken. And I am not a ’thing’.”

As Wroth succumbed to whatever power the elf made use of, Westley could see burns and cuts and bruises all over her close and smoothen, torn skin reknitting itself, until she looked not completely healed but certainly far less injured.

”He should be proud. After all, you did learn to use that poker.”

Westley could only stare at her. If he had ever had a plan for this moment it was hopelessly lost.

”…what…what now?”

”Run, Bad-at-believing Westley.”

[Maltacus]

Chapter XVIII. Warmth

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

It was not many things that Anya wished for herself very strongly, and it never really had been. She used to be content with boots that did not leak and clothes that stayed warm and whole, and a tent that kept the rains out. She currently had, or were, many things that most elven rangers would have longed for. She was much stronger than she had been in life and she could run without tiring, or even breathing. She could stay or swim underwater indefinitely, and wrap herself in shadows and darkness with even greater ease than her dark ranger sisters.

But right now Anya wished she was alive.

Then she would be warm, and then she could have warmed Lady Proudmoore.

Not a cold, clammy corpse that was of no use to anyone.

Anya would have liked to hurry ahead of the rest and light a fire in the brazier. But of course they could not leave Lady Proudmoore without a proper escort either, and if something dangerous appeared in front of them Anya had to be there next to Lyana.

The cold and damp dungeon was still no place to come home to for someone who coughed and shivered like Lady Proudmoore did now. Anya hurried with flint and tinder and thought that they had to find something better. Perhaps the apothecaries or some of the human Forsaken had experience with incendiary substances that could be used to light fires quickly when you had to. The rangers had never made much use of that and Anya didn’t know of anything except magic that could speed up the lighting of a fire. Except a dragon, of course. That would have been nice. A sufficiently small dragon whelp that wouldn’t want to eat Lady Proudmoore for dinner but could light a nice fire when she needed and wrap itself around her at a time like this.

The bedrolls were at least dry and had been neatly folded before they left. Helping Lady Proudmoore out of her soggy blankets was more like peeling an onion than undressing someone and Anya made a mental note about hanging some laundry lines later to dry everything.

”Dungeon, sweet dungeon?” Anya tried, but immediately felt foolish for it. Lady Proudmoore did not need any excessive reminders of the fact that she was still essentially their captive.

”At least this one is mine…” Lady Proudmoore mumbled as she sank down on her bedroll, now in only her shirt and pants, which were both far to wet in Anya’s opinion. ”And at least here there aren’t any creepy scumbags who’d call me ’my child’ and send me off to be tortured in their next breath.” she remarked bitterly. ”Or damn me because I didn’t show the proper ’revulsion’ at someone just because he was undead, or call me a demon or my magic witchcraft – like that’s supposed to change anything! Mage, witch, wizard, spellcaster, whatever-mancer – it’s all the same! Mana is mana! The thing that should matter is what you do with it! It’s like calling every strong-armed person a thug just because they’re strong!”

She sounded more and more distraught and her voice had turned a little shrill.

”I would rather be bewitched by you than blessed by anyone else, Lady Proudmoore.” Anya whispered, but Sylvanas looked like she had frozen in her place.

”They called you a demon, Lady Proudmoore?”

Lady Proudmoore nodded weakly.

”They said…they said the Light was not fooled by any tricks…that there was Fel magic about me…”

”Show me your arms.” Sylvanas remained still and her voice was even, but Anya detected a tension that had not been there before.

Lady Proudmoore shifted to a kneeling position and dutifully raised her arms towards Sylvanas. It looked heart-wrenchingly pleading with her soft hands stretched out and burdened by the thick metal loops and chain. Those Anya would be more than glad to have Lady Proudmoore out of.

It was Anya that had the key to the brass-like shackles. She had grown to like them less and less every time she laid eyes on them. They were heavy and weighed Lady Proudmoore down, and they got in the way when she needed to sleep.

Sylvanas had carefully folded away the cut sleeves of Lady Proudmoore’s shirt that they had been forced to wrap around her arms since they were unable to remove the shackles to dress her. Sylvanas was kneeling in front of the mage and looking intensely at Lady Proudmoore’s forearms with the beginning of a frown forming on her brow. Anya knelt down beside her.

Something was wrong.

Lady Proudmoore looked so pale, and her blue eyes were dimmed and dull instead of bright and clear as usual. Sylvanas held Lady Proudmoore’s hand in her own and slowly, extremely slowly, pulled one of the shackles down.

Tiny black and green veins spread out across the skin underneath.

Sylvanas hissed and immediately grabbed Lady Proudmoore’s other arm, only to discover the same thing beneath the other shackle.

”I don’t…I don’t feel very well…” Lady Proudmoore croaked and there was a small tone of fear in her voice when she looked down at the state of her skin.

”Little flaming wonder.” Sylvanas snarled. Black vapours were forming along her contours and before anyone could say or think anything she was wreathed in black smoke that boiled and blew around her, and she held each shackle between her respective hand and a shadowy mass of misty tendrils that had curled around it. The banshee form warred with her physical and Sylvanas’ eyes blazed with the unending fire that Anya knew always burned deep inside her. The metal groaned and cracked and broke when she furiously ripped the shackles apart.

When they clattered against the bare stone floor Lady Proudmoore pulled away and kept staring at the twisted lumps of metal with an appalled and sickened look. Anya took out the key and dropped it in the pile of metal. She felt disgusted with herself from even carrying it.

”Anya.” Sylvanas did not speak so much as echo in her ethereal banshee voice. ”Ensure that Lady Proudmoore is treated and cared for. I am going to have a little talk with my dear chancellor.”

”Dark Lady.” Anya straightened her back and saluted on her knees.

Sylvanas snatched up the ruined shackles and their key and stormed out, a ghostly visage of arms and legs and hood and swirling black mist. Lady Proudmoore stared at her, transfixed, and kept staring at the empty doorway after Sylvanas had disappeared out of sight.

A cold hand gripped Anya’s unbeating heart when she saw the sickly marks on Lady Proudmoore’s skin closer up.

”Lyana! Go to the apothecaries and empty the damned place! Clea, go with her and throw everyone who tries to stop you in the sewers!”

Lyana was already on her way out and Clea shot forward after her.

Anya looked around. Warmth. Lady Proudmoore needed warmth.

She lighted the lamps on the brazier and put more wood on the fire. At least that they were well-stocked with. Anya arranged the three little lamps closer to the sleeping tent in the hopes of trapping more heat inside it. She made a mental note to also set up the smaller one they had brought with them for the journey as soon as possible.

”Lady Proudmoore, I’m going to the next room to warm some water for you. Kitala will be with you. Do you think you can eat, should I boil something for you?”

The former cell next to them had been commandeered to be used as their improvised kitchen and small larder for the food they had brought from Hearthglen. Lady Proudmoore shook her head but Anya decided to boil some vegetables at least. Notorious fish eater as she was she probably skipped too much on those anyway.

A choked sob cut her exit short. Lady Proudmoore was sitting with her arms stretched out before her with the palms facing upward and her eyes fixed on the corrupted skin on the inside of her forearms. She looked like she could barely believe her eyes, and absolutely miserable.

”I’m disgusting.”

Kitala was edging closer and stroked over Lady Proudmoore’s shoulder with her knuckles.

”No, you’re not.” she said.

”Tainted.”

Kitala put her arm around Lady Proudmoore’s shoulders in return.

”Look at me!”

Anya knelt before her. At least she did not retract her hands. Lady Proudmoore allowed Anya to gently lift one and brush her thumb over the corrupted skin beneath the hand. It did not feel rotten, more like a swelling.

”Does this hurt?” Anya asked as softly as she could.

Lady Proudmoore shook her head.

Anya kept meeting her gaze when she slowly lifted the mage’s hand towards her and kissed Lady Proudmoore’s knuckles. Lady Proudmoore stared at Anya with wide eyes, and Anya stared back.

”Does this?” Anya whispered, breathless though she did not need to breathe.

The smallest shake of her head barely made the golden trusses waver. Anya could see Kitala watching her with great interest as well, looking both amused and approving of the way Anya had put a stop to further self-depreciation from their mage.

Anya gently put down Lady Proudmoore’s hand again and smiled at her. Maybe, just maybe, Lady Proudmoore’s eyes were a little clearer now.

[Maltacus]

Chapter XVIV. Dungeons and Dreadlords

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

At least Varimathras did not attempt to play dumb.

Sylvanas slammed the towering dreadlord against the wall of the council chamber where the brick cracked. She strode forward to grab the demon by his throat and threw down the remains of the shackles in his lap.

”Do you perhaps have something you wish to tell me about these, my chancellor?” she hissed menacingly with her boot planted against his chest.

”My Queen knows I am her…” He coughed and sputtered. ”…loyal servant.”

”Then serve…” Sylvanas put more weight on her forward leg.

”I will spare you the pleasantries, My Queen…” Varimathras grunted. ”…but are you suggesting that these shackles failed to prevent their wearer to wield her magic?”

”They did that. Amongst other things.”

”May I humbly suggest that you illuminate me, My Queen?”

”The shackles just so happened to infect the wearer with Fel magic and by their presence provoked the Scarlet Crusade to imprison my negotiator.” Sylvanas tightened her grip somewhat.

”And this…comes as a surprise?”

”Explain yourself.”

”My Queen underlined the need for a quick solution to contain the mage, which I provided. Does it come as a surprise that the measures suggested by a demon involve Fel magic?”

Sylvanas snarled wordlessly, but relented somewhat and instead dragged him to a slightly more seated than heaped position.

”And do I understand My Queen correctly in that the Scarlet Crusader displayed willingness to negotiate with an envoy of the Forsaken, were it not for the presence of Fel magic in the shackles she wore?”

…Or damn me because I didn’t show the proper ’revulsion’ at someone just because he was undead, or call me a demon or my magic witchcraft – like that’s supposed to change anything! Mage, witch, wizard, spellcaster, whatever-mancer – it’s all the same!…

Sylvanas could just about hear Proudmoore’s voice sounding in her head, saddened, hurt and distraught. She could just as easily recall the vile insults and spite Proudmoore had received from the prisoners she had made Sylvanas spare. They damned her as a traitor and a blasphemer without knowing anything about the Fel magic, unmoved by the sight of the bloody wounds on her back. And her mage was perhaps easily made to blush but she was no coward, and wickedly perceptive. Sylvanas had no reason whatsoever to doubt her account of how the Scarlets had regarded her and it was all too conclusive with their overall character.

But her mage had been hurt by the shackles themselves too, and there was nothing that would make Sylvanas overlook that, nor forgive even the slightest contribution they would have had to Proudmoore becoming imprisoned and whipped bloody. The way she had hidden her face in shame upon being rescued hurt Sylvanas the most, she now realised. It was far, far too reminiscent of what she had seen in her dark rangers.

”That is something we shall never know, since the Scarlets apparently wasted no time condemning her as tainted by the Fel and calling her a demon.” Sylvanas said acidly.

”Fascinating.”

”What?”

”That the Scarlet Crusade is willing to believe that a girl with such self-interest that she would seek out something as…drastic…as Fel magic – a phenomenon that My Queen is aware I have substantial experience with – would willingly submit to be rendered helpless by anti-magical shackles, and then equally voluntarily place herself at the complete mercy of the clergy of the Light. The zeal with which they allow their own blind faith to amalgamate their already profound incompetence is truly fascinating.”

The dreadlord had not changed his tone, or made any subtle gesture that could allude to anything else than him pronouncing a snide, and accurate, judgement of their common enemy. But Sylvanas was of course no less aware of the obvious but unspoken addendum. If the Scarlet Crusade had to be daft or insane to believe that a mage would put herself willingly at their mercy, what did that say about the queen who would order the mage to do so?

Sylvanas knew too little of what had really happened to Proudmoore, that she realised now. She was still sorely tempted to tear the unreadable demon apart for the part he had played but she had to maintain control of herself. A queen could afford no less.

”Another fascinating question is how my very own chancellor managed to forget to mention this piece of crucial information to his queen.” Sylvanas drawled. ”Was that his blind faith in our inevitable success showing, or his profound incompetence?”

”The shackles are…pardon me, were…crafted to drain the wearer of all powers, not simply that of arcane spellcasting, My Queen. The residual Fel magic would not have been enough to kill the human, at least not until she had had ample time to serve her purpose in securing the release of ranger Hawkspear.”

Her purpose.

The dreadlord had, off-handedly perhaps but Sylvanas was sure it was deliberate, touched on a sore point. The human Lady Proudmoore was an asset, a hostage, a means to an end in the eyes of a significant part of the Forsaken. A piece on the gaming board to be sacrificed before Forsaken pieces were the ones taken. Did Varimathras suspect that Sylvanas had done virtually the opposite, even if it could be said – and not without a good deal of truth to it – that the storming of Hearthglen was motivated by depriving the enemy of a stronghold and it’s garrison, and the possible rescue of Cyndia Hawkspear?

Sylvanas teetered on the edge of doing something very rash, such as ripping the head off the smirking – no, not smirking at all, but making her feel as if he did – demon, but that was her banshee self talking and she forced that part to remain fettered inside herself, if only just. If the general opinion of her would suffer from the notion that she sent deathguards to die in her mage’s stead, it would still be a trifle compared to what would be the result of her murdering her own chancellor. And she would not be that kind of queen. Because… Because Proudmoore would not want her to.

How odd, that it would be the first thought in her mind.

But the image of her mage reignited her fury over seeing her hurt and looking upon herself with revulsion, just the kind of revulsion that the Scarlets would have wanted her to reserve for the Forsaken, no doubt. Sylvanas would not let this slide.

”That was not your call to make. It was mine.” Sylvanas declaimed, echoing with her ethereal banshee voice. ”Your lack of transparency has jeopardized a crucial military operation and given me cause to severely doubt your reasoning. Consider yourself removed from my Council of War. You will carry out your other duties until further notice. You are dismissed.”

Varimathras slowly rose to his full height, standing a good deal taller than Sylvanas, and his eyes gleamed with Fel energy. Sylvanas met them without fear. She was more than angry enough that she would almost welcome a confrontation here and now. But the dreadlord bowed his head almost imperceptibly and strode out of the room.

A clatter of stones drew Sylvanas’ attention to the indenture in the wall where she had thrown him. A few broken bricks had fallen down, apparently after the structural support of a prone demonic chancellor was removed, and Sylvanas watched how the rest of the central portion of the wall cracked and crumbled before her eyes, and noisily collapsed into a pile of dust and bricks.

So, they would have to build more thoroughly next time.

Politics was a violent business after all.

***

From the moment her return to the Undercity became public knowledge Sylvanas was beleaguered in her office and only her uncompromising guards – rangers this time as all death guards were still away at Hearthglen – seemed to keep the horde of assailants form storming her ramparts and battering down her gates. And just like before the expedition to that place, there was just such a multitude of issues that required the queens signature, or consideration, or both, or required neither but still ended up on her table. Where did people find the paper for all of this? Weren’t their people as poor in ink and paper as in everything else?

Areiel had taken good care of things and the Scourge had thankfully not grasped the opportunity to attack yet, but there were some sightings that hinted at large scale troop deployments. She woud need Varimathas’s expertise sooner rather than later no doubt, infuriating as it was to call upon the dreadlord. Sylvanas had never been entrusted with any major part of the planning during her time in the Scourge, instead being used as a source of knowledge and a commander in the field. Uncomfortably similar to the use she now made of the dreadlord, as a matter of fact. She decided to let Areiel handle the inquiries about Scourge behaviour that would need to be done, it was in any case more efficient that way since the captain was most up to date with the recent scouting.

She should put the demon to use in the coming City Council. And as much as it galled her she could not make it seem like a demotion, as that would undermine the respect of that new body. There were few points that Areiel had hammered into her more fervently. A commander always had to move people around for one reason or another. Sometimes two decent rangers clashed too much, or prevented each other from reaching their full potential, or were simply of much more use if they both took on another ranging partner. And one must never, ever, hold up a new position as a punishment or insult. Losing a former could be, but gaining a new one must be painted as a second chance at the very least. Anything else would be an insult to the receiving unit, and the same was true for the soon-to-be City Council - Undercity Council maybe? - here and now. It would have to be Varimathras’ chance to nominally regain her confidence and she would make sure he joined it a notable time after it’s formation so it would not come across as a political graveyard.

Much as that term could seem applicable to the Forsaken leadership. Belore preserve them if self-appointed purveyors of puns and sarcasms like Areiel thought of that. Or Cyndia…

No. Not now.

The roll of dark rangers in service waited on it’s shelf. It could wait a little more. Sylvanas had more pressing concerns than needless paperwork.
Like Proudmoore. When thinking of her Sylvanas felt like getting up from her chair immediately and head straight back to her dungeons. What was she doing here anyway instead of next to her mage, and Anya and her ranger squad?

She was being queen.

She had a people that depended on her and she had important tasks to oversee and above all she had to maintain control.

No variables.

Variables and unknowns got those she cared about hurt.

Much as Sylvanas tried to keep herself occupied with her tasks, her mind would wander back to her mage and her ranger squadron. They mattered. They were not assets, they were not a part of the job to order about as their general or Dark Lady or queen. Holding Proudmoore steady in her arms and feeling her fall asleep as they rode felt meaningful. It was not a means to the end in order to get her safely back to the Undercity in order to tend to her condition, in order to preserve her health as an ally and potential key to an alliance with her city. It had just been…good.

She pushed herself to sieve through weekly reports from Brill, largely abandoned at the moment in accordance with her recent lockdown orders but otherwise a thriving imitation of countryside life and a useful outpost for rangers to resupply and gather at. Sylvanas had always made a point of double-checking the little details from time to time, the bits and pieces behind the large scale briefings and plans. You had to maintain a feel of the people and units and chain of command that you were supposed to direct. Areiel had almost bored her to an early grave with her seemingly limitless examples of stupidity and oversights among previous as well as current elven leadership and the mistakes that Sylvanas would have to avoid when she was to become a captain.

She put the reports away and made a note in a long list of things to do. Out of six subordinate commanders involved, one could not command, another could hardly write, and two more knew not how to report properly.

She wondered if Theramoore had faced the same problems with heaps of ill-trained and newly appointed personnel and hastily formed offices and military units that had to be put to work. What would her mage say if she could see the state of Forsaken management at the moment, Sylvanas wondered, and found herself missing their cabin on the Banshee’s Wail. She wouldn’t have minded hanging a hammock beside her desk, and having to dodge the thousand and one questions that the insatiably curious woman would doubtlessly have drowned her in while stretching her neck to read over Sylvanas’ shoulder. She wouldn’t even have minded if her mage’s steady breathing at night would be interrupted by some bad dream and Sylvanas would have had to take a break from her work to rock her mage back to sleep.

If only her own quarters were warded against spellcasting.

The problem with Proudmoore remained her arcane powers, or more precisely the fear and mistrust they would inspire. Sylvanas was very well aware of the irony in seeing her own former sentiments mirrored in her people, or at least she counted on that being the case in enough of them to warrant caution. And that stunt with splashing water and a conjured ice patch upon Proudmoore’s arrival would not exactly have smoothened things up, she smirked.

She smirked?

Why did she do that? She was the queen, and she should rightfully still be at least a little irritated with her foolish mage, shouldn’t she? But who could be that with someone who had done half of what Proudmoore had for them? Proudmoore had defended her rangers’ honour at that time on the stairs of the keep and she had done it in a damn funny way too. Sylvanas had been angry with the insults against the rangers rather than with Proudmoore as such, she could freely admit that afterwards, but more like upset with her mage’s lack of care for her personal safety. If it would one day be possible without aggravating major parts of the Undercity, Sylvanas privately wouldn’t mind seeing a few other people splashed with cold water. A certain chancellor came to mind, for instance. She could always reprimand Proudmoore afterwards and scare her a little, enough to appease the public opinion. Because Belore be damned if that woman didn’t seem to enjoy being scared a bit from time to time.

For the moment her mage was recovering in the care of Lyana and the rest and she was out of danger, but how long would those walls hold her once she was back on her feet? Sylvanas should get her some books to start with - or perhaps some piles of books to be sure - but even reading through the keep’s library would hardly serve to keep her occupied for too long and Proudmoore needed to come out and get some fresh air. An escort of rangers was an option but it was a bad one. The rangers were compromised in the people’s eyes as guardians of the mage and Sylvanas did not have the heart to assign her a squadron of deathguards instead. That if anything was asking for trouble to happen! Proudmoore was feeling down and wrestling with memories and experiences she was not trained to handle – Sylvanas would have to check on that some time later – and she needed Sylvanas’ squadron for more than security right now.

She was just stalling. She knew there was no way around keeping Proudmoore in fetters still and Sylvanas hated it. What a pathetic queen she was to tear one pair of shackles off her only to replace them with another!

Sylvanas took a deep breath and tried to persuade her body to calm down from it. Yes, a poor queen she may be but she would damn well be a poor queen properly at least. If this was the only option then so be it, and if she could not set Proudmoore free she would at least do a hell of a better job keeping her captured than Terenas’ old dungeons and Varimathras’ detestable shackles.

If this was how it would have to be then she would have the finest damn cuffs crafted that had ever been made. Because she was the queen and Proudmoore was her mage.
Sylvanas opened the door and her ranger guards stood at attention.

”Summon my mages. An get me Irizadan.”

***

Jaina had certainly come to care a lot for the dark rangers that stood guard over her, and who went to such lengths to make her stay as comfortable as possible in a dungeon run by a people rich in gold but destitute in almost everything else. But she still considered this a scandalous travesty.

There were such delicious ways to prepare a Lordaeronian perch. Frying and grilling yielded excellent results for example, and neither procedure was overly complex at all.
Yet when she heard the eerie whistling of Lyana late in the morning and the dark ranger opened the door to Jaina’s room, she was a visage of dread incarnate. Her pet spider, Kitthix, was perched on her head and had seated himself so that he covered one of her eyes like a many-legged and fluffy eye patch. Lyana was carrying a tray, and on the tray there was a bowl.

And in that bowl was…fish soup.

Jaina could objectively agree with Lyana’s reasoning that since she still did have a very sore throat, and had after all spent the entire last day doing little more than to shiver and cough no matter how much firewood the rangers stoked her brazier with and how many reasonably dry blankets they piled on her, she could use a warm meal that was as easy as possible to swallow. And in light of Lyana’s ceaseless attention to Jaina’s health she had in all fairness earned the privilege of being cut some slack when it came to any lacking culinary insight. And not even the slightly unnerving habit of adorning herself with a living tarantula hat made Lyana an actual visage of dread to Jaina.

But still.

Fish soup.

”Your breakfast is served, Lady Proudmoore.” Lyana beamed shamelessly at her. Jaina groaned inwardly at not only having to emerge from her reasonably warmed up nest of blankets but also at having to do so for the sake of such a dish.

Fortunately however, a polite knock on the open door came to her rescue. It was Areiel.

”Come in!” Jaina called out, rather wheezily.

Areiel stepped inside and looked around with interest.

”Well, well, I was just doing my rounds and had to see it for myself. I should try to get kidnapped myself some time…” Areiel peeked inside Jaina’s sleeping tent with an amused expression. ”My, isn’t that sweet? This is Anya’s doing, surely?”

”Anya gave very specific instructions. But we all do our best to care for Lady Proudmoore, as ordered.”

”Of course you do.” Areiel smiled, with a glimmer of mischievousness at the sight of Jaina huddling inside her blankets and Lyana kneeling beside her with the steaming bowl of soup. ”Well, now that I’m here I suppose I might as well do a full inspection. Has she slept properly?”

”I think so. She tossed her blankets off some time after midnight but Anya pulled them up.” Lyana reported without pause.

Hey, now, wait one moment…

”Very good. She’s only two after all and they do so need their sleep at that age.”

”Very funny.” Jaina remarked sarcastically.

”Isn’t that correct, Lady Proudmoore?” Areiel said with feigned, wide-eyed confusion. ”I was under the impression that you are just over two decades old.”
Jaina rolled her eyes.

”Has she eaten?” Areiel continued her aggravatingly cheerful inquiry.

”I just made her fish soup.”

”Is she changed?”

”Ha. Ha. Ha.” Jaina glared testily at the ranger captain.

”Your dressings, Lady Proudmoore.” Areiel replied with a broad smile that would have made Velonara and Kitala proud. ”I understand Lyana has taken care of your back quite well.”

”Oh yes, she has stayed dry the whole night.” Lyana chirped happily.

”Then it looks like you have everything well in hand, Lyana. I should get going. Happy mage-watching!” Somehow, Areiel mysteriously managed to make that sound more like mage-sitting.

Areiel left and with her Jaina’s temporary reprieve. She shivered notably and braced herself for the cold outside her blankets but Lyana made her stay seated with a hand lightly placed against her shoulder. Instead she held the bowl unpleasantly close to Jaina’s chin, and also nose, and scooped up a spoonful of the heretical soup.

”One for the Dark Lady…”

It took all of Jaina’s accumulated good manners and fondness for Lyana to not stick her tongue out at her.

The fish soup was actually decent and Jaina was starting to feel a lot better after eating it. Anya was currently away to see Sylvanas, and Clea and Kitala were out fishing. Sylvanas had not returned after storming off with the torn shackles but Lyana said she had checked on them briefly while Jaina was asleep. Jaina missed the Dark Lady. The rangers were tireless in their attention to her and she had rarely slept so well through a really bad cold, or whatever it was she had, but there were several things she wanted to ask Sylvanas about. The marks on her arms not least.

”They are fading, Lady Proudmoore.” Lyana commented from behind her, and Jaina realised she had been unconsciously fixating on her arms now that she felt warmed enough to loosen her blankets and stretch a little. She experimentally rolled her shoulders. It was surely unpleasant and her skin strained, but at least it hurt considerably less after Lyana’s salves and the healing potion.

Kitthix had jumped down on the floor to sit and keep watch over Jaina and the tasty giant bugs that presumably waited to emerge from their obvious hiding places underneath her blankets. In all fairness, the spider was a quite respectful creature.

”Overall, I would say that you’re healing quite well.” Lyana continued and tried to cheer Jaina up. ”We will fix you. At least…we’ll do everything we can think of…”

”You’ve all been nice.” Jaina sighed. ”It’s just…”

Kitthix was crawling closer to her, eyeing Jaina wih eight inscrutable eyes. She stretched out a finger to stroke lightly along a hairy leg.

”Your mum and her friends are nice, but they have the worst bedside manners, wouldn’t you say, Kitthix?”

The spider chittered something that was yet beyond Jaina’s knowledge of tarantuleese.

”It’s tradition.” Lyana stated firmly.

”Tradition?”

”Oh, yes. We always tease our infirm comrades, otherwise it would be far too boring lying there waiting to recover. And you are one of ours now, Lady Proudmoore, so obviously the same rules must apply to you.” Lyana reasoned as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

Tides, the dark ranger was the weirdest nurse Jaina had ever met.

And the best.

Jaina decided to brave the chill outside her covers and stretch her legs a little at least. But just as she had cast them off and was about to get up, Lyana cried out.

”What is that?!”

”What is what?” Jaina asked, taken aback by Lyana’s agitation.

”You’re bleeding!”

Jaina looked down. Her bedroll now sported distinctive red drops that had definitely not been there before. Jaina wondered if she had somehow cracked her still raw skin and dislocated the bandages when stretching before, but it seemed incredibly far-fetched that she should have dripped blood on the makeshift mattress rather than her blankets soaking it up, let alone that Lyana should have left any gaps in her dressings. Unless of course…

”Oh, bloody hell…” Jaina swore as she pulled up the tunic she wore and saw the dark red splotch on her currently quite ruined underwear.

”Lady Proudmoore.” Lyana said, dead serious. ”What, exactly, did the Scarlets do to you?”

”What do you mean, you’ve seen it firsthand?”

”You’re bleeding from between your legs! And it’s fine if you don’t want to tell me personally but then I will have to get someone else and…”

”No! No, no, it’s nothing like that!” Jaina held up her hand and tried to gather herself, and neither laugh out at the ridiculousness of the situation nor think too much about what Lyana seemed to be afraid of. ”It’s alright. Everything is alright just… Time flies when you’re having fun getting captured by dark rangers, that’s all.”

”But why are you bleeding?”

Tides, could this day start more embarrassing? Jaina pinched her nose.

”Well, little miss Lyana, sometimes, more precisely once a month, if a big mage girl stops taking her potion of barrenness she bleeds a little and her stomach can hurt even though she isn’t sick. And after a few days it stops on its own and everything is fine again.”

”Oh… I’m so sorry, I…”

Lyana looked so crestfallen that Jaina felt sorry for her. When she thought about it, it wasn’t so unreasonable for someone who had spent the better part of the last days tending to her wounds from outright torture to jump to conclusions.

”Ah, there are some cloth left, I can cut some strips now that you don’t seem to be needing more bandages…for your back, that is.” Lyana offered.

”Yes, that would be convenient…” Jaina sighed and rummaged through her meagre belongings. The rangers had taken the opportunity to wash her clothes now that they were back in the Undercity, and while Jaina was very grateful for the consideration all her garments now smelled of smoke from drying close to a fire. She was only waiting for Kitala or someone to make a comment about how ”smoking hot” Jaina’s admittedly rather boring wardrobe now was.

Lyana seemed to be returning to her usual mood.

”It’s really once a month for you humans? For real?”

”Yes?”

”Fancy that.”

”So what about elves, then?”

”Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it a ’bloody hell’, but I will agree that it used to be an inconvenient week of the year.” Lyana smiled and definitely looked just a tad smug.

”Out, Lyana. Out!”

***

Sylvanas and Anya had argued all the way from the smithy.

”…trusting Lady Proudmoore or not isn’t the issue!”

”Then what is?! What will it take from her to be treated as she deserves? How can we do this to her - we throw reason after reason at her to treat her as a dangerous enemy when she does nothing but help us?!” Anya was nearly yelling at her.

”This isn’t up to me!”

”You’re the queen, how the hell can it not be up to you?!”

”A queen has subjects! Subjects that our mage may very well be antagonizing with her mere presence, and especially after greeting a good deal of them with a magical prank! She will be in danger if she is seen walking around freely, whether I like it or not!”

”Then those ungrateful flaming sewer rats can stay below and rot!”

Sylvanas almost had to laugh. It was not every day that quiet, discreet Anya Eversong called hundreds of people sewer rats.

”I would like to tell them all to rot, believe me.” Sylvanas tried to keep her voice down. Anya was not her enemy, she had to hear her out and she had to face every hurting, stinging and very true argument that Anya presented. She owed that to both Anya and Proudmoore. ”But if I did so I would paint a target on our mage’s back and the malcontents would come after her rather than me. The witch that bewitched the Dark Lady and whatever. You know this too, don’t you, Anya?”

”We have nothing to offer her but mistrust and fear for what she could do. We are no better than the Scarlet Crusade.” Anya spat contemptuously.

Sylvanas whirled on her.

”Are you, seriously, saying that she would have been better off with the likes we faced in Hearthglen? Is that what we have become, Anya?”

The dark ranger did not snap back at her, but she stared back with a deep indifference of some kind, as if what they had been almost shouting about was not the true issue.

”She wouldn’t have been hurt like that if it hadn’t been for those cursed shackles.” Anya said quietly, her words heavy with sadness. ”They beat her! They whipped her bloody and she will have scars for the rest of her life for it! Because of us, Sylvanas!” Anya’s voice was rising and her face was almost twisted by pure anguish. ”We should have protected her, and instead we sent her out alone, and defenceless!”

Sylvanas took a step closer, and held there for just a moment. Anya did not push her back, nor did she turn her eyes away. Sylvanas took another careful step and in the next moment her arms were around Anya and they were not arguing anymore.

”Yes, we sent her out alone. I did. The responsibility is mine, Anya. Mine.” Sylvanas whispered into her dark hair. ”I was wrong to do so, and I deeply regret it. I should have told her no, and to sit down and be quiet instead of going out to make all the idiots of Lordaeron stop killing each other.”

She felt Anya laugh sadly and miserably in her arms at that.

”I was wrong, and I hate what it did to our mage. I gambled with her life and her health and I lost, and nearly lost completely.” Sylvanas slowly ran her fingers through Anya’s hair. ”And I fear losing again. Therefore, tell me honestly if I am making a mistake. You are my best and wisest ranger. Am I wrong? Is there a better way that I am missing?”

Anya slumped against her, cold and stiff and still.

”I want to go sailing. I want to sail back with her to Theramoore, where she can be safe.” Anya mumbled. ”We were happier when we were at sea.”

”I beg to differ. I watched her with Kitala in her lap in her new room that you had made for her. And so did you.” Sylvanas gently turned Anya’s head up to meet her eyes. ”Does she want to go home?”

”I…do not know. She hasn’t said it. But why would she?”

”Yes, it isn’t like Lady Proudmoore has the nerve to speak her mind about the things she feels strongly about…” Sylvanas pretended to nod thoughtfully, and at last Anya was smiling a little, little bit. ”She would never, say, yell at two ranger squadrons to get the hell out of her dungeon when she had important negotiations to conduct.”
Anya straightened herself and looked with clear and honest red eyes at Sylvanas, calm but still looking terribly lost.

”The storms are coming.” Sylvanas continued. ”The Banshee’s Wail is a good vessel but I would not risk the journey until the spring. We can not send her home safely on our own.”

”I know.” Anya said quietly. ”I know she has to stay with us. And I want her to.”

”Anya. Is there another way that I fail to see?”

”No. There isn’t. But I can’t bear the thought of keeping her chained up again like that! I can’t!”

”That is why I am entrusting you with the key, one out of two, of which I will keep the second on me at all times. Because I know you will not abuse this power.”

Sylvanas reached inside her chest armour and pulled out a thin, elegant chain of some silvery metal on which a pendant of the same material hung, inlaid with a single slightly pointy blue gem. She put it into Anya’s hand.

”The chain is enchanted for durability, same as the cuffs. Try to pull it apart.”

Anya took hold with both her hands and pulled. It had no visible effect. She nodded with approval and held up the pendant for closer inspection.

”There is a lock on each cuff that requires the key to open or close. You will be the only one that can fetter or free our mage.”

”Are they…going to be finished soon?” Anya asked reluctantly and with palpable distaste.

”I think so, but I am not very familiar with the process of enchanting. Our own mages weren’t too forthcoming about their trade secrets after all. We will do it outside her room, in plain view of Lady Proudmoore, and I will ask if she would help advice our casters. There will be no mistakes this time.”

They started to walk slowly towards Sylvanas’ quarters.

”I will have to check on our meagre numbers of spellcasters but I doubt any of them have had the time to delve much into enchanting. I was thinking of asking Irizadan to assist as well, I think his knowledge could be useful even if he lost his powers.” Sylvanas continued.

”So we are going to try to keep the continents best mage captured with a handful of novice mages and a spellbreaker who can no longer break spells?”
Sylvanas smiled lopsided, and shrugged a little. Anya made an undeniable point.

”We will have to make do with what we have and hope that I can persuade our mage to cooperate.”

”We are some jailers, who rely on our own prisoner to keep her captive…” Anya commented ironically.

”Jailers are overrated...” Sylvanas said dismissively. It was true. Ever since that time she met a despairing Kitala behind bars and begun to unravel the tangle of misdeeds that none of the indifferent guards had bothered looking into despite circumstances practically screaming that something was amiss, Sylvanas hadn’t been very impressed with the profession. ”At least Lady Proudmoore loves to teach.”

”Lady Proudmoore loves to help.” Anya’s voice had a saddened sort of affection in it. ”It’s a shame Vel isn’t here if Ire will be coming. She always loved teasing him.” Anya was quiet for a moment, as if she was pondering on something. ”Do you think Lady Proudmoore could know something of Spite?”

”There’s only one way to find out, isn’t it? She did mention elves living in Theramoore on one occasion.”

Anya and Sylvanas passed the guards outside her doors and Sylvanas sat down by her cluttered desk.

”Once Lady Proudmoore has her new cuffs and we’re sure she won’t appear as a threat, perhaps you could show her around the city? If she could meet some of our people at a time instead of a rabid mob they wouldn’t dare to be so uncivil.” Sylvanas asked a little hesitantly.

”And we’ll set her free if she can win enough Forsaken over?”

”I believe our mage can safely be said to have the majority of the rangers on her side, and perhaps the respect of the guard too after they saw her standing up to the Scarlets like she did.” Sylvanas smirked. ”Two down, the rest of the population to go?”

Anya had remained standing in the middle of the small room, looking around with a hint of disapproval that Sylvanas had grown quite familiar with.

”You should take Lady Proudmoore for a walk, Dark Lady. And don’t you dare go into hiding in your office, you are going to come visiting a lot more or I will bring her straight into your sorry bedroom and that will be embarrassing. Honestly, this place is like a broom closet.”

”I bow to your expertise.” Sylvanas tried to keep her smirk but deep down she felt strangely uncomfortable, which didn’t escape Anya for a moment.

”Do you really want the queens suite to look like the hole it is in front of our guests?” Anya cast a meaning glance around the room.

”Do you have suggestions?” Sylvanas asked a little dryly.

”Oh, you have no idea, Dark Lady…”

[Maltacus]

Chapter XX. Glue and Gallantry

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Anya could not decide if she was happier because Lady Proudmoore’s Fel marks on her arms were almost gone or because she had nearly stopped coughing. It was a tie. But Anya would take no chances and kept a watchful eye on the pile of Clea and Kitala and the mage nestled between them next to a pile of books. Lady Proudmoore had a bad habit of talking too much about everything that interested her until her throat became dry and she would start coughing again.

Books of magical theory were one such dangerous subject. Lady Proudmoore was filled with pointy comments and criticism of the shortcomings of ’stuffy old codgers with the educational talent of a tree stump’ and Anya quickly understood that she was more than well acquainted with those sections of the Lordaeron library. She had firmly told Clea to put each of them back while Kitala and Lyana scouted the place for healthier reads. Lyana nearly matched Lady Proudmoore in her complaining of the lack of titles of useful herbalism (meagre) and spiders (none!) but Kitala, with the aid of Clea whose shoulders she had to climb to reach the top shelves, scoured the place for each and every even remotely adventurous or romantic novel they could lay their hands on.

And as it turned out, the Lordaeron court had had an appetite for those.

Lady Proudmoore had resumed her lessons with Clea and Kitala in speaking Common in a more modern way and the rangers had turned the lessons on the mage by translating the most instructive, meaning of course the most swooning and silly, phrases into Thalassian and discussing what the corresponding elven idioms and expressions would be.

”…but people don’t talk like that!” Lady Proudmoore bubbled with lovely laughter at Kitala’s very immersive impression of a presumably love-struck Lordaeronian maiden. ”I mean, not normally, every day.”

”Maybe you should. Then maybe your city guards wouldn’t be so grouchy.” Clea suggested impishly.

”Tides… ’Oh, brave Sir Knight, please open thy gates for me as I quiver with anticipation of feeling the heart-warming embrace of thy fair city’… I think I would have company-wide resignations within the week.” Lady Proudmoore shook her head. ”Honestly, I’m starting to have second thoughts about whether this dialogue is a good influence on your Common.”

Lady Proudmoore was far too inexperienced, Anya realised. She had no idea of the trap she was walking into. And sure enough, Kitala was about to spring it for her.

”Well then, Lady Proudmoore…” she started all too sweetly ”…why don’t you instruct us innocent novices and show us how it’s really done?”

”Wha…what?”

Kitala looked expectantly at her and Lady Proudmoore started to blush terribly. Even her little ears were reddening.

”Ehm…I’m not exactly an expert…but I suppose… You could say something nice about how the other person looks, or what that person means to you and how he or she makes you feel and…stuff…”

Clea was smiling broadly on Lady Proudmoore’s right and Kitala was just about smelling blood on her left.

”Come on, Lady Proudmoore, surely you could offer better instruction than that? You who can teach anything so well?”

”Well, I guess…most people would call someone they liked a lot something cute, like ’sweetheart’ or ’honey’ or something like that… Actually, now that I think of it, there are quite a few affectionate terms that seem to refer to something you would like to eat.”

”So you humans are each other’s little morsels?” Kitala smiled.

”Maybe…but I haven’t heard of anyone putting it quite in that way.”

”How do you put it, Lady Proudmoore? If there is someone you wish to devour?”

Anya noticed that Lady Proudmoore looked down, and there was something else than her usual flushed self when she felt embarrassed about something in the good kind of way. If Anya didn’t know better she would say that the question had made the mage unhappy, but she couldn’t think of why.

”There…it’s been a while since…” Lady Proudmoore mumbled, and didn’t seem to find the words. ”That is…I haven’t…thought about…”

Kitala’s eyes widened.

”Not ever? No one?” She had shifted in the blink of an eye from sugary teasing to concern that sounded completely genuine.

”Not since…” Lady Proudmoore’s jaw was working and she looked nearly distressed, trapped, with her gaze darting this way or that. Anya frowned and then something suddenly fell into place inside her. She didn’t know all the details about the connection between Theramoore and Lady Proudmoore and Lordaeron but she had been present enough times when Sylvanas and Areiel discussed things that the mage’s agitation was starting to make an awful amount of sense.

Kitala, you idiot!

”Lady Proudmoore is probably too busy running her city to have time for anything else.” Anya blurted out. It was the first thing she came to think of. ”And we all know how quickly that can eat up all your spare time.”

Clea and Kitala snickered and Anya realised that she had unintentionally made a pun on the discussed culinary terms of affection by describing it as eating up all the time of a city-running lady. Which she had personally seen more than enough of firsthand, for that matter.

Now she had to try to steer the conversation towards something that would not agitate Lady Proudmoore so.

”In Thalassian most expressions of affection are centred on light in some way. I suppose we are a bit sun-crazy…” Anya rambled on.

”As opposed to the night elves who are a bit moon-crazy, then...” Lady Proudmoore looked like she tried to suppress a smile, like someone saying something inappropriate she really wasn’t supposed to say. ”Complete lunatics…”

”As strange as it sounds you likely know more about our distant cousins than most elves do, so we will have to defer to your expertise. You are becoming quite the authority on elves, Lady Proudmoore.” Anya was happy to be able to sneak in a compliment, Lady Proudmoore always seemed to light up a little from those. ”Your Thalassian warms the ear too. Clea has taught you well.”

Anya had spoken from her heart, she thought that Lady Proudmoore had talked very beautifully, even lovingly, when she had caressed Kitala’s ears and Anya and Lyana and Sylvanas had entered the room that first evening in Lordaeron. Too late she realised that she had probably managed to make a reference to the stroking of those ears too, which had most likely been warmed by the mage’s touch. Anya almost groaned inside, she was supposed to not be taking after a certain pun-loving ranger captain.
And what if Lady Proudmoore thought Anya was making fun of her? She didn’t, did she? No, it didn’t look like that. Lady Proudmoore still looked down but she wasn’t tense anymore, her face didn’t have the painful, taut hardness about it. Now she was blushing in the good way again, the way that made her face soft and made her smile, and made her eyes shine.

Clea was looking at Anya in a thoughtful, and maybe a bit amused, way. Anya had the distinct feeling that Clea at least had not missed the unintended hint about her ranging partner’s ears. Anya was very fond of Clea and the tall ranger was considerate and protective of her friends, but right now her gaze felt just a little too piercing, somehow.

”Yes, you have been a very good student.” Clea encouraged the mage. ”What about you, Anya? If you were going to call Lady Proudmoore something nice – Common or Thalassian - what would it be?”

The question was off-handed enough, and quite in line with their conversation about courtesy and courting in Common and Thalassian. It shouldn’t be anything strange with using the person closest to Anya in the room as an example.

It shouldn’t render Anya speechless and stunned.

Lady Proudmoore was looking up now, and looking at Anya.

She was so kind.

She made Sylvanas smile.

She had risked her life for them all.

She was mesmerizingly lovely.

She was the best thing that had happened to them since they died.

”Glue…”

For the fleetest of moments everything was so quiet that Anya swore she could hear Lady Proudmoore’s heartbeat. Then the dungeon exploded with laughter. Clea chuckled quietly as always but fell over shaking. Kitala stared between the two and giggled uncontrollably and Lyana, who had been sitting in a corner trying to read aloud to Kitthix, snorted and tittered so much that the spider jumped down and scurried for some calmer part of the room. Anya wanted to dissolve into smoke and disappear through the cracks between the stones in the wall. How could she possibly have…

But Lady Proudmoore didn’t laugh. She looked confused, but stared intensely at Anya with those bright blue eyes that seemed to see right through her and almost imperceptibly tilted her head as if pondering something.

Before Anya could think more about a suitably expedient way to remove herself from the face of Azeroth she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

It was Sylvanas. She waved to the rangers to remain at ease while she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. She was carrying something small in a simple burlap sack. It clattered slightly and Anya had a sinking feeling about what it was.

Lady Proudmoore, curious as always, would of course not leave it alone.

”Did you bring a present, Dark Lady?”

In answer Sylvanas reached inside and pulled out loops of thin silvery chain, slightly thicker than the one holding the small blue gem now hanging around Anya’s neck but just as finely made.

”What’s that, a skipping rope? Or what, a leash?” the mage asked jokingly as she was gathering the full length of it.

Anya could see Sylvana’s palpable discomfort as she pulled out the rest of the cuffs. Anya found it welcome in a way to see how Sylvanas clearly did not enjoy the situation.
”Bracelets? Oh, I see…” It was easy to hear how Lady Proudmoore’s mood plummeted. Sylvanas handed them over to her and the mage turned them and the chain over in her hands and eyed them thoughtfully, without a word. She did so for a long time, or at least it felt like that to Anya. The other rangers had risen too and Anya could see them from the corner of her eye, watching Lady Proudmoore attentively but respectfully keeping their distance.

”The general population will be scared of…” Sylvanas begun, sounding hesitant and unusualy unsure of herself.

”I saw what the Scarlets are like up close.” Lady Proudmoore interrupted her. ”I saw what the living do to you. I can not blame anyone for being afraid.” she said heavily. The mage cast another glance at the cuffs and asked, with a much smaller voice. ”There aren’t any Fel magics in these, are there?”

She sounded genuinely afraid.

”No, there is not. You have my word on that, Lady Proudmoore. I have had them crafted under my direct supervision and they are not yet enchanted in any way except for durability.”

Lady Proudmoore looked at the cuffs again, and then suddenly hurled them hard into the stone wall where they hit with a loud clang. Sylvanas raised an eyebrow and nodded with approval at the direct approach to practical testing. Lady Proudmoore picked the cuffs up again and inspected the non-existant damage.

”They are actually beautiful in a way.” She brushed her thumb over one of the blue gems that were the focus of the locking mechanisms.

”They might match your eyes somewhat, perhaps.” Sylvanas said.

”Are my eyes like this?” Lady Proudmoore asked, a little softer.

”Of course not.” Sylvanas said dismissively and huffed with derision. ”The gems are lacklustre at best. Now, I have brought some people with me that comprise my arcane expertise, which is admittedly far smaller than I would like. The Scourge was very thorough in combing the land for anyone with magical talent and press them into their service as new necromancers. The spellcasters we have are comparably new to their trade. But first, I would like you to meet Irizadan, who you might say is something of a specialist when it comes to these matters.”

The slight tone of amusement in Sylvanas’ voice had caught the attention of Lady Proudmoore and she followed Sylvanas close behind when she opened the door.

In the corridor waited a Forsaken elven spellbreaker in full panoply, standing at attention straight as a post and looking, Anya had to admit despite knowing him well, quite imposing.

”Greetings. Lady Proudmoore, I presume?” he introduced himself after a confirming nod from Sylvanas.

”Good evening. To whom do I owe the honour?” Lady Proudmoore answered very politely.

”My name is Irizadan. I am…”

”A hunter of naughty mages throughout the land!” Kitala interrupted him gleefully.

”The wicked witches’ worst nightmare!” Clea whispered spookily.

”A dreaded catcher of disobedient apprentices far and wide!” Lyana added.

”…a spellbreaker, as you hear. Unfortunately a former one. I lost those powers with undeath it would seem. Or death, technically speaking.” Irizadan explained to Lady Proudmoore. He still had a kind voice but it had a perpetual sadness about it, like the way Clea’s was a constant whisper. ”So, you have been putting up with these morons ever since arriving in the Undercity?” he added dryly while shifting his blade into the shield hand and removing his helmet with the other to hold it under the arm in the prescribed ceremonial position of guards ”at rest”.

”Actually ever since setting sail from Theramoore over three weeks ago.” Lady Proudmoore smiled at him.

”Condolences.”

”Hey!” Kitala reached forward through the rather cramped doorway to ruffle his long hair. It was the colour of ash nowadays but still had a bit of it’s shine left.

”Dark Lady, can I leave the merchandise somewhere?” Irizadan indicated his shield and blade.

Sylvanas pointed towards the wall and Irizadan set his arms and helmet to rest againt it. Anya had always thought he looked much better without them.

”Now, let me introduce mages Edwin and Zaerini – the city’s self-styled ’Dread Wizard’ and ’Hellkitten’ respectively – and Wilhelmina, one of our three resident wicked witches.”

The three Forsaken mages could not redden, but they shifted and grimaced slightly when Sylvanas displayed her detailed knowledge of their apparently less than official nicknames. They were all rather young and must have been apprentices at most, Anya guessed, although Lady Proudmoore was after all quite young too and still astonishing. All were human Forsaken although Zaerini looked like she had some elven blood in her with slightly sharper features and long ears. They were not as well preserved as the rangers or Irizadan but still far from the most unfortunate Forsaken. Edwin stood out particularly in dark red robes, and Anya wondered if he wouldn’t fit better as the ’Red Wizard’ instead.

The three managed some half-hearted greetings, obviously uncomfortable in the Dark Lady’s and unknown human mage’s presence.

”Can we work here?” Sylvanas indicated the space outside the doorway.

”It’s alright, enchanting doesn’t require much space in fact. Dark Lady.” Wilhelmina added nervously.

”Bring the brazier and lamps here then, and a bedroll for Lady Proudmoore.” Sylvanas ordered the rangers.

”Could you please bring the other ones too?” Lady Proudmoore asked. ”Can’t we all sit down instead?”

Soon enough they had arranged a strange triangle of bedrolls and lamps around a small open space between everyone, with the brazier placed as close as possible to Lady Proudmoore’s bedroll.

”Is this how Dalaran mages usually design their workspaces?” Sylvanas asked a little ironically.

”We usually stay further away from magically warded dungeons.” Lady Proudmoore smiled.

The three Forsaken mages huddled a little on their side of the corridor but they still peeked inside Lady Proudmoore’s room with interest. Ever-present curiosity seemed to be a widespread trait in that profession.

”Attention!” Sylvanas called out and everyone reflexively stood straighter, even the unmilitaristic mages. ”Your task is to enchant these cuffs to prevent the wearer from using magic, similar to these dungeons. They are to have no, and I repeat NO, other effects on the wearer whatsoever. Irizadan possesses substantial experience with handling anti-magical items and will advice if possible. Lady Proudmoore, would you agree to lend assistance as well?”

”Of course.” Lady Proudmoore answered, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for an archmage to craft the means of her own imprisonment. She had remained standing just inside the doorway and limits of the magical warding, but when she moved to take a step forward the three other mages unconsciously drew back. They seemed extremely nervous.

Sylvanas looked calculatingly at them.

”Clea, take a seat.” she ordered and pointed to the bedroll by the brazier. ”Proudmoore next.” Lady Proudmoore obediently sat down in Clea’s lap with the ranger’s arms around her waist, looking as if she found it all a little embarrassing but also a little funny. ”Kitala next.” Kitala definitely tried hard to keep her face straight when she dutifully layed down with her head in Lady Proudmoore’s lap and could evidently not resist curling up comfortably against the other two with her eyes closed and Lady Prudmoore habitually scratching and stroking her ear, probably without really thinking about it. It was very sweet in Anya’s opinion.

Sylvanas then sat down herself next to them with her legs tucked in underneath her so she came to sit slightly above the notably relaxed mage. She placed a hand on Lady Proudmoore’s neck so she could demonstratively turn the mage’s head towards her.

”I am confident we can keep our archmage in line…” Sylvanas purred and Anya saw how Lady Proudmoore shuddered visibly. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten the rest of the room. Not that Anya could blame her.

”Get to work.” Sylvanas ordered their bewildered mages.

”Uh, alright…” Edwin begun. ”We, ah, found some books on enchantment and other things and we have been taking notes…” He presented a bundle of what looked like slightly messy notes along with some of the dangerous books on magical theory, those that made Lady Proudmoore use her throat too much.

Just as Anya feared, Lady Proudmoore frowned when she saw the choice of literature and she straightened her posture as if preparing to give a blistering lecture about their many deficiencies.

”Lady Proudmoore, please wait!” Anya implored, making the mage turn to her and look almost as questioning as the Forsaken mages. ”Remember that your throat is still sore and you will start coughing if you talk too much. If you are going to berate those books again you should at least have something warm to drink. Could you please wait until I have made you some tea first?”

Lady Proudmoore blinked, and then she started to laugh, bright and warm and merrily.

”Anya, you are too kind. Yes please, some tea would be good.”

”Are they really that bad?” Zaerini wondered.

”Uh, for real?” Edwin asked.

The mages sounded a bit sheepish. Lady Proudmoore turned her full attention to them.

”What did you think about them?”

”Well…” Wilhelmina begun. ”…it’s not always so easy to understand maybe…like this paragraph…” She opened one of the books on magical theory and brought out a scroll filled with scribbles (and a small drawing of a cat that she quickly tried to cover). ”…about the alignment of force versus direction of force…”

”Don’t get me started, that one is so needlessly complex, I know, right?” Lady Proudmoore agreed fervently and Anya decided it was high time for some tea. ”No, the thing is…”
Anya hurried as much as she could but she was barely back with the tea before Lady Proudmoore had burst into a tirade of spirited explanations sprinkled with encouragements and probing questions that soon had her audience hooked and eagerly participating in deciphering the musings of the academic tree stumps. She even forgot to drink her tea and Anya had to remind her several times. Anya lacked the context to follow their lines of reasoning but she could appreciate the difference between the books’ dry and sparse prose and Lady Proudmoore’s care and attention to her audience’s actual learning. It became quite relaxing to lean back and listen to, but eventually Irizadan decided to intervene.

”As much as I endorse the exchange of knowledge and ideas among the learned, if I may offer a tad more practical piece of advice it is to keep it simple. No needless complexities.”

Anya was almost biting her lip, but now she felt that she had to ask just one little thing.

”Could you maybe add just one little enchantment?”

”What would that be?” Wilhelmina asked.

”Can the cuffs make the wearer a little warmer? They are metal after all and winter is coming.”

”That would be useful.” Lyana agreed. ”The skin is thin by the forearms and the warmth can spread with the blood.”

”Irizadan, what is your opinion?” Sylvanas asked.

The spellbreaker shrugged. ”It’s not the most complex enchantment as far as I know but the principle remains, every little bit helps…”

”Dark Lady, please?” Anya pleaded, and the other rangers joined in.

”She doesn’t have very good winter clothes yet.”

”After what the other shackles did to her she deserves all the comfort we can offer.”

”It’s such a small thing, isn’t it?”

”Very well.” Sylvanas agreed. ”Show me what you can do, my mages!” she commanded.

They finally got to work. Lady Proudmoore guided, explained, directed and occasionally channelled her own power to help but when the finished cuffs ceased gleaming with the magic that had infused them it had been mostly a Forsaken feat of enchantment and the three younger mages looked very pleased.

”Good work!” Lady Proudmoore made an overly theatrical gesture and four mana buns appeared before her. She took one and savoured the taste. ”Try them. You may not be able to eat in the usual way but you can use the refreshment.”

”Test the cuffs. Every one of you.” Sylvanas ordered the mages once they were finished.

Anya slowly picked them up and proceeded to lock them around the forearms of every one of the Forsaken mages. She did not enjoy it.

”They seem to work. The warmth feels nice actually.” Edwin commented.

”Is she really gonna go without her mana like this?” Zaerini asked spontaneously after being the last to try them on.

”For now.” Sylvanas said neutrally. ”Lady Proudmoore, do you feel comfortable trying the cuffs on?”

”Can I conjure another mana bun?” Lady Proudmoore asked.

Sylvanas looked at her with amusement. ”Just one, then. What is it with mages and those?”

”They aw schimply awffome…” the mage mumbled with her mouth full as she held out her hands.

Anya stood still as a statue but on the inside she was trembling, or worse, more like a fistful of leaves that were being blown about by the autumn wind.
”It’s alright.” Lady Proudmoore almost whispered to her, and caught Anya’s gaze. There was no fear in her eyes now.

Anya knelt and slowly, as carefully as she could, locked the bracelets around her forearms. They did indeed feel more like bracelets or bracers than cuffs or shackles.

Lady Proudmoore smiled encouragingly at her. ”They’ll warm me at least, so I don’t get sick so easily.”

”The first sign that…” Anya ordered, stern and shaky at the same time.

”…I’ll tell you.” Lady Proudmoore nodded. ”And you and Lyana will want to check my arms every evening.”

Anya looked at the cuffs. At least Lady Proudmoore had called them bracelets. And a skipping rope. And at least they would warm her, which Anya could not.

”Good work.” Sylvanas said with approval. ”Lady Proudmoore, thank you for your instruction.”

”You really can teach anything.” Kitala mumbled, without a trace of irony.

”Can’t we, like, stay a bit longer?” Wilhelmina asked. ”You teach much better than those boring books.”

”No, you can’t, because Lady Proudmoore is still not fully recovered and needs to rest her throat.” Anya said firmly before anyone else.

The mage nodded apologetically to the other ones. ”I wouldn’t dare to argue with the dark rangers. It will have to be some other time.”

”Well, good evening then, Dark Lady, and good evening, ah, Lady Proudmoore, Madam…” The Forsaken mages made some stumbling bows and left for the stairs up.
”Irizadan? If there is something you would like to ask now might be the time.” Sylvanas turned towards the spellbreaker.

”Lady Proudmoore, do you know anything about an elven ranger named Spitzamina, sometimes called Spite. Dark brown hair, brown eyes, a personality resembling that lot.” Irizadan indicated the dark rangers. ”Except… I do not know what became of her. If she…”

Anya could see that Lady Proudmoore understood.

”I don’t know of anyone with that name, unfortunately. But she sounds like a very nice person. If I ever find out anything…”

Irizadan nodded. ”Thank you, Lady Proudmoore, and good evening.” He gathered his arms and helmet and marched off, fairly quiet for someone not being a ranger.

Lyana, Clea and Kitala carried the furniture back into the room while Lady Proudmoore tested her range of motion while wearing the bracelets. The chain was long enough that she could stretch her arms wide to the sides and the links were sufficiently small that they were unlikely to get stuck on something or pinch her. So long as they found a way to keep the mage from tripping on the long chain – it was in fact probably halfway towards being able to serve as a skipping rope, Anya reckoned – the bracelets shouldn’t have to hinder her very much.

The other rangers were finished and presented themselves before the mage like a row of chambermaids.

”Your room is ready, Lady Proudmoore, Madam.” Kitala reported with obviously false subservience and curtsied deeply while pretending to lift up her non-existent skirts.

Lady Proudmoore waved them off and shook her head tiredly.

When they were inside Anya immediately unlocked the bracelets and hung them on one of the tent pegs in the wall.

”I don’t feel anything bad.” Lady Proudmoore said immediately when Anya turned to her. ”In fact, I think I have a little warmth left over from them.”

She reached out, and cupped her hand over Anya’s cheek.

She was really warm.

***

The dark ranger Cyndia Hawkspear turned from looking out behind them.

”Of all the badly planned escapes I ever hear of this has to be the stupidest, and that says a lot coming from someone who has seen ranger plan-making for centuries.”
Westley had taken her advice, and ran blindly away from the nightmarish cellar and the body of Wroth, until his wits caught up with him and he realised that getting any closer to the monastery gates was extremely ill-advised at this time. When he turned around he met the critical look and crossed arms of the dark ranger, who had apparently kept up with him without difficulty and without sound.

”There is no way out, is that it?” She didn’t sound very surprised.

”There are…” Westley panted ”…armoured guards by the gate and it is the only way out.”

”No way out, no way down, so…up?” Cyndia nodded towards a staircase leading to the ground floor.

”Up?” The idea seemed counter-intuitive to Westley but he couldn’t honestly think of any better option and the last thing he wished right now was to remain in the lower areas. ”That leads to the barracks and such. Unless we turn to the chapel.”

”The chapel. Is it guarded?”

”Not really, only during sermons usually.”

”Then let’s go praying.”

They scurried through the mercifully empty hallway and the high doors to the chapel were unlocked. The place had always felt huge, in Westley’s opinion, being not only the largest room by far in the monastery but also built to give the impression of vast size with high vaults and pillars and similar windows with even some stained glass motifs at their top. Eight rows of benches competed for the space before the pedestal where one of the Scarlet brothers would speak out against forbidden actions or thoughts – always against but never for something, Westley remembered – and call upon the blessing of the Light.

Cyndia quickly scanned the room, looking for things Westley didn’t know. She paid particular attention to the tall windows.

”Are there any clothes or some kind of cloth here?”

”I don’t know…maybe…” Westley said unsure.

”Well, hurry up and find out, stableboy. They’re coming.”

Without another word Cyndia started to pile the long benches against the doors, handling them seemingly without difficulty despite her lean elven frame. Westley hadn’t heard any sound of someone approaching, and now certainly couldn’t hear anything over the noise of benches being moved and piled high, but he had a feeling that Cyndia had.
There was nothing left on the benches nor on the pedestal. Westley looked behind but found only a small desk and a cupboard with candles and some other ceremonial items. He could hear noise from behind the door now but couldn’t tell what it meant or how many were there. For a moment he considered the large tapestries on the wall but he couldn’t see what they would be useful for. Then, finally, his eyes fixed on a dot of red in the darkest corner. It was a robe, and someone must have put it there by mistake or to avoid having to look for the forgetful owner of the garment. Westley hurried over and grabbed it. When he turned around his breath hitched.

There were candles lit in two large chandeliers standing on either side of the door to overawe the visitors that entered the chapel. Cyndia had just grabbed one of them and made for the pedestal. She casually turned it over and shook and kicked out the thick wax candles on the carpet and tore out the few books and papers in the cupboard. Lastly she grabbed the small chair next to the desk and smashed it to pieces against the floor with a sharp crack. Westley looked on in horror as she swept it all into a pile over the still burning candles and finally pulled down the desk on top of the pyre. The flames were already starting to eat through the closest papers.

Cyndia looked demandingly at him for a moment but her expression changed to one of slightly more approval when she spotted the red robes in his hand and he hurriedly handed it over. Cyndia swiftly dove into them and then, almost casually as she hurried for the door, tossed the empty but still heavy chandelier at one of the windows where it crashed in a cascade of expensive glass.

Cyndia kicked the other chandelier down on top of the pile of benches. Westley could hear banging and shouting outside at this point.

”Are you coming or not?” Cyndia barked irritably, and headed for the window without sparing him a second look. Westley hurried after.

The window was well more than twice his height above the courtyard outside. He swallowed.

Cyndia kicked and smashed away some larger glass pieces remaining around the hole and then took a step forward while grabbing Westley firmly by his arm. Her hand was cold as…as the room they were in, probably, neither more nor less. With a startled shout Westley found himself dragged out into nothing and then the courtyard’s gravel and mud was rushing up to meet him before he even had time to get truly terrified.

Westley hit the ground with one foot first and tripped so that he fell hard on his left side and banged the entire leg and arm against it. He couldn’t say if the fall had knocked the air out of him or if Cyndia falling partly on top of him had done that, or if he was just too shocked to breathe. Then the pain hit him and he bit down hard to not cry out. It was more than enough to make his eyes water.

Cyndia was already on her feet, checking that the hooded robe still covered her as good as possible before offering him her hand as he struggled to get back on his feet and hobbled along next to her. The next moment he felt how Cyndia suddenly leant down against him with her head turned towards the ground and walking unsteadily as if she was the one more injured. Equally sudden, Westley became aware of half a dozen of Scarlet soldiers hurrying in from the street outside, the lower ranking brothers that made up the most of the garrison.

”Fire!” Westley shouted unusually hoarsely before they had time to think of anything else, such as checking who he supported on his shoulder. ”The chapel is on fire! Hurry!”

The six squires reflexively looked up but before they had decided whether to believe the call or not two more brothers stormed inside the courtyard, higher ranking members judging from their finer mail and plate. Westley recognized them vaguely as captains of the guard that sometimes presided over the lower – and more unworthy – servants and the peasants that had been seeking refuge in the monastery.

”You must help them! The undead monster has broken loose, it is killing everyone inside!”

That on the other hand got the whole lot running.

”I’m flattered.” Cyndia whispered as they hurried as best they could for the street, only to come almost face to face with two more squires who looked out of breath as if they had been running from some remote post.

”The undead is loose and is raising the dead, hurry into the chapel!” Westley cried out.

”Don’t overdo it.” Cyndia hissed at him as the squires passed. But when Westley glanced quickly over his shoulder he could see a reddish light and smoke coming out of the broken window and anyone with a working pair of eyes could tell what was currently happening.

Passing out of the courtyard felt as the greatest relief, and both Westley and Cyndia lengthened their stride when they passed under the looming shadows of the various buildings outside the monastery proper.

Unfortunately, they hurried too much.

”Westley! That ye?”

Rodoh.

Westley cursed their rotten luck and hurried even further, almost being the one dragging Cyndia along now despite his hurting foot and leg. He doubted he would be able to run if it came to that, however.

”Hey! Where’re ye goin’? What’s gon’ on? Why’re ye out ’ere?” Rodoh was gaining on them.

”There’s a fire in the chapel, you had better go help!” Westley did his best to sound like he was in a hurry and with something important to do.

”Why’re ye out here?”

”No time, hurry to the chapel now and help!” Westley tried.

”Why’re ye out here? Why’re ye out here, Westley? Eh?”

Rodoh didn’t seem to have heard him, or rather he didn’t seem to take in what Westley was telling him. Sometimes, Rodoh only had room for one thought at the time and would not drop the stupid question or the point he was fixating on no matter what.

”Get lost, Rodoh!”

”Why’re ye out here? Why’re ye out here, Westley!” Rodoh was getting whiney, his voice having taken on the almost nasal character it did when he just wouldn’t shut his trap.

”Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” Cyndia growled.

Her movements became a blur when she whirled around and threw herself at Rodoh’s throat and slammed him into the closest wall. Westley had just turned around when he could see a faint red gleam about Cyndia’s eyes and how Rodoh squirmed and twitched in her grip and beat at the arm that was slowly crushing his windpipe. There was a faint red glow about the ranger’s hand too, like the light of a lantern shining through cupped hands and making the fingers glow red around the edges. Rodoh wheezed and his efforts became fainter and fainter until he dropped limp onto the street.

”It was a nice try.” Cyndia shrugged at Westley. ”Well, where are we going?”

”The stables, just two corners ahead, near the town gate.” Westley rasped, still wondering if he had just seen the elf coldly drain the life of Rodoh like it was nothing but an irritating trifle. He half felt like it was all a dream, a dream so filled with horrors that one could only become numbed to them after a while.

The stable was unguarded but the gates were not. Four Scarlet brothers, and Westley could spot the silhouette of heavy armour on one of them. Getting out of the monastery with the chapel on fire behind them had been one thing, but this…

”You have horses ready or something?” Cyndia whispered.

”Two. I’m not leaving without them.”

The dark ranger was quiet for a short while.

”Stay inside with them and keep them calm or you will most likely be dead before morning.” The next moment Cyndia had disappeared out of his sight.

Westley hurried inside, to the blissful touch of soft noses against his cheeks and kind, warm eyes looking at him. He leaned back against a post and absently patted both the horses while he allowed himself to breathe out calmly, or pretended to at least.

Then a terrible, unworldly scream cut through the night air, piercing his very bones. It was unlike any sound he had ever heard or could have imagined hearing.

Nick and Vicky both panicked, hooves kicking against the stalls and neighing with wild and wide eyes. Westley jumped out of the way and back again to hold and comfort and quiet them both as best he could while the echo, or the memory, of the scream faded inside his own head.

The next moment Cyndia appeared in the doorway.

She was armed, carrying a longsword in her hand with a smaller blade at her belt, and there were bloodstains here and there on her.

”I had to have a little discussion with your guards. I have negotiated our safe passage out. Now get going, stableboy.”

Westley felt his horses shudder at the smell of blood but they followed him none the less when he led them out and with him close by Cyndia was allowed to mount up. The horse shoes clicked and clattered against the cobblestones when they rounded the next corner and came upon the gate. In the shadows on their side Westley could see four unmoving bodies heaped against the wall.

”Negotiations were rough.” Cyndia commented, and they rode out into the night.

Westley followed Cyndia’s gaze back towards the smoking Scarlet Monastery, illuminated by a fiery glow that could have been torches and lanterns or the chapel actually burning.

”So, you’ve betrayed whatever filthy vows they’ve made you swear and damned yourself for eternity by consorting with one of the monstrous living dead. What were you planning to do now?” Cyndia asked rather indifferently.

”What were you planning to do if you could break free?” Westley asked her back.

”Go south through the land of the living, then west through the land of the dead.”

”The dead…do they…eat?”

Cyndia laughed coldly. ”Not unless you count what I did up there to your friend. But I guess I’m feeling pretty full at the moment so I suppose you needn’t worry.”

”He was not my friend.” Westley mumbled.

”Good then. So, want to chance it with the likes of me or tangle with the Scourge?”

”It looks like we’re coming with you.”

”To the Undercity it is then.” Cyndia looked him over briefly. ”Were you intending to eat something on the road, by the way, or are you counting on joining our ranks by the time we arrive?”

In response Westley opened his saddlebag and picked out a piece of bread to chew slowly, and maybe just a little demonstratively, on.

”Well, well, you did plan this after all, stableboy.” Cyndia grinned.

[Maltacus]

Chapter XXI. Scarves

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Sylvanas should rightfully be tense, or guarded, or at least a little bit wary as she climbed down one of the entrance tunnels at the lead of her squadron and her mage. This was it, they would finally present Proudmoore before the entire city, or as much of it as they had time for and the mage desired, and come face to face with all the accumulated resentment and judgement directed at the living, the Alliance and Proudmoore personally. Countless things could go wrong and the results of the day would be unpredictable at best.

But by the Sunwell, it still felt so damn liberating, like she was actually taking time off and doing something for her own sake for no other reason than that it was pleasant.

What an utterly strange and alien concept for the Banshee Queen of Lordaeron. And strictly speaking there were some very practical and rational reasons for forcing the Forsaken and Proudmoore to get used to each other, but even that could not change the feeling that for a few hours Sylvanas could pretend that she was not a beleaguered queen ruling a realm teetering on the edge of ruin, who could not do well enough no matter how many hours she sunk into it day and night.

She had to admit that she had actually been unsure about what to say now that they were here. Sylvanas was no tour guide, and drowning a foreign dignitary in rapt reports about their defensive capabilities first thing in the morning would not precisely inspire confidence in her people. But she found that her conversation with Proudmoore flowed naturally, or at least on it’s own.

And Proudmoore, of course, asked about everything.

From architectural challenges to city-planning and mercantile logistics, it was as if the mage wanted to know everything about everything that was going on in the Undercity from the moment she stepped inside it. It was incessant, it was nosy, and it was utterly adorable. For several minutes they remained standing just inside the entrance because her mage had been fascinated with how such vast quantities of earth and rock could be excavated efficiently using such narrow paths in and out. She was so earnest in her curiosity that whatever nervousness Sylvanas had felt before evaporated and she almost felt like smiling for no sensible reason when they finally could proceed further inside.

Guards saluted as they went by and the civilian Forsaken they met gave the small party a wide berth. Sylvanas normally had no wish to see people grovelling on their knees or plastering themselves across the side walls – she was an elven ranger for Belore’s sake, not a drunk ogre who needed the entire street cleared in order not to trip over her own feet – but right now it was all she could hope for, and she held Proudmoore’s chain in a firm grip and tried to look her strictest when they met someone. Most likely Anya holding her mage’s hand and Lyana, Clea and Kitala chattering about every impoverished shop in the destitute city that had suddenly become immensely important to visit was taking some of the edge off that display.

Their first planned stop was the leatherworkers’ shop. Proudmoore intended to keep her promise to captain Bonecarver and at least look into the possibility of producing high quality gloves to protect their hands at work. Unfortunately the tanners themselves were less than enthusiastic when Sylvanas let Proudmoore explain her idea.

”And who gave you the right to come and bloody request anything?”

”Fancy yerself some kind of expert on the undead or somethin’?”

They scowled at the mage with dislike written plainly across their faces.

Proudmoore said nothing in return, which Sylvanas appreciated a lot. It was useless to argue with someone lacking interest in the arguments and this was her thing to deal with.

”Has death suddenly robbed us of any sense of decency?” Sylvanas hissed threateningly. ”For unless my ears deceive me, Lady Proudmoore asked you a rather clear and relevant question and you have yet to give a sensible answer.”

In response one of the pair, a badly withered broad woman, spat a gob of something disgusting at the floor just in front of Proudmoore’s boots.

”’Lady Proudmoore’” she parroted mockingly. ”can go and…”

Sylvanas reached out in a dark red blur and effortlessly lifted the aggravating tanner by her throat. It was not harmful as such for a person without the need for air, but the instinctive discomfort and fear of being grabbed in that way lingered in most sentient undead.

”Lady Proudmoore can do what, exactly?” Sylvanas whispered icily. She could feel more than see how her rangers spread out almost unnoticeably and pushed their cloaks back from their blades. They knew that icy tone.

The tanner knew or guessed enough.

”She can go and find another shop. We don’t serve the living here.” she grunted surly.

Sylvanas dropped her unceremoniously on the ground, or floor if that was the better term in an underground city.

”When I make it public knowledge that you refuse to even discuss helping our sailors I predict that you will serve no one at all. Rangers, this was a waste of time. We will find another supplier…”

”Wait!” the other tanner interrupted. Sylvanas assumed they were a couple, Lordaeron seemed to have had a deep tradition of family businesses. ”We will help our brothers and sisters of course, Dark Lady. But there’s a severe shortage of everything, we haven’t the materials to work with.”

Sylvanas nodded. She did not doubt that for a second and frankly it was almost a surprise that so much of their industry could produce anything at all currently.

”If you are provided with the materials, is it doable?”

”Certainly, but for the best results we should need the intended wearer here to be fitted. Hides are easier to come across but quality lining is something we currently don’t have access to.”

”I will arrange for their visit once we have acquired what we need then. Until later.” Sylvanas turned on the spot without offering any further goodbye and pulled Proudmoore along with her.

They kept walking in silence for a while. The mage doubtlessly tried her best to appear unaffected but Sylvanas saw through the forced composure, and it bothered her without cease to see Proudmoore gloomy and quiet.

Sylvanas suddenly stopped.

”You did well.” She turned to her mage, and tried to think of some way to set things right. ”People like them must be taught that they insult me when they insult you, Lady Proudmoore. They will jump at any excuse to single you out and brand you the enemy. I need to be the one that responds to that. You know this.”

Her mage nodded unhappily.

”And I meant what I said earlier. My patience with idiocy is limited and I think I used up the greater part of it back there. I will not be as lenient with the next person foolish enough to follow their example.”

At last Proudmoore’s mouth twitched a little.

”Was that you being lenient, Dark Lady?”

”When someone is rude towards my mage that is very lenient.” Sylvanas whispered intensely. Now that she thought of it, part of her itched to double back and tear something important apart. ”There are wiser and worthier arbiters of your worth than a half-rotted pair of maggot-brained fools.”

The corners of Proudmoore’s mouth were creeping a little bit further up.

”So long as you are near me I think those two will probably hide away in the future.” she said in a small but mischievous voice.

Sylvanas bared her teeth ferally at her mage but smiled all the same.

”Let’s play a game.” Kitala suggested absently all of a sudden.

”What game?”

” It’s called ’Lady Proudmoore can’ and you are suppose to complete the sentence. The tanner started it. I’m next. Lady Proudmoore can…”

”…navigate the seas and command a navy in her nightgown.”

”Lady Proudmoore can…”

”…out-teach every magister in the history of Quel’Thalas.”

”Lady Proudmoore can…”

”…swim like an otter.”

Proudmoore pushed Kitala playfully in the shoulder, but she was blushing and smiling all the same while Kitala smirked.

”Lady Proudmoore can…”

”…make everything feel better.” Anya whispered. Even Sylvanas might not have caught it if she hadn’t been so close by.

”Lady Proudmoore can choose our next place to visit. Is there something in particular you would like to see?” Sylvanas interrupted the flood of encouragements.

”It’s hard to know, I haven’t been in any underground cities of the undead before so I don’t really know what to expect.” Proudmoore said humbly enough but with just a tint of cheekiness.

”Furniture.” Anya said with determination. ”We should get you a proper bed before it gets colder. You can’t sleep on a stone floor all winter.”

”Oh, but you don’t need to…” the mage began but Sylvanas pulled her closer.

”I wouldn’t argue with my squadron’s lieutenant.” Sylvanas whispered into her ear. She didn’t sound really threatening of course, but she noticed how Proudmoore shivered all the same. Now that the mage was healthy again, or almost apart from the occasional cough, Sylvanas had to take the opportunity to unsettle her a little when she had the opportunity.

They proceeded to the artisans’ corners – it was hardly worthy of grand terms like streets or squares – which currently resembled a flea market mixed with a carpenters’ shop.

The Undercity did not have much of fine carpentry as such. What they did have was a varied selection of spare materials and leftover bits of the slowly rotting remains of Lordaeron around them and a not insignificant portion of ingenuity to use or repurpose whatever they could scavenge. It made for extremely efficient use of resources, and also for very peculiar styles of mismatching furnishing.

Proudmoore loved it.

She found their clumsy chairs and cupboards funny and the improvised lamps and torch holders made of welded odd iron parts intriguing. She interrogated Sylvanas about who bought the items and for what, until the gruff vendor thawed enough to relieve his queen and give the mage a brief overview of how the Forsaken carpentry business was doing.

Sylvanas commanded a substantial part of the Forsaken’s resources directly, but she had neither the inclination nor the desire to dictate every single detail of their lives…or undeaths, more precisely. That extended to economical matters and without any better idea she had encouraged the continued exchange of Lordaeronian coins as means of payment. Perhaps it was all a farce, but in that case it was a convenient farce. With prices being what they were the Banshee Queen would have no trouble acquiring whatever she wished with the still vast coffers waiting in the lower walls of the keep, but if possible she would avoid sweeping away the value of her people’s currency with a deluge of royal gold. Thus the Banshee Queen conscientiously only allowed herself what could most aptly be described as pocket money.

While the rangers and Proudmoore scattered among the cramped shelves and piles of half-finished produce Anya grilled master Woodsworth (Sylvanas had her private amused doubts about whether that was his actual family name) about their supply of bed frames and lack thereof. It occurred to Sylvanas that so far Proudmoore had handled seeing the withered state of the people they had met surprisingly well. Any elf mage Sylvanas knew of would have scrounged up her nose at the very least. Either the time spent with captain Bonecarver’s crew had inured her mage or she was so bent on making a good impression that she ignored whatever discomfort it brought her.

They left Woodsworth & Woodhouse in far better spirits than the tanners and when Clea teasingly mentioned that they had a magical quarter of sorts the question of where to proceed next was settled before it was raised.

If the carpenters’ area was cluttered, Akara’s Arcane Accessories was cramped.

As far as Sylvanas could discern the shop specialised in minor enchanted objects – trinkets that none the less could prove quite useful – and ingredients for enchantment. In addition the shop sported a very dwindling stock of paper, ink and quills. Sylvanas almost found herself looking for the second hand mage staff and robe that would have completed the ensemble.

A familiar face also greeted them at the entrance.

”Lady Proudmoore! Dark Lady.” the mage Wilhelmina exclaimed until she remembered to be nervous again in the company of Sylvanas. Wilhelmina was joined by two more Forsaken mages, the other wicked witches Wilma and Wanja.

”We’re gonna try learning enchantment all of us…” Wilhelmina explained eagerly. ”…and make money from selling enchanted items in Akara’s shop! Akara has offered us a discount on ingredients, look!” She displayed a small bag stuffed with the various necessities of the enchanters’ craft.

”Just, ah, remember Irizadan’s advice and stick to the basics at first.” Proudmoore managed, clearly taken aback by the unbridled enthusiasm. ”We wouldn’t want any magic rings turning their wearers into ghouls or anything…”

”We were thinking of warm rings actually, or warmth-enchanted mittens or socks maybe. It seemed like such a nice thing to do when your rangers requested it, Lady Proudmoore, Madam.”

The three wicked witches excused themselves, and Sylvanas reeled her own mage in and raised a questioning eyebrow.

”Your rangers is it now, Lady Proudmoore, Madam?” Sylvanas’ tone was dry.

”Don’t be ridiculous.” Proudmoore laughed. ”She just misspoke in her haste. Besides, I don’t think anything could separate your rangers from their Dark Lady.”

”I have been less convinced recently…it would seem a certain archmage have some of them tightly wound around her little finger.”

”Then maybe you need to keep a closer watch on that archmage personally, Dark Lady.”

”Fair point.” Sylvanas smirked, but then turned more serious. ”I am…dissatisfied with not being able to visit you more since our return from Hearthglen.”

”No, think nothing of it, you must have had heaps of things to do.” her mage quickly started to make excuses for her. ”I mean, it’s still not too long since you returned from the sea voyage either.”

”Be that as it may I would have liked to keep you company when you were recovering. It is a dreary thing to be wounded and sick.”

”Yes it is. But Lyana told me that you came by to check on me when I was asleep.” When Sylvanas nodded in confirmation Proudmoore looked happier. ”And I think that was very thoughtful, even if I was only snoring at you at the time.”

”Sadly you were coughing mostly, and your breathing sounded impeded. I almost had the urge to wipe your nose.” Sylvanas struggled somewhat to keep a straight face. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Anya showing something to Akara and fishing for some coin in her pockets. It would be a welcome surprise if that was the case. Anya was normally completely useless at caring for herself.

Proudmoore glared at Sylvanas with feigned suspicion.

”Maybe it was just as well then that you were so busy. I had quite enough of elfy motherliness from Areiel and Lyana.” she huffed.

Sylvanas decided that it was probably not the right time and place to go into detail about how adorable her mage looked when she did that, or how many nights Sylvanas had spent rocking her back to sleep in her hammock on the Banshee’s Wail.

”Do I snore?” Proudmoore suddenly asked. It was so unexpected and she sounded so genuinely concerned that Sylvanas had to laugh.

”Only a little. You tend to do that at first when you have just fallen asleep and then you breathe easier. You also toss and grasp at things more early in the night, but whenever you have bad dreams they seem to come later.”

The mage sighed and closed her eyes in clear embarrassment.

”It is actually rather practical.” Sylvanas mused. ”That way I know when you are sleeping and can continue working without keeping you awake. Actually…” she grinned at her blushing mage ”…now that I think of it I have become something of an expert on your sleeping habits at sea, Lady Proudmoore. But fear not, I shan’t tell anyone.”

”By now your whole squadron is probably well aware of everything I do in my sleep anyway.”

”You know that you can ask to be left alone whenever you prefer to, right?” Sylvanas said in a much more serious tone. ”My rangers are ordered to guard you, not crowd your living quarters.”

”No, no, I enjoy having them close. I think I actually have an easier time sleeping when someone is keeping watch over me.”

”As did we.” Sylvanas tried to force down a stream of ill-timed and irrelevant thoughts of things that no longer should matter. And last of all things that she should not burden Proudmoore with today. She decided to change the subject. ”Would you like to buy something? I just realised that you, ah, do not have any coin with you, but in the interest of diplomatic courtesy I am prepared to cover your expenses.”

Proudmoore smiled at her and rubbed her hands very obviously.

”Why, how very kind of you, Dark Lady.” She nearly matched Velonara’s sweetest voice.

”Within some limits of course. Perhaps a loan. At a very reasonable rate.” Sylvanas smiled back at her and indicated the shelves of arcane accessories. Proudmoore dove into them in earnest and rummaged through ingredients and all sorts of objects, but what she finally dug up with delight was something as unlikely as a pair of wool-lined slippers in surprisingly good condition.

”Could I have these, please, Dark Lady?” Sylvanas wondered if her mage had any idea of how she was practically beaming. At the moment Sylvanas found that she would gladly spend all the gold in her vaults to see that again. ”My boots aren’t so comfortable to wear all day.”

She was right, and Sylvanas cursed herself for not thinking of looking into that earlier. Oversized sailor boots might suffice for standing on a deck but having to walk around in them for hours was a different matter.

”Do they fit?” As her mage tried them on and found that they luckily did Sylvanas took a closer look at her feet and gauged their size. She would have to ask Areiel if they had any spare ranger boots or something of the sort that Proudmoore could use.

Akara was shrouded in a deep purple hooded cloak together with a blue dress but she peered at Proudmoore with very gleaming yellow eyes from under it.

”So, you are the one I have to thank for the recent spike in interest in enchantment, is it?” she said, not particularly friendly but not hostile either. Sylvanas paid for the slippers while her mage nodded and predictably downplayed her own role in inspiring the Forsaken mages.

Proudmoore tied the laces together and hung the slippers over her belt, practical enough, but when they were on their way out she had forgotten to keep track of the chain between her bracelets and it tangled in the quills of one shelf, and the next moment the mage was standing among a dozen scattered quills and the vase they had been standing in.

Akara was with them in a blink while Proudmoore had just as quickly knelt to gather the quills, burning red and mumbling apologies. The shop owner was muttering irritably and frowning with disapproval at the mess. A few ink bottles had been caught up in the accident and two of them had spilled. It was probably tantamount to sacrilege amongst the likes of Proudmoore to cause such damage to writing materials. Akara inspected the smeared bottles.

”Why does she have to be dressed up in those impractical things, poor little thing…”

Sylvanas had been about to bend down to help her mage but Akara’s tone made her pause. The shop owner had been speaking to herself and probably not with the intention of anyone else hearing, but elven ears remained elven ears in Sylvanas’ case. And despite her obvious irritation at having her no doubt hard to replace wares ruined, she had displayed sympathy for the mage who had to be in such hindersome fetters.

The other rangers had been alerted by the commotion and Sylvanas caught Anya’s eye. Maybe they were on to something here.

Instead of bending down to help, Sylvanas took up a silver and offered it with seeming indifference to Akara as compensation. She passed the astonished shop owner and with one hand grabbed hold of the chain and yanked Proudmoore up and along with her while taking hold of the mage’s neck with the other in what she reckoned must look like a much harder and harsher way than it actually was.

Proudmoore yelped in surprise at the Dark Lady’s sudden change in demeanour and Sylvanas straightened to her full length and said with the strictest voice she was capable of, the one that had once been reserved for the worst pranks of Anya and Velonara.

”How many times have I told you to keep track of your chains, little mage?”



***



Jaina nervously kept close to Sylvanas as the Dark Lady strode purposefully along the street leading from the magical district. She couldn’t figure what had come over Sylvanas, unless of course she was simply that irritated with Jaina for making a mess of Akara’s quills. But Sylvanas hadn’t berated her for it either and she wasn’t one to keep quiet if she thought someone had done something wrong. It didn’t really make sense.

Could it be that she disapproved of the way Jaina had acted towards the Forsaken, like when she had met captain Bones the first time? Jaina hadn’t fled now and she had tried to be as civil as possible and keep an open mind about things. And Sylvanas had complimented her behaviour earlier and not hinted at any wish for Jaina to conduct herself differently, so that didn’t make sense either.

Perhaps it was just how the Dark Lady, or more correctly the Banshee Queen since as far as Jaina could tell Sylvanas was Dark Lady to her rangers mostly, had to act in public areas with many eyes on her. The Dark Lady could tease and joke with her rangers and other close confidants like Irizadan maybe, but the Banshee Queen had to be strict and stern to maintain the respect for her office. Jaina had no idea if the theory was correct but the way Sylvanas had been commanding and reprimanding her before the angry crowd when they arrived fit that picture. On the other hand Sylvanas had been worried about Jaina’s safety then and not at all pleased by her maybe just a little risky frost magic misbehaviour. How was it that Sylvanas had put it?

If you want to act the disobedient pet like you just did I will have to act my part, and pray that people think more about me reprimanding you than about you making a fool of that guardsman...

That had to be it. Jaina didn’t know exactly what was going on but now she was sure that it must be something along the same line. And since Sylvanas hadn’t given her any specific instructions Jaina would just have to act the part as best she could to help Sylvanas as much as possible.

So Jaina would have to be her, ehm…obedient pet then, she guessed.

So long as Sylvanas didn’t tell her to fetch sticks or hunt mice at least. She couldn’t help but giggle at the sudden (and extremely embarrassing) mental image of Sylvanas going for a walk with Jaina in a real collar and leash. Not that the long chain was terribly far off.

”Something funny?” Sylvanas asked out of the corner of her mouth. She had winded most of the chain around her hand so that she was very obviously leading Jaina along.

”Nothing in p…particular, Dark Lady.” Jaina stammered. Just very generally embarrassing thoughts. No particular embarrassing detail stood out before the others.

Past the next corner Jaina had no need to pretend anything. So far they had passed Forsaken on their way to something or otherwise busy with other tasks, but now a real crowd was blocking the street where it passed next to the unpleasant canals that Jaina had learnt crisscrossed the city. And the crowd did not look friendly.

Sylvanas made some sort of quick sign with her other hand and the rangers spread out around Jaina, who edged a little closer to Sylvanas. She had suddenly become very conscious of her lack of mana. And armour. And martial training in general.

Sylvanas did not slow down. She seemed to barely notice the people standing in their way until they were right before them.

”What is this?” Sylvanas voiced the question more as an order to answer. ”Unless there is a good reason for this commotion, ladies and gentlemen, you are blocking the street and will have to disperse.”

Sylvanas looked absolutely fearless, like the dark looks she received could not be of lesser consequence and the throng of angry faces may as well be those of a flock of (possibly polymorphed) sheep. Her supreme confidence was…fascinating in fact. Jaina couldn’t help but be caught up in it.

There was muffled talking and muttering but no one who addressed Sylvanas directly.

”Speak up, or make way!” Sylvanas commanded curtly.

Some shuffled back from her a little but then one lanky, unnervingly skeletal, ghoul in the tatters of a once very proper coat finally heeded her command.

”She.” He, at least Jaina guessed it was or maybe had been a male Forsaken, pointed accusingly at Jaina. ”What is she doing here?”

A choir of assenting mumbles accompanied the question.

”Lady Proudmoore of Theramoore is in my custody. What she does or does not is up to me.” Sylvanas shot an icy glare at the rude citizen.

”We don’t need the living here!”

”We don’t need their pity!”

”You claim to have no need for either yet stand here eliciting both. Disperse. Now.” Sylvanas somehow managed to appear both indifferent and intense at the same time.

”You rangers can take your bloody playthings elsewhere, ya hear!” The…prim, that was the word…ghoul looked like he almost trembled with indignation. It was like the tanner woman who had somehow seemed insulted on a personal level by Jaina’s mere presence in the Undercity.

Sylvanas took a step forward.

”…My Queen.” he added grudgingly.

Jaina instinctively knew that comment would rile up Sylvanas. Open disrespect against the dark rangers was a sure way to get on her bad side. More precisely her banshee side.

Jaina tried to be as discreet as possible when she moved closer and slightly behind Sylvanas, as if she wanted to hide behind the Dark Lady, and brushed with her fingertips along Sylvanas’ upper arm. She wanted to remind Sylvanas somehow that she wasn’t alone, even though there was little Jaina could do at the moment to help.

”Ranger lieutenant Eversong?” Sylvanas asked with steel in her voice.

”Dark Lady?” Anya sounded completely unlike herself. Gone was the melody and beautiful gentleness when she spoke to Jaina or the other rangers.

”Would you care to summarize your squadrons’ duties since it’s return to Lordaeron?”

”My squadron is assigned as bodyguard of Lady Proudmoore. We are to safeguard her life and health at any cost. That obviously implies incapacitating or killing anyone who would do her harm.” Anya spoke so off-handedly that Jaina shuddered.

”And would you say that this assignment can in some way be likened to Lady Proudmoore being your ranger squadron’s ’plaything’, lieutenant?”

”Calling her that would be an insult to Lady Proudmoore’s person and to my squadron’s respect for our ward as well as the Dark Lady’s orders.” Anya remarked just as casually while drawing one of her daggers and inspecting the blade. ”An insult which I, as squadron commander, would of course feel obliged to avenge…”

Sylvanas remained silent. It was a very telling silence. Jaina was starting to see past the all-encompassing resentment of the crowd now. They were undead and had suffered through torment and horrors that defied description but they were still artisans, traders and former peasants, without military training and in truth without much experience except as the mindless and expendable thralls of the Scourge. They had already spent a too long time taking in the thinly veiled threats of someone with that.

”Unless of course the offender had merely intended to compliment the trust and respect between my squadron and our ward, and would be willing to apologize for his exceptionally poor wording.” Anya seemed to find her dagger’s condition acceptable and looked up slowly and deliberately at the shuffling and glancing Forsaken before her.

With the way the prim ghoul found his presumed comrades drifting further and further away from him Anya might as well have declaimed that he had contracted a calamitous disease that only infected the undead. Rather than taking Anya up on her offer of a more peaceful way out he turned on the spot and stumbled for his life up along a narrow tunnel to the side.

”Shall I hunt him down for you, lieutenant?” Lyana asked politely.

”We have delayed long enough for no good reason at all.” Sylvanas interrupted before Anya had time to answer. ”As for you, you have been explicitly ordered twice to clear the way and I dislike having to repeat myself!” she added to the remainders of the hostile crowd. It was enough to break any lingering remnants of boldness and Jaina sighed with relief when the last of them melted away into the side alleys and shadowy corners.

”Dark Lady?” Jaina almost whispered.

”Yes?”

”You did as you said you would. You actually sent your disgruntled mob running in terror.”

Sylvanas flashed her a predatory grin. Now Jaina was dead sure that Sylvanas was up to something, and not without good reason apparently.

Their next visit would be the apothecaries, the Royal Apothecary Society as they called themselves. Alchemy was not Jaina’s best subject but she had always had a great respect for those that could brew healing and mana potions with great skill.

She resumed her submissive act next to Sylvanas and Sylvanas remained as commanding as before. It was probably very inappropriate, but Jaina was starting to find the theatre they performed a little entertaining. It was funny to imagine what the staring onlookers must think when seeing them, even if Jaina had seen the necessity of the act demonstrated clearly. When they passed a relatively open section, perhaps what had to count as a square in the Undercity, Jaina became bold enough to pretend to wander a couple of steps in the wrong direction. Sylvanas turned sharply at her with a questioning look at first, then Jaina thought she could see a flash of understanding in the fiery eyes and a hint of a grin, before Sylvanas pulled her along with such force that Jaina almost stumbled.

”Behave yourself, little mage…” Sylvanas growled at her, but there was definitely an amused undertone that took the edge off it. Jaina couldn’t help but think of some other act of pretended mischief that she could get away with, or rather not get away with in the spectators’ eyes.

Playing the obedient pet was only funny for so long, after all.

Before Jaina had figured out something suitably disobedient they were at the apothecarium. Lyana proceeded to track down a gaunt and bent man with a greenish tint to his pale skin and introducing him as high apothecary Lyndon, and more importantly the one whose cache of supplies Lyana and Clea had raided some days earlier. Lyndon moved as if the weight of all the worlds troubles rested on his shoulders and he clearly found Lyana’s presence to be ground for great suspicion. Jaina, however, offered him her most gallant bow.

”High apothecary Lyndon, I must express my sincerest thanks for the healing potions you supplied Lyana with. They are without doubt the most welcome ones I have ever taken.”

Lyndon hummed and huffed, but peered at her with some interest.

”Hmm, they worked alright, then?”

”As well as can be asked of any healing potion.” Jaina assured him, uncomfortably aware of the fact that she hadn’t been able to see the current state of her back after the bandages had been removed. ”I must confess that alchemy isn’t my best subject and I have been wanting to rectify that for some time. If the Dark Lady allows it, would it be alright if I came by some day to study? I am sure I could assist with some of the more routine tasks at the same time.”

”So long as you keep your paws away from my stocks unless expressly permitted…” Lyndon grunted with a long glare in Lyana’s direction. ”And remember that if you come across anything written by Putress, chuck it into the nearest fireplace. The man is a simpleton. And Nicola, a total madman…” The high apothecary continued to rant about what authors Jaina would do well to avoid like the plague of undeath itself.

”You can tell he knows his stuff.” Clea whispered with feigned seriousness from behind. ”He is just as critical of books as you are.”

Jaina tried desperately to stifle a very inconvenient fit of giggling.

”You will have to curb your studious instincts for now, Lady Proudmoore.” Sylvanas cut in. ”Lyana wants us over there. Come along.”

Without waiting she yanked Jaina along with her. Lyndon was shaking his head at the sight.

”She is just as bad as her rangers…poor girl…”

Lyana had been busy raiding various shelves with ingredients, presumably with a greater degree of permission this time from their hosts, and presented a small collection intended for…

”I just thought that I should check with you before I buy them, Lady Proudmoore. I don’t know if humans require a special recipe or something like that. Is this what you use in your potions of barr…”

”Yes!” Jaina blurted out, very much wanting to skip any more detailed discussions about what or why Lyana intended to brew. ”Thank you so much for offering to make…that potion, Lyana. Very thoughtful, in fact.”

”Alright then. I can take it from here, I know how to brew it. I’ll tell you when the first batch is ready, Lady Proudmoore.”

”Yes, ah, very good…”

Fortunately for Jaina that was the end of the uncomfortable subject fo the time being. Less fortunately Sylvanas informed her that she would have to return to work for the rest of the day. Jaina had to admit that she had lost track of time while admiring all the curious things for sale in the Undercity and being accosted by disdainful undead. She also realised that she was starting to get quite hungry.

There was another entrance quite close to the apothecarium and Sylvanas followed them up to the surface where a short walk would lead back to the keep.

”I would have liked to see your quarters too.” Jaina said.

”That will have to be some other time.” Sylvanas combed out an errant tangle of hair near Jaina’s ear. ”I am obviously not proud of my people’s behaviour today, but the surface should be safe enough at least.”

”I will hardly need to fear anything so long as I have my gallant ranger lieutenant with me.” Sylvanas had let go of her chain and Jaina could reach out and snatch back Anya’s hand into her own.

”No, you won’t.”



***



The walk back to her room was uneventful, which Jaina thought was just as well. Without Sylvanas near her the events of the day were catching up with Jaina and her mood was dropping. The Undercity had been so fascinating at first but all the resentment against her hung like a gloomy cloud in the back of her head. She didn’t want to become the reason Forsaken would seek to harm one another! And least of all if it included the dark rangers.

She was sure that Anya caught on to how she felt, and Jaina would have liked to be able to explain it clearly but she didn’t trust herself to be able to put words on it in a way that would not sound ungrateful. Anya however thought otherwise.

”Is there anything we can do for you, Lady Proudmoore? You are obviously not feeling well.”

”I’m tired.” That was quite true, too. Jaina was far more winded than she would have expected and evidently not completely recovered yet. ”I don’t want people to hate me.” Jaina added and felt profoundly sad when she spoke the words. She was about to offer a flood of reservations, as it was the everyday state of things for the Forsaken to have such reactions from the rest of the world, but Anya looked at her so warningly that she kept quiet. Jaina had a distinct feeling that the dark ranger knew exactly what she was thinking.

”Can I help you cook?” Jaina suggested. Perhaps having something simple to do would take her mind off things.

”Hmm, I don’t know…” Anya pretended to scrounge up her face in deep thought. ”I’m not sure how healthy the mage cuisine is in the long run…”

”You know, I can cook other things than mana buns as a matter of fact!”

Anya scratched her chin demonstratively and eyed Jaina as if she very much doubted that. She was frowning so deeply that it was beginning to look absolutely silly.

”Stop that!” Jaina pushed her playfully in the shoulder and Anya started to grin back.

”I think we should make some nice fish soup. Lyana tells me it is your favourite.”

”Don’t you dare even think about it, lieutenant Eversong.” Jaina glared cruelly at her.

”I might settle for a stew, as a compromise. You need something warm for your throat at least, Lady Proudmoore.”

”As a side dish.”

”Deal.”

Cutting vegetables with Anya was a nice distraction. Jaina noticed that the other room which they used as a kitchen was much more like a storeroom than anything else, even if the rangers as Lyana had told didn’t have a great deal of things of their own.

After she had eaten Jaina spent the afternoon reading, that is after Anya and Lyana had finished their meticulous inspection of her forearms and finally concluded that the bracelets had had no visible adverse effect. The rangers kept close by but didn’t disturb her. They were so considerate that Jaina couldn’t imagine telling them to leave and stay in the kitchen even in the event that she should like to be left alone. It would be downright heartless.

Even reading failed to keep her interest all day and by evening Jaina was too awake to fall asleep but too tired to do anything in particular. She was resting with her head against Clea’s leg and the ranger’s hand combing slowly through her hair. She found herself missing Sylvanas something terrible. Jaina wondered what she was doing. Was she up and about inspecting and holding meetings, or was she busy with the paperwork that not even the Forsaken managed to go without? Jaina wished she could be here doing that. She would be happy to make room for a desk and a chair for the Dark Lady and hear the sound of her writing.

As if she had heard Jaina’s thoughts, Sylvanas stepped into the room the next moment.

”Proudmoore. I need your assistance.”

Jaina nearly jumped to her feet and into her boots. Sylvanas needed her, and she was preoccupied enough to omit Jaina’s title, which she rarely did except when something was very important or when she was being especially Dark Lady-like. Jaina had already forgotten that she was tired.

”Kalira and Amora are back with their squadrons.” Sylvanas explained as she led Jaina and the rangers briskly through the darkening city. ”The guard and the rest of the rangers are on their way but since yesterday they have been hearing an odd sound in the distance and spotted a strange shape in the sky on a few occasions. Kalira and Amora have gone ahead to alert the city and attempt to follow the sound. We can not identify it but thought that you might be able to.”

They were nearing the ruined city wall on the east side. Jaina noticed the eagerness of the rangers and hurried as best she could in her ill-fitting boots. She would very much like to see Kalira’s squadron and especially Velonara. She hadn’t been able to thank any of them properly after they rescued her from Hearthglen.

Both squadrons were ever as much dark rangers and Jaina missed them completely in the low light until they were almost right before her.

Sylvanas allowed only the shortest of greetings before she ordered everyone to be quiet.

At first Jaina heard only the wind in the bare trees but then there was something else. A very unexpected…whirring…sound. Like…

”Is that an engine?” Jaina whispered, incredulous.

”That is our guess too, but what design? Does the sound match any Alliance vessel or machinery you know of?” Sylvanas whispered back.

Tides. Jaina was not an expert on mechanical matters, although she found inventions of most kinds to be fascinating. She tried to remember everything she had come across during the war against the Scourge and the Burning Legion.

”It is a steady, even sound. Not clanking heavy machinery, not something that walks.” Jaina whispered her reasoning out loud. She had Sylvanas’ full attention and felt both proud and encouraged and a little nervous for it. ”The flying machines of the dwarves sounded like this but not quite…this is more even, like the rotor blades are smaller and moving faster…”

”Goblins?” Sylvanas asked slowly.

”Yes! Yes, that’s it, a goblin zeppelin sounds like this!” Jaina’s voice rose in excitement and she clutched her own mouth apologetically.

”Good work.” Sylvanas complimented her, but she didn’t sound very pleased at all.

The sound in the sky was definitely coming closer now.

”Dark Lady? Is something wrong? Did I do something wrong?” Jaina finally asked in a small voice.

”No. My apologies, Lady Proudmoore. I just have…little fondness for the goblins, that is all.” Sylvanas sat down on a stone and Jaina joined her. ”It has been said that when Arthas marched on Silvermoon he filled the waters before him with ghouls and crossed on their broken corpses, but that is a filthy lie and probably a tale spread by him to instil terror. It was goblin zeppelins that allowed the Scourge to cross our greatest river and outflank us. I made use of their services as well at times.”

Jaina sat quietly with her attention fixed on Sylvanas. It was plain obvious that this part of her past was a very sensitive thing to speak of.

”I am not a fool. I am well aware of the importance of the goblins as middle men, or middle midgets in their case…” Jaina had to stifle a giggle. ”…for the outcast nations of Azeroth. But I will not relish working with them.”

”There.” The dark ranger Alina pointed at the sky, to the southeast if Jaina remembered correctly. A bulky dark shape was coming into view over the treetops and Jaina saw that she had indeed been correct. A goblin zeppelin in all it’s oddly ingenious glory. The dark rangers silently spread out, hidden in the shadows as the vessel approached.

The engine sound was dying down and the vessel slowed down to almost stop. It was gliding towards them ominously, and something was hanging in a line from underneath it. Jaina could hear faint high-pitched laughter and the shrill voices of the crew. But it didn’t exactly make sense.

”…oooaaahaho! Hohoho!...”

”…you worry about the tower, I worry about the mini-map…”

The object hanging down was being lowered to the ground and then the line was detached and the engines came alive with a great noise.”

Sylvanas had risen from her cover beside Jaina.

”If that thing is a trap I will tear them to pieces. Wait here.” she told Jaina and hurried towards the delivered object.

A short while later Sylvanas’ voice rang out again. ”Amora!”

”What’s wrong?” the ranger lieutenant answered immediately from the shadows.

”All safe. But I think Alina should come and see this.” Sylvanas’ tone was very odd. Wondering. ”Actually, you can all come and take a look.”

Jaina rose and followed the rest as they approached. She kept herself in the background. It felt like something that was strictly the business of the rangers and if so she didn’t want to intrude. In their middle was a sturdy wooden box, opened wide.

”Can we have some light?” Sylvanas asked. Someone lit, or uncovered, a lantern and held it up over them.

Inside the box, carefully covered in cloth to keep the dust off, were woollen scarves, about two dozen of them, in every kind of dwarven square pattern of red, blue, green, grey, black and white. On top of them were a couple of letters, one thin and folded, the other one thick and sealed.

”Care to read it out, Alina?” Sylvanas asked it rather gently, which Jaina found very touching.

Alina had dark hair and resembled Anya a bit, but with longer ears. Anya mixed with a pinch of Kitala perhaps, Jaina thought and smiled at the idea of dark rangers as ingredients. Alina carefully picked up the letters and looked at them.

”This one is for you, Dark Lady.” She handed the thicker one to Sylvanas and unfolded the other and read it out loud.

”A warm caress in a world that offers too few.”

Alina’s voice faltered. She stared at the gift card as if she couldn’t believe what she had just read.

Amora had stepped up to Alina’s side.

”Now, if I didn’t know better I would say that someone who would send this kind of gift across three kingdoms and a forest crawling with Scourge really, really cared…”

Alina was looking up at her with big red eyes.

”But that is just me.” Amora shrugged. ”What do I know…”

Sylvanas gestured at the box and Alina knelt and carefully picked up a green and blue-grey-black-patterned scarf. She clutched it to her cheek reverently, and it really looked like the warm caress it was intended to be. Whoever it was that had sent the box, Jaina decided that she liked that person very much when she saw Alina’s expression. It was almost like the dark ranger trembled, but could Forsaken do that?

Jaina shivered. It was getting a bit late and she wasn’t exactly dressed for being outside at night.

”I don’t want to seem boring, but could we go somewhere inside? You’re all welcome to come to my place, it isn’t so large but it’s quite cosy for a dungeon…”

”Yes, you’ve got to come and see it!” Velonara turned to Alina and the others in Amora’s squadron. ”Anya and the rest have really turned the place over, it’s so cute!”

Amora looked between her and Sylvanas with a slightly confused expression. ”Our dungeons are ’cute’ nowadays, Dark Lady?”

”Well, you know how it is with keeping these human mages, if it isn’t mana buns it’s Thalassian poetry or fashionable lingerie...” Jaina’s face practically went up in flames at that comment despite the creeping night’s chill. ”She must be running my poor lieutenant ragged.”

Sylvanas reached out and pulled the wide-eyed Jaina closer, but gently this time.

”And I am sure Anya would have it no other way.” Sylvanas smiled at Jaina and looked just then and there so full of affection for her ranger lieutenant that Jaina couldn’t think of anything but how beautiful the Dark Lady was in all her frightening glory. Was this the Dark Lady the rangers saw in her? No wonder they would fight to the death and beyond for their queen and general.

”Well, ah, colour me intrigued then.” Amora seemed slightly baffled. ”I’m sure whatever Anya has come up with beats standing out here by far.”

Sylvanas whistled and they all fell in behind her and Jaina. It was dark enough that Jaina could hardly see the ground before her but Sylvanas guided her steps expertly around rocks and rubble.

Suddenly Sylvanas stopped and held up a hand, whereupon the other rangers immediately froze on the spot.

”Hoofbeats.” Sylvanas whispered. ”Two, I think, slow, and steps beside them.”

Jaina strained her ears but however she tried she couldn’t hear anything except the wind.

That is, until a dry voice sounded from above.

”My, my, what have we here? Three ranger lieutenants and one Dark Lady caught off guard lighting lanterns in plain sight like first-year recruits?”

Jaina looked up to see a vague dark shape perched on top of a lone column standing amidst the ruins of a larger building to their left. It almost looked like the figure was dangling it’s legs rather nonchalantly. Jaina caught a brief glimpse of a pair of red dots before whoever it was leapt down and landed gracefully on the ground before them.

Jaina recognized the pale skin and gleaming eyes of a dark ranger. She was tall and athletic, with white, wavy hair and a proud jaw and hard mouth. She had no cloak or bow, and her clothes were torn and tattered. Jaina was just about to ask Sylvanas who the woman was when a dark shape shot through their ranks beside her with a shrill, deafening scream that made Jaina instinctively clutch her ears.

”Is…is that a Wail?” Jaina gasped.

”No, it is just Velonara.” Sylvanas said quietly. She stood still, like she had been frozen on the spot.

Velonara had barrelled into the other ranger and thrown them both against the column but it was difficult to tell if she was actually wrestling or holding or hugging her.

”Why, Vel’, you almost look like you’ve seen a ghost.” the dark ranger commented with mock astonishment.

Whatever Velonara was about to answer drowned in a deluge of angry shouting matching Archmage Modera’s after half a dozen apprentices had managed to portal themselves to the bottom of the Dalaran harbour.

”Ranger Hawkspear! You are LATE! AND WITHOUT YOUR BOW! AND YOUR UNIFORM LOOKS LIKE ABSOLUTE !”

”And that is Kalira.” Sylvanas noted.

”AND HOW ING DARE YOU GO MISSING IN ACTION ON ME LIKE THAT?! THE WHOLE SQUADRON HELD A SUN-DAMNED MEMORIAL SERVICE FOR YOU! AFTER WE HAD STORMED A FORTIFIED SCARLET TOWN SEARCHING FOR YOUR SORRY ASS! AND IF YOU EVEN THINK OF DOING SOMETHING LIKE THIS AGAIN, YOUNG LADY, I’M GOING TO ING KILL YOU AND GIVE YOU DOUBLE MAINTENANCE SHIFTS BEYOND ETERNITY!”

If it had been difficult to tell with Velonara, there was no room for misinterpretation when Kalira had caught the newcomer in a doubtlessly bone-crushing hug.

”Ouch, Kalira, I kind of needed those ears you know…and I could do with my ribs too as a matter of fact…lieutenant…” she gasped.

”And that…” Sylvanas whispered hoarsely. ”…is Cyndia Hawkspear.”

When Kalira finally released her, Cyndia staggered a little and took in the ring of wide-eyed Forsaken elves surrounding her. She was looking a little out of breath, illogical as it may be for an undead. Her eyes landed on Jaina and she tilted her head.

”And here I was thinking myself unique…”

Jaina didn’t quite understand what she meant by that and didn’t really know what to say, but she tried to be as polite as she could.

”Ehm, good evening Cyndia Hawkspear. My name is Jaina Proudmoore. From Theramoore, in Kalimdor. I’m happy to see you alive – I mean unde…not dead! I know that this may sound a little strange but we were all on our way to my dungeon – which is actually quite inhabitable – and I would be happy to invite you there too. If you would like.”

Cyndia stared in such disbelief at Jaina that she might as well have suggested joining her for a tea party on the far side of the moon together with the Lich King.

Then she started to howl with laughter.

”Where…did you find this one, Dark Lady?” she managed when her fits of roaring hilarity abated. ”I like her, she’s hilarious.”

She took a closer look at Jaina.

”Mine isn’t as funny, but he came with a pair of really neat-looking horsies. Quite the package deal I’d say. Pretty promising at handling Scarlet torturers too but don’t tell him I said that.”

Cyndia whistled sharply.

”Westley! Come on over here, stableboy!”

[Maltacus]

Chapter XXII. Dreams and Deathguard

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

It had been some time since Sylvanas had used the actual throne in the Lordaeron keep, more specifically not since arriving with Proudmoore on her first day in the city. Or rather her first day in the city as it was now, Sylvanas corrected herself, since Proudmoore had spent much more time here when she was younger. Curious, how she was sitting down with her mage beside her on one of the stone steps just like last time. Before them were three squadrons’ worth of dark rangers seated closely together and talking each others ears off. They had nothing to eat and drink, and neither festive clothes nor decorations, but it felt more like a celebration than any other moment since they lived.

They had gone inside without delay after the initial greetings and put the two horses in the square outside the keep. Those were probably the first of their living kind to use that spot in over a year. Sylvanas had sent Lenara to fetch Areiel and a certain item, and inform her of what had happened. The evening had certainly not turned out as expected, Sylvanas thought dryly, with goblin zeppelins delivering gifts and rangers returning left and right. And she was behind on her reports again, Belore preserve her.

Proudmoore was getting sleepy. She was stifling her yawns as best she could and politely kept her attention on the chatting elves around her but Sylvanas had after all gotten very good at reading her signs of a too late evening. She let herself imagine picking the mage up and letting her fall asleep in her own arms while holding court seated on the throne of Lordaeron, and almost laughed out. What a sight that would have been, and her rangers in general and Areiel in particular would never let her live it down.

Not that her mage would be likely to fall asleep in the middle of that kind of commotion. Proudmoore was leaning against the armrest of the throne and whether she intended to or not she made a good impression of being Sylvanas’ obedient little mage. Why stop at the rangers, Sylvanas should summon half the city to display how docile her feared living archmage could be, she thought ironically. Ironically enough to be worthy of Cyndia Hawkspear herself. Perhaps her return had infected them all with her manners, Belore have mercy…

Sylvanas ran her tongue over a fang and decided that she might as well tease her mage some, now that she wasn’t supposed to fall asleep on them. She stretched out her hand and slowly lowered her nails into the soft golden hair and ran them slowly across Proudmoore’s scalp. The mage twitched at the touch, and then shuddered and drew a deep breath.

”You’re not falling asleep on me, my little mage?” Sylvanas husked in her sultriest Thalassian.

”N-no! Of course not, Dark Lady!” Proudmoore stammered, like she was a ranger that had been caught almost sleeping on the watch.

”How good, then...” Sylvanas said slowly as she let her nails creep down Proudmoore’s nape. It was so delightful how her mage craved to be touched but seemed to lose all her composure whenever someone did just that. ”How did your talk go with young master Westley?”

”Oh, I don’t think he quite…got my meaning about everything…” Proudmoore looked unsure.

”How so?”

”I thought I was going to be polite and asked if he wanted to look around where I live here, and when he asked where that was I explained that I live in one of the dungeons, the magically warded ones below, but that is was rather warm still with the brazier I had. And then…I mentioned how I live in a tent inside the dungeon and that it was quite nice in fact but he seemed to have trouble believing that, because he asked if I was seriously telling him that I live in a tent inside a dungeon and, well, I said that I do. And then I wanted to explain about the bracelets and how they are to prevent me from casting spells because your people are so worried about that, but I guess he hasn’t been dealing a lot with magical items – understandable – because when I hinted about how overly suspicious people are about us mages he just nodded but he looked really sceptical…”

Sylvanas couldn’t help it. She bent double and fell apart in quiet laughter.

Belore, her mage was just so priceless at times.

”Cyndia Hawkspear has never been fond of the Undercity’s caverns at all and I will just assume that both she and Westley has had their fill of cellars of any kind for some time.”

”Oh. Of course. And, Tides, I invited her to come down here first thing I said…” Proudmoore groaned while Sylvanas chuckled.

”Don’t worry yourself over Cyndia’s opinion of that, she has a rather weird sense of humour as you noticed.”

”Nothing like the rest of you, of course.” Proudmoore bit her lip and glanced up at Sylvanas, who could honestly not say for sure if she was acting or was just too tired to recognize how adorable it made her look.

”Of course not.” Sylvanas bared her fangs at her mage. She looked over the room. The objects of their conversation were currently outside, Westley to check on his horses and Cyndia to check on him, probably. She had been formulating a plan for them, hasty though it may be, during the evening but she found that she felt like sharing her thoughts with Proudmoore. ”I would like your advice on what to do with master Westley, if you feel up to it?”

Proudmoore straightened up and nodded eagerly. Sylvanas should scratch her chin some time.

”To start with, I see no possible way that he can be quartered in the Undercity with any degree of safety. Would you agree?”

”Ah, you know your people best of course, Dark Lady, but a lot of them weren’t really very friendly to me or any living, so no, I wouldn’t count on it.”

”And you deserved none of that loathsome filth from them, is that crystal clear? The next alternative would be the keep or some place in the surface part of the city. It would still be just outside the Undercity and with the exception of the keep it is a very exposed position. Adding to that is that the grounds around us are nearly lifeless as you have seen in parts so there would be no grazing to be found for the horses.”

”No, that wouldn’t really solve anything.” Proudmoore nodded. ”But shouldn’t that be the first question? Is there anywhere in Lordaeron with fresh grass? I recall you mentioning something about that when we were at sea and I asked about that when my fish had gone bad.” She winced visibly at the memory.

”I also seem to owe you that dinner that you elicited from me at the time –”

”After you had suggested that I try the famous Andorhal grain so well known for infecting people with the plague of undeath, which is not at all an example of any sort of weird humour of course.”

”Don’t interrupt, Lady Proudmoore.” Sylvanas grinned at her. ”But you are right. It so happens that the western parts of my small realm are the least ravaged by the Scourge and their blight. It used to be less densely populated as you may be very familiar with, and as far as we know it is a wilder and more forested part of the kingdom with less Scourge activity as well. Our westernmost outpost is the village of Brill and we could use more eyes out there. It would at the same time put master Westley out of reach of my more rabid subjects. If the Scourge should come knocking on his door it will be in his best interests to ride and warn us. Ghouls make little distinction between man and horse.”

”That sounds like you have already thought it out, Dark Lady. Did you really need my opinion of it?”

”Do you think he would be amenable?”

”So long as you don’t mention anything about Lordaeron’s famous grain I think you have a chance.” Proudmoore said cheekily. ”But you could of course ask him yourself.” The mage pointed at the entrance where Cyndia and Westley had stepped inside, together with Areiel who had apparently just arrived to welcome Cyndia home in the same manner as Kalira, if profoundly quieter.

”For the tenth time, I need my ribs…everyone’s trying to crush you to pulp when you come home these days…” Cyndia whined.

”I have something I need to show Cyndia. Do you want to borrow my throne in the meantime?” Sylvanas asked innocently.

”Yeah, that would ease the doubts of everybody in the city, no doubt…” Proudmoore rolled her eyes and leaned back against the armrest again.

Sylvanas navigated the paths between clustered dark rangers across the floor to reach Cyndia.

”Dark Lady, I need to requisition a spiky set of orc plate armour I think.” Cyndia greeted her. ”Everyone has transformed into constricting sea serpents in my absence.”

Sylvanas smiled predatorily and held her arms out wide.

”Once is enough! My rib cage strongly disagrees with any further mushiness tonight.”

”I…wanted to show something.” Sylvanas held out her hand to receive the roll of rangers in service from Areiel. She opened it and found Cyndia’s name, easily after having done that many times. ”I...” Sylvanas was suddenly at loss for how to continue.

”Oh, right…” It seemed like Cyndia had just as much difficulty finding something to say as she looked over the list of names, many struck through.

”Well, I…I never could bring myself to… I took it out several times, but…”

”So, eh… I’m still formally in service. Darn it, no chance of that golden retirement bonus we all dream of, then…” Cyndia tried to joke.

”Still stuck with us, I’m afraid.” Sylvanas nodded. ”But, what would you prefer to do now?”

”I guess I’d like to just catch up with my squad a bit, we…we should talk some things over…”

”Agreed. I was also thinking that with the land around the capital blighted and currently in the hands of the Scourge the best chance for master Westley’s horses is to our west, beyond Brill. And we are limited by our insufficient intelligence from those parts, so I was thinking that your squadron could escort him to some suitable farmstead in the vicinity and reconnoitre the surroundings. If there are Scourge nearby you fall back to Brill and take it from there. And that should give you the time you need to talk things through.”

”Why…thanks, Dark Lady. I’d like that. You know I’m not the greatest appreciator of underground architecture and stuff. When do we set out?”

”Tonight. I would prefer if you could pass through the city unseen and unmolested.”

Sylvanas left it to Cyndia to go over the details with this Westley, whom she would have to trust Cyndia’s assessment of for the time being. She had a curious mage to tend to.

As Sylvanas expected Proudmoore had watched her exchange with Areiel and Cyndia with unceasing attention. Sylvanas explained about the duty roll and noticed at the same time that her mage’s eyes were redder than usual. Perhaps she really needed her rest now.

”Have you really been sitting with that list for all these days, Dark Lady? That’s so terrible.”

”I got to save my ink in the end. What’s wrong with your eyes?”

”N-nothing. I was only thinking of Velonara, and the rest, and that they had even held a funeral for Cyndia in her absence and now she’s back with them, and then I must have gotten something in my eyes. Some dust probably. You really ought to sweep your floors better, Your Majesty. It’s really terribly dusty.”

”I will have to get to that.” Proudmoore really looked tired now and Sylvanas felt a pang of guilt for not having spent more time with her mage, who showed such care for her dark rangers. ”It would seem that I am at your disposal, Lady Proudmoore. What would you like to do for the rest of the evening?”

In return, Proudmoore yawned worthy of a full-grown lynx.

”Sorry. I think I’d like to go to bed actually, but do you think you could sit with me for a while, Dark Lady? I’ve missed having you close by ever since we came ashore, in fact. Must have gotten used to it, I guess.” Proudmoore hesitated, and looked around a little bit owlish with her tired eyes. ”And we’d better not tell Areiel or she’s just going to say something about my age. As far as she knows, we are on our way to discuss a future trade agreement.” the mage whispered.

”Not a word.” Sylvanas nodded.

They were however intercepted and ambushed by her incorrigible ranger captain before they were halfway across the room.

”Oh, it’s her bedtime?” Areiel asked Sylvanas before Proudmoore had a chance to say anything.

”I am sworn to secrecy.” Sylvanas replied without her face betraying anything.

”Nightie-night!” Areiel chirped after them while Proudmoore muttered something that was interrupted by another monstrous yawn.

They walked side by side and Sylvanas held up the chain mostly so that her mage wouldn’t trip on it. When they were inside Proudmoore’s room she looked reflexively for Anya for a moment before Sylvanas showed her the other of the two keys. When Sylvanas removed one bracelet her hand touched the warmed skin underneath and Proudmoore flinched at the touch.

”My apologies, my hands are cold.” Sylvanas excused herself.

”What? No! Not at all, ah…” Proudmoore cleared her throat and Sylvanas would not press the matter when she was tired. She hung the bracelets at their place while her mage readied herself for bed. She burrowed into her blankets and curled up into a ball beneath them while Sylvanas added more firewood to the brazier.

”Tell me about Cyndia.” Proudmoore mumbled, already drowsy.

”She is rather sarcastic and has a queer sense of humour at times, as you have seen bits of. You shouldn’t let yourself be tricked by it. Cyndia is tough as nails and deeply devoted to those close to her, whatever her flippant exterior may imply. Take those things from Kalira and the antics of Velonara, and that is pretty much Cyndia Hawkspear for you. She is Velonara’s big sister at times the same way Clea is to Kitala, but they both need each other more than any of them realise. Cyndia and Velonara work well together as ranging partners because they bring out the iron inside one another. Velonara and Anya are the best of friends but they never excelled in the same way on duty…”

Proudmoore was snoring peacefully next to her. Sylvanas quieted and sat still, only listening to the sound.

She could stay a little while longer. Just a little while.

Someone was coming. The quiet steps outside, steps meant to be heard so as not to cause alarm, preceded the quick glance inside from Areiel.

”Permission to enter, Dark Lady?” she whispered when seeing Proudmoore asleep.

Sylvanas waved her in.

”Aww, isn’t she precious… Don’t lose her, Sylvanas.” Areiel whispered, almost pleading. ”It so happens that I saw this distasteful stack of papers on your desk when fetching the duty roll, and decided to bring it with me in case the Dark Lady should like to brave her paperwork without the matchless comforts of her rickety chair and too low desk.” She smiled fondly at the sight of the sleeping mage.

”Thank you, Areiel.”

Areiel left and Sylvanas delved into her comparatively disinteresting reports. Soon enough another, even quieter, pair of feet tiptoed into the room. The quietest pair of them all, which would mean that Lyana, Clea and Kitala were probably nearby, or on some kind of errand.

Sylvanas had missed having Anya close at hand too.

Her ranger lieutenant took in the situation with a glance and then without a word fetched another blanket that she folded and placed behind Sylvanas’ back. Sylvanas knew she would take no refusal and only kept reading. She also knew that Anya had no interest in what she was reading, only how it would affect Sylvanas.

”Can I stay here?” Anya whispered.

”Of course.”

Anya lied down on the adjoining bedroll so that her head rested on Sylvanas’ leg. Anya lay on her back so that she was looking right up at Sylvanas.

In fact, Sylvanas could stay a little more than a while. She had all this work to do after all.



***


”Rise…”

…and shine, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina shot up from the bed like shot from a cannon, or at least she sat up in it. That was Sylvanas’ voice, and that meant she was still here! Or had returned to wish Jaina good morning. And what by the Tides was it that she had been dreaming? It was so fuzzy, like…no, she couldn’t really recall right now.

The Dark Lady smiled at her with a hint of amusement, illuminated by the pale morning light from the window and the warm glow from the still smouldering logs. Jaina stretched her arms and legs and yawned disgracefully but was too content to care. Kalira and Amora were back with all their rangers and Cyndia was back safe and sound, and the rangers had gotten their beautifully woven scarves from their mysterious friend. This was a new and promising day.

Jaina reached for her clothes and Sylvanas handed them to her before she had to leave the warmth of her nest of blankets completely. She slid into her warm new slippers, because now that she had bought them she had better make proper use of them. Jaina could hear someone making a noise from the adjoining room and movement in the corridor. It was very homey sounds, like you would hear in a very alive and very inhabited house. A castle’s dungeons weren’t much worse, not when you had a squadron of dark rangers to keep you company, in Jaina’s opinion.

”Do they fit?” Sylvanas asked.

”Yes, they’re lovely. You should get a pair too, Dark Lady!” Jaina suggested and imagined the Dark Lady with woolly slippers, and had to clench her jaws not to giggle in a very unbecoming way.

”I will admit that’s the first time someone has made that kind of suggestion to me.”

At that moment Anya and Lyana entered, carrying Jaina’s breakfast.

”What suggestion?” Anya asked curiously.

”Something rather undignified for a queen.” Sylvanas replied without hesitation. ”Some might even call it inappropriate and therefore I shan’t repeat it here. It did however involve the insistent suggestion that I slip into something more comfortable.”

Anya and Lyana looked at each other while Jaina choked when hearing Sylvanas’ words.

”No, wait a minute , I just…”

”But as I said, we will not repeat those words here and now.” Sylvanas interrupted her sternly and looked at Jaina with a mischievous and a tiny bit malicious glint in her eyes, Jaina was sure. She sighed, and gave up in favour of focusing her attention on her meal. Sylvanas did not fight fairly, Jaina had not even had her breakfast yet.

”If you feel like giving eating a try today I think Lyana can be persuaded to make you a hot bowl of fish soup, Dark Lady.” Jaina said a little petulantly. ”What about drinking by the way, do you folks need to do that?”

”We do, but not so much or so often as when we were alive. Our bodies need the fluids in order for us not to shrivel and dry out, even if we don’t eat and drink in the normal way.”

”Then I really think you should sit down and have a hearty mouthful of cold water at least.” Jaina suggested cheekily, and the dark rangers followed her suggestion. They didn’t have mugs or glasses for everyone but her guests shared a clay bowl between them to drink from. Before Jaina had finished eating Clea and Kitala had arrived to be talked into talking part of the frugal meal.

”I was going to suggest a walk around the upper half of the city for today, if you are interested, Lady Proudmoore?”

”Yes, of course…” Jaina struggled to swallow a large bite. ”…but isn’t the idea that I should meet more of your people so you can persuade them that I’m not a danger? Not that I’m complaining if I could avoid being reminded of how little people need my living efforts and opinions all day.” It came out more bitter than Jaina had intended, and she was about to apologise when Sylvanas silenced her with a stern look.

”I think we may run into one or two during the day.” she said mysteriously.

”You have something planned, Dark Lady, and don’t even think of denying it.” Jaina peered at her suspiciously.

”My subterfuge is laid bare I see.” Sylvanas flashed her a pearly sharp-toothed smile and Jaina swallowed, which had nothing to with her eating. ”My guard is due to return today and I’m opening up the city again, which will be celebrated with a parade of the deathguard and dreadguard through the streets up to the keep. I intend to oversee it and I would like to have you by my side when I do that.”

”Yes, Dark Lady.”

”I do however have one condition.” Sylvanas said, ominously enough to make Jaina blink. ”Your boots are too large for you and your slippers can not withstand the weather outside. You will need to have better footgear to be presentable.”

Jaina frowned, confused. Sylvanas was right of course, her boots were very large and very clumsy but where and how would she get any others? She didn’t even have any coin. But then she spotted the smallest twitch of Sylvanas’ mouth and followed her gaze to the corner where the boots in question used to be.

In their place stood a pair of high, shining and many times more elegant boots.

The black boots of a dark ranger.

”Why don’t you try them on?” Sylvanas suggested smoothly.

The ranger boots had two sets of bootlaces. They could be tightened to fit snugly over Jaina’s feet as well as around her calves. And they fit good.

”They’re just my size, how did you know…” Jaina begun, and then remembered who she was talking to.

”You could say that I have some small experience fitting out new rangers with the right gear.” Sylvanas smirked.

”Come out here and let us have a look at you.” Clea whispered and Jaina stepped into the ring they formed.

”Stylish.” Lyana complimented.

”Shinier than mine.” Kitala noted appreciatively. ”But you need to tuck your pants tighter inside them, that won’t do. Fold them first, by the side – here, I’ll show you…”

Kitala, and the rest of the rangers, fell upon Jaina like a flock of birds on a worm. They had soon made her ill-fitting pants look almost proper and held in place by the high shafts of her boots and Jaina felt a little militaristic from it. A small part of her almost felt like a dark ranger herself. By then it also occurred to her how they all spoke more fluently and easily now. Less formal, more relaxed, more melodic. Then Jaina realised what it was. She had been speaking Thalassian with them all without stopping ever since coming back from the walk around the city yesterday. And apparently she could get by well enough despite talking as if out of a book as Kitala and Clea had explained about earlier. Jaina was making an effort to pour more emotion into her speech, but in the company of the rangers and Sylvanas she felt like that particular emotion tended to be embarrassment more often than not.



***



Jaina kept close to Sylvanas as rank after rank of terrifying and proud deathguards paraded in front of ruined walls and under broken arches. She would try her best not to embarrass the Dark Lady in any way and resuming the antics of yesterday was out of the question here and now. Not that Jaina felt like jokin either. These were the soldiers that had actually stormed Hearthglen and carved a way for her to get out, and not all of them had returned from it either.

The streets were lined with Forsaken and Jaina couldn’t help but feel a little nervous from it. The hateful mob from yesterday was all too fresh in her mind. She hoped it wouldn’t show.

Jaina focused on the deathguard. They wore heavy armour and thick shields, most of them, and the plate and mail hid most of their features from sight when seen from the side. They marched in a long column with ranks of four each, which was more or less what the debris-strewn path allowed. What would it be like to step toe-to-toe with the Scourge like they had, knowing that the enemy had had you dancing as a puppet not a year ago and that you were powerless to prevent it? Or the Scarlets, who fought and hunted you relentlessly for what you were and not what you had done?

A calming gloved hand pressed against the back of Jaina. She had unconsciously edged closer to Sylvanas and the Dark Lady’s touch made Jaina breathe out in a way she hadn’t been aware she needed to.

”Would you like to address them later?”

”Wha…”

”Stop looking like a fish, Lady Proudmoore. You are a head of state and my personal guest, and more importantly you were in Hearthglen in person and the entire expeditionary force will know by now that you went into the enemy’s lair to negotiate on our behalf and paid for your courage with your blood. So if you have some sort of doubts of your credibility you better strike those from your mind.”

”A-alright…I’ll try to think of something…” Jaina stammered, while all the cogs of her brain started to turn over the question of what to say to an elite unit of undead infantry.

”Don’t bother with anything elaborate. Keep it short and clear.” Sylvanas commanded.

Jaina had a lot of time to think of a suitable speech, and the task actually helped to keep her mind occupied and away from thoughts of the Scarlet Crusade and the resentful Forsaken. Maybe that had even been Sylvanas’ intention. Could it have? Jaina glanced at the Dark Lady. Sylvanas was standing straight as a statue, proud and confident and commanding, steadying and frightening at the same time. She held Jaina’s silvery chains obviously looped around her hand for everyone to see but otherwise projected a calm indifference about her presence – the polar opposite of the rabid mob yesterday. Jaina couldn’t read anything from looking at her.

The dreadguard came next, almost as heavily equipped. Perhaps the deathguard bore plate and mail and the dreadguard mail and plate, Jaina supposed. It was almost midday, she noticed with a start, and her uncooperative stomach growled which produced a sideway glance from Sylvanas. And then the already very muffled crowd quieted down even further as Sylvanas took a step forward.

”Brothers and sisters! For every month after we regained our freedom we have been hunted, hounded and beaten back one step after another. That has changed! Hearthglen has fallen before us and the Scarlet Crusade has been beaten back. The Scourge…IS NEXT!”

Sylvanas’ voice had deepened and the ethereal banshee echo grown more pronounced than Jaina had ever heard except during that night when Sylvanas had rescued her from the Scarlets. Wisps of black smoke danced from the shoulders and arms and Jaina instinctively stepped closer even if she didn’t know what to do. If Sylvanas would turn into a banshee, which Jaina guessed was what she was seeing the beginning of, and Wail when Jaina could not cast…

She might as well have spoken her fears out loud the way Sylvanas turned to look at her. A flash of regret crossed the Banshee Queen’s features, and somehow Jaina was sure beyond a doubt that if they had been alone Sylvanas would have wanted to wrap her cloak around Jaina and reassure her. Instead she nudged Jaina forward.

Oh, right. Her own speech.

Jaina swallowed. Hundreds of very, very dead faces with gleaming eyes kept staring at her. Maybe thousands? How many were there?

”Deathguards, dreadguards and dark rangers!” Jaina shouted. Did every Forsaken elite unit begin with a ”d”? And Tides, she would have to make this quick or she wouldn’t have any voice left. ”You rescued me from Hearthglen when the Scarlet Crusade was beating me bloody. You did not have to but you did it anyway. You have not even asked me for anything in return. I am deeply grateful to each of you and hope I will one day be able to return the favour. Those who call you monsters, they are the real monsters!”

She didn’t have the resounding power of Sylvanas but Jaina had done her best. With her magic she could have amplified her voice to echo across the city effortlessly.

”Well now, aren’t you quite the orator, Lady Proudmoore?” Sylvanas whispered so close to Jaina’s ear that she could feel the cold breath. It sent a shiver down her spine and Jaina immediately wondered if it had showed.

”I don’t know, I couldn’t really come up with anything very…”

Jaina was interrupted when Sylvanas grabbed her by the hair, and hard, and forced her head back so she stared into the blazing eyes of the Dark Lady. And they were not pleased.

”Anything very what?” Sylvanas hissed. ”Are you saying that your words were empty and meant nothing to you? That you have just lied to the face of me and my people?”

”N-no.” Jaina breathed, wide-eyed and afraid. What had gotten into Sylvanas?

”Then if what you said was sincere -” Jaina nodded frantically. ”- explain to me why honesty and heartfelt gratitude is not good enough for any speech.”

It was like time flowed slower as Jaina stared deeper and deeper into the red pools of flame – so alike and unlike the other dark rangers’ – and the rest of the world shrunk and quieted.

”Now, I will expect you to behave better than to berate or belittle yourself over your imagined pointless and inconsequential shortcomings, is that understood?”

Jaina was vaguely aware of how she nodded again, wide-eyed and fixed in her place by the intense gaze.

”Good. I will not allow anyone to talk down to you, my little mage.” Sylvanas whispered and released her hold of Jaina’s hair. ”Not even you.”

She would quite possibly have remained entranced for a good time had she not caught sight of the most unexpected thing right then and there.

”Dark Lady!” Jaina hissed. ”Don’t turn around, but there’s a demon coming closer right behind you!”

”Let me guess: Horns and wings? Tail, cloven feet and a sneer on his face?”

Jaina looked out behind Sylvanas and could see that she was right.

”Varimathras! Come over here and introduce yourself!”

The great demon towered over Sylvanas and Jaina and the other Forsaken but the Dark Lady remained undaunted. He, at least Jaina assumed it was a he, had greyish skin and black-red wings as wel as pieces of armour of matching colour. The eyes shone with green Fel magic and Jaina wanted to take a step back. She imagined feeling the skin on her forearms prickle where it had previously been tainted by the same.

”Lady Proudmoore, meet Varimathras, one of the Nathrezim as you can see. Formerly one of the Lich King’s jailors with the other dreadlords, turned outcasts after Arthas’ return from Kalimdor, turned sides following my defeat of him and his kin in Lordaeron. Now serving as my chancellor.”

”So this is the…human.” The dreadlord spoke without much emotion yet Jaina felt one and a hundred hidden meanings behind each syllable. It was downright eerie.

”Your powers of observation do you credit.” Sylvanas drawled, and despite everything Jaina had to make an effort not to smile at the dripping sarcasm. ”Can we do anything for you, chancellor.”

It looked like Varimathras was close enough to huff, if dreadlords actually did that. Jaina had never had the opportunity to meet anyone in a social capacity.

”I have things to see to. Important things. My Queen.”

He bowed slightly to Sylvanas and strode away.

”Well, he was charming…” Jaina commented, still slightly bewildered by the surreal situation.

”Let me tell you a secret.” Sylvanas leant closer to Jaina’s ear. ”He is a dreadful chancellor.”

Jaina clamped her jaws together forcefully to stifle the flood of giggles that now threatened to esape her. This couldn’t be happening, had Sylvanas actually told an Areiel joke?

”Ah, My Queen!” This new voice was also deep, but booming in every way that Varimathras’ was not. Jaina turned to find herself facing a well-preserved Forsaken human, an imposing aged knight with long white hair and prodigious moustaches dressed in dark grey full plate armour.

”Baron Frostfel.” Sylvanas explained to Jaina. ”Commander of the deathguard and dreadguard for the time being.”

”Lady Proudmoore!” The baron turned to Jaina and made a surprisingly chivalrous bow, which Jaina thought must be quite a feat in that massive suit of iron. ”It iz an honour to properly make your acquaintance.”

”Likewise, baron Frostfel.” Jaina bowed back as properly as she could. She was still unused to having shoes again that actually fit her.

”You may be interested to know zat we tracked ze prisoners all ze way out of ze town district, from where zey headed north towards zeir other Scarlet strongholds further afar. I must commend your inspired decision on zat part, Lady Proudmoore. My Queen, zat is quite ze gem of a mage zat you have found us.”

Jaina did not know what she had expected of the commander of the deathguard, but it was certainly not such blatant praise.

”How, ahem, do you mean, baron?”

”Ah, but don’t you zee, Lady Proudmoore?!” Baron Frostfel boomed with unmitigated enthusiasm. ”We have sent ze Scarlet rabble a portion of zeir soldiers owing zeir very lives to ze dastardly undead – us, zat is – and it will weaken zeir resolve and taint zeir companies with ze knowledge and zeir fear of ze Banshee Queens wrath. Or, perhaps more likely, zat mob of fanatics will hang ze lot as traitors, and zere is no surer way to ruin your morale zan having your men raise arms against zeir comrades! Brilliant, Lady Proudmoore, brilliant!”

Jaina blushed slightly. She loathed the Scarlets for what they had done to her but not enough to exactly relish what Baron Frostfel described as the likely outcomes, but when he put it like that so enthusiastically…

”Now I must oversee ze allocation and distribution of ze spoils, if you will excuse me. My Queen. Lady Proudmoore.”

”Well, well, I seem to have gotten myself a master strategist in the deal too.” Sylvanas commented with a raised eyebrow at Jaina as the baron waded away through the throng of spectators.

Jaina blushed quite considerably from that but knew better than to say anything self-depreciating out of habit.

”That is no empty praise.” Sylvanas remarked. ”The baron is one of the most experienced Forsaken fighters from Lordaeron and a highly competent infantry commander, for all his…overbearing manners.”

”You mean his eastern Lordaeron accent?” Jaina smiled.

”Is that what it is?”

”Zat is absolutely zo. Zey all talk like zis.” Jaina mimicked the accent and jutted out her chin in imitation of the brash and perhaps not too attentive cream of Lordaeronian nobility.

”I see.”

”It’s actually rather straightforward, you just move your ’r’s deep into your mouth and replace the ’th’ sounds with a buzzing ’z’…” Jaina continued to explain.

”How fascinating. I assure you that I have no interest in letting that or any other part of my body into my mouth, and as far as buzzing is concerned I will insist that we leave it to the bees and other creatures better suited for it.”

”Are you sure zat I shouldn’t inztrutct you rangerz in ze local cultures, My Queen?” Jaina beamed. ”I’m sure zat zey would be very interested.”

[Alwyn]

I'm enjoying catching up with your chapters - the encounter between Westley and Wroth is especially memorable - there are worse people here than the undead!

[Maltacus]

Reputation must be spread around before giving it to Alwyn again, regrettably.

I really enjoy reading about your reading, so to say.

Chapter XXIII. Sashes and Shards

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The amount of loot from Hearthglen was massive. Kalira and the others had clearly taken Sylvanas’ orders to heart and stripped the town of everything that could be carried and then some, and loaded it all on most imaginative frames and litters to be carried along the modest roads. With their elite guard back and the Undercity no longer locked down the Forsaken could finally enjoy full access to their own capital again. The reception of supplies taken home by the deathguard and dreadguard had thus taken the form of one huge fair or autumn market that had been going on for two days without cease.

There was a lot of people in the streets but not as many as during the parade. Anya and the rest of the squadron had been spread out in the crowd close to Sylvanas and Lady Proudmoore, watching for signs of someone planning to assault them which thankfully hadn’t happened. Lady Proudmoore had been very brave holding a speech before everyone. Anya had never been comfortable with talking before a crowd of strangers like that, and least of all a crowd of undead. Varimathras had appeared then, and Anya reckoned he had probably said something snide as usual but Sylvanas had stayed close to Lady Proudmoore so he would probably not have dared to be mean to her. Baron Frostfel was easier to hear and Anya liked him a lot for complimenting Lady Proudmoore so wholeheartedly. Lady Proudmoore had smiled a lot when saying something to Sylvanas afterwards, but Anya hadn’t been able to hear what it was about.

Anya made sure that at least two of them always kept close to Lady Proudmoore when they were walking the streets. She tried to avoid larger groups of people if possible, the upper city usually allowed for that. Anya held the long chain in her hand like Sylvanas had. At least that way Lady Proudmoore wouldn’t have to get caught in anything.

She would have liked to be able to avoid the dark glares and the demonstratively turned backs too if she could.

At one point a couple of workers carrying a bundle of large planks barged into her squadron. Anya had the watch and pulled Lady Proudmoore out of the way behind herself but Clea stood her ground even at the cost of taking a hard hit to her shoulder when the planks rammed into her.

”Watch it, my good sir.” Clea hissed at them. ”Someone might get hurt if you wave your goods around in this manner. Is it too heavy for you? Do you need help carrying?”

The gruff Forsaken grunted at her and looked away. The pair of workers rearranged their burden and continued their trek.

”A good day to you too, gentlemen.” Clea whispered after them.

Anya and Lyana resumed their place with Lady Proudmoore between them while Kitala snorted.

”Seriously, ’wave your goods around’?”

Anya and Lyana smirked and Lady Proudmoore was clutching her mouth to stop herself from giggling. Anya absently clutched her left pocket.

”Hey, you!” An enterprising vendor had opened an improvised market stall on the side of the street and now glared at the squadron. ”Are you going to stand there all day blocking the way?! Why don’t you take your living…”

Anya had her dagger out before the angry woman had finished her sentence.

”Yes, madam?” she asked smoothly while inspecting the spotless edge. ”You were saying?”

”Is that’s how it’s gonna be, eh? Bullying honest folk in the street and strutting around with…that, like some gang of wenches! Harlots!”

”I’m so very sorry, madam. The next time we storm the walls of Scarlet crusaders we shall give further consideration to the poor people burdened by the inconvenient spoils of war before we cut our enemies apart.” Anya looked innocently at her. ”In the meantime, would you happen to know where a girl can get her blades sharpened at a decent rate? I seem to wear mine out terribly quickly for some reason…” Anya stared with wider and wider eyes and the vendor took a step back, then another.

”Come on.” Lyana whispered. ”You’ve scared her well and good now.”

A little bit reluctant, Anya sheathed her dagger. That woman had been mean to Lady Proudmoore, or had been just a single word from being mean to her.

When they made their way from the unpleasant stall Lady Proudmoore snuck her hand into Anya’s.

”Anya, you don’t need to bother with people being rude like that. I know it’s not about me as such, it’s me being one of the living like the Scarlets and the rest…”

Anya spun on the spot and took Lady Proudmoore’s hand in a hard grip. Now she was really getting angry.

”Lady Proudmoore, don’t you dare make excuses for behaviour like that! That’s…really stupid! And you’re supposed to be a smart archmage!”

”Anya, easy.” Clea rubbed her shoulder. ”And Lady Proudmoore, stop being an idiot before Anya loses her temper. That is not pretty, believe me.”

Lady Proudmoore tilted her head, and it was like she hadn’t realised until now how much her words had affected Anya. Then, right in front of everyone in the street, she held out her arms and pulled Anya into a hug.

She was so warm. Not feverish like the terrible night in Hearthglen, just warm in the good way that Anya couldn’t be. And soft.

”I’m so sorry.” Lady Proudmoore whispered into her ear. ”I don’t know why I do this. It’s…it’s a bad habit. A very bad habit.”

”And stupid.” Anya almost sulked.

”And stupid.” Lady Proudmoore agreed.

”If you two glums are finished I think the Dark Lady is looking for either of you.” Lyana poked at Anya’s shoulder.

She was correct. Sylvanas was a bit further ahead and making her way towards them.

”Good afternoon. Is everything alright?” she asked after navigating her way through the busy street. Anya noted that she wasn’t in her commanding mood, or manners maybe, right now and had discreetly slid through the commotion before most had time to realise the Banshee Queen was there.

”Well…” Anya begun and looked admonishingly at the mage. ”Lady Proudmoore said some really bad words but now she has promised to be good again.” Anya yanked the mage closer by the chain like she had seen Sylvanas do. Lady Proudmoore yelped and laughed out nervously.

”Did she now?” Sylvanas’ mouth had quirked up and she eyed Anya and Lady Proudmoore evaluatingly. ”How naughty of her. Maybe you need to discipline our mage a little to keep her in line.”

”Maybe I do.” Anya cast a pointed look at Lady Proudmoore. If the mage wouldn’t learn to treat herself kindly Anya would chain her to her bed and feed her fish soup until her tongue fell off.

”Surely Anya would never do zomething like zat.” Lady Proudmoore imitated…was it Baron Frostfel’s way of speaking? It must have been some sort of previous joke between them the way Lady Proudmoore’s eyes sparkled and she bit her lip not to giggle.

”How sure are you, little mage?” Sylvanas asked threateningly. Anya tried her best to look threatening too but it was hard to be angry with Lady Proudmoore for any length of time, especially when she looked so mischievous like she did now. Anya would most of all have liked to know what it was about so she could join in teasing Sylvanas when she was her most Dark Lady-like.

”I have something for you.” Sylvanas had turned to Anya. ”Can we go somewhere more private?”

”Of course, Dark Lady?” What was this about?

Sylvanas led the way to a little abandoned park, or small square beside the street. Vines had climbed a small stone wall circling behind a couple of benches facing a now dried fountain. It was withered and cracked, but Anya thought it was pretty. It must have been a good place. A small, hidden place.

”I wanted to give you something. This isn’t an official reward, it’s just from me.” Sylvanas brought out something bright red. ”For your exceptional bravery during the storming of Hearthglen where many more of us would have perished if the northern wall had not been claimed so rapidly, and for your outstanding care of Lady Proudmoore. It’s a, well, a Scarlet Sash I suppose. I think it would suit your eyes now.”

It was spotless red silk. Anya reverently ran her fingers over it, not because it was expensive but because it was something Sylvanas had given her. Personally, and not as the Banshee Queen and commander of the Forsaken armies.

Anya didn’t really dare to. But she reached up anyway and kissed the Dark Lady’s cheek while holding her red silk pressed close to her still heart. But reddest of all things were Sylvanas’ eyes and Anya wanted to drown in their fire and never resurface. She had dropped Lady Proudmoore’s chain and forgotten her squadron. She wanted time to stop flowing.

Time was so bloody uncooperative.

”Anya?”

”It’s a very fine sash.”

Lady Proudmoore tugged at her shoulder. Anya could feel the warmth of her fingers.

”It’s well deserved.” she whispered, as quietly as Clea. ”I feel safer with you near me than with all the armies of the Alliance and you’ve taken the very best care of me.” Anya felt herself pulled into another warm embrace, which provoked a lopsided smirk from Sylvanas.

Luckily Lady Proudmoore hugged her from the right side.

”If I can pry you from your guardian, Lady Proudmoore, I was going to ask if you would like to accompany me to one of the meetings of the City Council some time?” Sylvanas asked their mage. ”I thought it could be worth a try to disarm some of the tension in the city and force people to get used to the idea of working side by side with the living.”

”You’re asking me to come with you to work, Dark Lady?”

Normally an offer to accompany someone to work would not be met with such joyful enthusiasm, Anya reckoned. But Lady Proudmoore didn’t count as normal either. And that was just as well, in Anya’s opinion.

”I dare say you have done that and a great deal more at Hearthglen, Lady Proudmoore.” Sylvanas commented a little dryly.

”But that’s not the same! Now I can see how you govern and how the city is run and where you have your office!” At that Sylvanas looked slightly troubled. ”It’s going to be so interesting to see!”

”Tomorrow, then?”

”Yes, I’d love to.”

Sylvanas had to return to being Banshee Queen again and Lady Proudmoore needed to eat. Anya sent Clea and Kitala ahead to prepare dinner and let Lyana go and check on Kitthix while she and Lady Proudmoore walked at a leisurely pace towards the Lordaeron keep. Or, maybe a tad slower than that. Maybe, in fact, that Anya was stalling a little.

She wasn’t very worried about running into anyone who wished Lady Proudmoore ill. Anya knew that Clea and Kitala would have kept their eyes and ears open for that and Lyana would have come running back if she saw the slightest hint of something dangerous. Watching over Lady Proudmoore like that had become instinctive for them all at this point.

”Anya, is something the matter?”

Had she been that obvious?

”No! All is fine! I mean…” Anya stammered. She wasn’t very good at these things. Maybe this was all just a silly idea.

Maybe it had broken.

Lady Proudmoore looked at her, patient and encouraging and curious.

Anya slowly took out the small thing from her left pocket. She didn’t think it had broken but the cloth wrapped around it made it hard to tell.

”I bought this from Akara, when you were with us.” Anya held the small bundle forward.

”For me?” Lady Proudmoore sounded astonished.

Anya nodded.

The mage had caught her careful movements and very slowly unfolded the cloth around a small, almost leaf-shaped, mirror with a silvery frame shaped like vines and leaves.

”Akara said it has a small enchantment to keep dust and dirt from sticking.” Anya explained, as if that needed to be explained. ”Now you will have something beautiful to look at in your room.”

”No kidding! It’s so lovely, thanks so very much Anya!” Lady Proudmoore hesitated. ”I don’t dare to hug you while holding it but that was so very kind of you. It really is beautiful.”

Lady Proudmoore looked genuinely happy and Anya smiled shyly back, but racked her brain for a way to explain, and without sounding like a fool, how it wasn’t the mirror itself she had been talking about.




***




Jaina’s self-loathing rose like bile inside her when she watched the broken shards of her mirror. Ruined. Lonely and abandoned in the corner where she had thrown it.

Enchanted to stay clean and bright. Durability would have been the better choice when handled by dockside thugs like Jaina. What a way to thank Anya for taking her scarce time and the Forsaken’s preciously scarce resources to make Jaina’s dungeon a little more inhabitable.

And Jaina had really liked the mirror a lot. It was beautiful, tasteful and in a style she had not seen anywhere else before. If anything it looked like a leaf frozen to ice from a distance, until you saw all the small details of the frame close up. And it was really welcome to be able to look at herself and make sure she hadn’t any splotch of food on her chin or something like that.

And of course Jaina, idiot as she was, had taken off her shirt and unwrapped her ranger linen – she wasn’t sure if that was the term but was starting to think of it as such – and taken up the mirror to get a good look at what her back looked like.

She knew she shouldn’t have done it. She felt an instinctive big NO when she did it.

And that one good look had been more than enough.

Anya and Clea had been nearest and hurried inside when they heard the breaking glass and metallic clatter. Jaina couldn’t bear to even show her face to them but when Anya refused to move a single step for fear that Jaina had injured herself she finally looked up and teary-eyed begged them to leave her alone. She just couldn’t think of a way to stay civil towards them.

But Jaina still wished they were here.

What was she going to do? She couldn’t even bring herself to pick up the broken glass.

She strained her neck trying to look over her shoulder for the umpteenth time but only saw the same edge of the angry red lines as all the other times. Jaina wanted to scream, maybe hurl something else, anything to get the crushing, choking thing in her throat out and…

Someone knocked on the door. Had Anya had enough of pacing outside the closed door with Jaina in the company of sharp pieces of glass on the other side? Was it Lyana, who would demand to check on her no matter what?

”Lady Proudmoore?”

Sylvanas.

Tides, what was Jaina going to say? She had insulted Sylvanas’ closest ranger who Sylvanas herself had this very day honoured for the care she had shown for Jaina! Who Sylvanas had even been kissed on the cheek by, which had also been so very sweet.

Jaina could hear the door opening. She didn’t protest, she couldn’t blame Sylvanas when Jaina couldn’t even manage an answer.

”May I stay?” Sylvanas asked after a small moment of (Jaina guessed) looking her over. ”I’m not here to punish you, Lady Proudmoore. Are you hurt in any way?” Sylvanas’ voice was dampened and low. Calm.

Jaina nodded, and then shook her head when she remembered the last question.

”Yes, I mean yes you can…” she sighed miserably. ”I’m alright… I mean…” Jaina shrugged. Her hoarse words had run out.

Sylvanas sat down beside her.

”What happened?”

What happened? Like that wasn’t bloody Tides-damned obvious! Jaina’s jaw worked soundlessly while she tried to calm herself down. It wasn’t a disrespectful question, after all. Sylvanas wanted to hear Jaina’s words about it. And she was sitting calmly and waiting for Jaina to begin.

”I…looked.” Jaina almost whispered, and cleared her throat. ”I knew it was stupid to do that. I shouldn’t have done it.” She angrily rubbed her temples. She was starting to get a headache.

”Alone.”

Sylvanas didn’t follow up with anything.

”Alone what?” Jaina’s head pounded and she was becoming irritable when she tried to wrap her mind over what Sylvanas meant, and she was getting angrier with herself for becoming irritable when Sylvanas was there listening to her.

”I believe you should not have looked deeply at your wounds alone. It is a heavy blow to the heart to see what has been inflicted on you.” Sylvanas had shifted to her old-fashioned Common, perhaps as a concession to Jaina’s tired state of mind.

”Yeah…” Jaina heaved a colossal sigh and shrugged. Then she slumped and banged her forehead into her palm. Damned ing everything… This day had turned out so good, with only a little – relatively speaking – anti-living resentment and her rangers had been so kind as they always were, and then Jaina had just blown it all and…

Sylvanas’ one hand gently pried Jaina’s arm from her, and her other replaced it on Jaina’s forehead. But the Dark Lady remained silent.

”It’s not even that I feel like an idiot for thinking that the Scarlets would respect an envoy, much as I still do of course.” Jaina confessed. ”It’s…I…just…

”I am here on your invitation only. You do not have to explain or excuse anything to me, Lady Proudmoore.” Sylvanas’ hand was a cool support for Jaina to rest her head against. It took some strain off her neck. She tried to breathe easier.

”I’m ugly, alright?!” Jaina snapped unjustly at her. ”Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Sylvanas’ other hand on her neck quieted Jaina and a shiver ran down her spine, a more pleasant shiver. The kind that left her like wax in the Dark Lady’s hands. Jaina sighed, long and quivering. Sylvanas was making her calm again.

”I know I probably wasn’t very pretty before. It must sound like a fine joke to all of you with your lean…never mind. I’m just a bulgy human but at least my back didn’t look like a red-striped carpet!” Jaina’s shaking voice rose to a choked, sad pitch.

”If you feel the need to scream but are reluctant, please take a moment to consider your present company, Lady Proudmoore.”

Sylvanas sounded as calm as ever, but Jaina fell apart in sobbing, sad laughter in the Dark Lady’s hands.

”It is apparently high time that we clarify some things.”




***




Jaina huddled inside a blanket and sipped on the mug of tea that Anya had made for her. All the rangers had come inside to sit in front of her and Sylvanas, and Jaina was happy for it, but she couldn’t look Anya in the eyes.

”Rangers, I have summoned you here to divulge information both dire and disturbing.” Sylvanas begun gravely. ”Lady Proudmoore has pleaded guilty to the heinous crime of losing her temper. Further compounding her abhorrent felony, she has also confessed to causing minor property damage in her fit of rage. As it is conduct completely alien to any of us I am sure you understand that I share the outrage of all of you.”

Sylvanas kept her face and tone perfectly in line with her act. When she wanted to, the Dark Lady actually was quite the actor, Jaina admitted while at the same time cringing at Sylvanas’ corrosive irony.

”In order to get to the bottom of what prompted such an scandal I will attempt not to sink beneath my own understandable shock, since I in particular have never acted in such a manner at any time.”

So far the rangers had kept silent but now an undignified snort called to Jaina’s attention, and she hadn’t the energy to force herself to keep looking down. Kitala and Lyana were both making brave attempts at chewing and swallowing their lower lips and Clea had clamped both hands over hers in an even braver one to muffle the already quiet chuckles that threatened to escape her.

Jaina could admit that Sylvanas’ was making fun of it all, and that yes, put in perspective there were worse things than throwing a mirror against a wall in your room. But it had been Anya’s mirror, Anya’s gift to her…

”So, Lady Proudmoore, first I hope you are well aware that I would never have done something like this myself.” Sylvanas spoke like a dark block of stone.

No disagreement there. Sylvanas of all people would not have behaved so disrespectfully towards her ranger, especially not when her ranger was Anya Eversong.

”If Anya had given me a mirror that let me see for the first time the full extent of my own disfiguring scar, I would not have broken it against the wall.” Sylvanas made a short pause. ”My ensuing Banshee Wail would have shattered the glass before my eyes and likely the frame as well without the need for hurling it anywhere.”

”Well, you’re a banshee…” Jaina sulked.

”And you are a human.” Sylvanas stated evenly. ”So clearly fundamentally different standards should apply to each of us.”

”No, but… Tides damn it, I was mean to Anya and you should be angry with me! Anya, I’m so terribly sorry, I wish I hadn’t even picked up the mirror…”

”Did…didn’t you like it?” Anya’s eyes were big and she looked slightly crestfallen.

”No! I mean yes!” Jaina took a deep breath. ”What I meant to say is that I wish I hadn’t picked it up so I wouldn’t have broken it. I wish I could just fix it so it hadn’t happened. Just that.”

Anya rose slightly and walked on her knees to Jaina’s side. It actually looked a little funny. The dark ranger tentatively put an arm on the blanket over Jaina’s upper back.

”Can I…?” Anya spoke so low it was almost a whisper. Jaina nodded, and Anya’s started drawing slow circles with the palm of her hand.

”Now, before we dispense justice for the aforementioned transgression, I have a serious question to ask all of you, and you are all ordered to speak truthfully or refuse to answer but nothing else.” Sylvanas was back to being dead serious, but Jaina felt that it wasn’t part of some act anymore.

”But, when have we…?” Kitala frowned.

”None of you have been anything but truthful to me to my knowledge, but I believe we will be dealing with certain facts that some have trouble accepting and need to be overt.”

”Uh, alright…” Clea and Lyana seemed a bewildered as Kitala. Jaina was touched by it. The thought of deception being foreign enough to cause outright confusion among your friends.

”On your word of honour, have Lady Proudmoore’s scars from the Scarlets’ abuse of her made her ugly in your opinion?”

The silence that followed was so complete that it was like some kind of lid had been placed over Jaina’s ears. She could hear her breath sounding more like coming from a bellows than a pair of lungs. Anya's hand had frozen mid-motion. Then Kitala made a nervous gasp or huff, like she didn’t really know how she was supposed to react.

”This is a j…” Jaina could see her face falling when she looked at Sylvanas. ”…not a joke. Right. Well, the answer is no of course!” Kitala blurted out nervously, a bit like a student who found a question so unreasonable that she had to suspect foul play from her teacher’s side.

”No.” Lyana concurred, solemn and earnest.

”Not a bit.” Clea was turning to Jaina. ”We’ve all seen them many times by now.”

”No scarring could.” Anya whispered next to her.

Jaina heard Sylvanas’ seriousness and the rangers’ earnest tone. She understood the words and the specific question that left no room for misinterpretation. But the message would not settle in Jaina’s mind. It slid and bounced around in her head and refused to be still, because their answer was just ludicrous.

Or, wait a moment! Sylvanas had phrased the question very specifically. And strictly speaking, if someone - Jaina for instance - was already ugly then more scars would not be the thing that made her that.

She could hear a small, but very meaningful, sigh from Sylvanas and Jaina had an uncanny feeling that Sylvanas knew exactly what she was thinking in that moment, and that the Dark Lady was not impressed.

”How then, would you characterize Lady Proudmoore’s appearance?”

Now the rangers were looking at one another with obvious suspicion. They actually gave off a rather comical impression.

”Good-looking?”

”Pretty?”

”Drop-dead gorgeous? Sorry, seriously bad choice of words!” Kitala excused herself and Jaina had to smile at her.

”Lady Proudmoore is of the opposite opinion.” Sylvanas mentioned casually.

For just a heartbeat the room went completely silent. Then…

”WHAT THE F-MMFH!” Clea and Kitala exclaimed in unison but Clea stopped herself and clamped down on Kitala’s mouth before they could end with something too explicit.

”Who said that?!” Anya was distressed. ”I’m gonna cut their eyes out!”

”Those eyes would hardly seem to work anyway.” Lyana pointed out cheekily.

”Nobody said that, so please don’t take my eyes, Anya. I prefer being able to see you.” Jaina tried to joke, but it didn’t sound especially funny.

”Of course not, but now I think Lyana needs to take a very good look at them because they seem to have stopped working properly, Lady Proudmoore.” Anya said sternly. ”How could you think such a thing?” she wondered, and sounded so sad that Jaina felt an immediate pang of guilt.

”How could I not?!” Jaina was almost exasperated, but in a strange way it also felt good to uncork all the ugly bottled up self-consciousness – scratch that, self-loathing more like – and throw it out for all of them to see. ”I’m skinny and flabby and clumsy and I have no gracefulness at all and…”

”And what, Lady Proudmoore?” Sylvanas interjected. ”Do please continue. This is quite possible the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say so do not hold back anything. It is rather amusing.”

”And look at all of you.” Jaina added in a smaller voice. ”You’re all trained and lean and agile and elegant…”

”Elegance? Have you seen the way you dance across a ship’s deck in too large boots while we practically hobble after you in form-fitting ones, Lady Proudmoore? You made us all feel positively decrepit.” Clea almost complained.

”Er…no? I mean, I can’t really watch myself walk…” Jaina replied with misplaced logic.

”Well, some time you should!” Clea wouldn’t relent.

”Lady Proudmoore.” Anya sounded extremely hesitant, like she was about to say something she would prefer to not have to. ”When I gave you the mirror and said that you would have something beautiful to look at…”

”Yes?” Jaina asked when Anya trailed off.

”I-I wasn’t talking about the mirror…”

It took a frowning moment for Jaina to realise what Anya meant. It took less for Clea and Kitala to start grinning widely.

Lyana let out a quiet laugh. ”Anya, you are too sweet.”

Jaina was taken aback by the sincerity in Anya’s look at her, and the obvious nervousness that the often shy dark ranger had still overcome to refute Jaina’s self-depreciation.

Jaina couldn’t argue with four rangers and Anya’s eyes. Not even in her darkest corners of self-consciousness could she deny that the rangers really, really meant it. And a shameful, embarrassing, but oh, so very heavy weight was starting to feel a little lighter on her mind.

”We haven’t talked to you about your scars because we didn’t want to bring it up unless you wanted to speak about it yourself.” Lyana explained. ”Was that wrong of us?” she asked, sounding more uncertain.

”No.” Jaina sighed. ”Not at all, it was very considerate of course. And it’s not just about the scars either.”

”You mentioned earlier how you assumed my rangers found it amusing to tease you during our sea journey because they would never sincerely regard you in the way their jokes implied.” Sylvanas mercilessly cut in.

”What?!” Kitala nearly shouted.

”Wait one moment now, did you truly believe we would mess with you like that because we found you ugly and laughed at the fact?” Lyana sounded outright shocked.

”Maybe not ugly, but…” Jaina struggled to put words on it. ”At the very least clumsy. And a bit ridiculous because of it. Or very much so.”

”We would never – didn’t I tell you about the tenets of ranger taunting? We drive one another mad to pass the time but we never intended to bully you! The Dark Lady made it clear that we were to watch you closely and keep you in check so we tried our best to be a little mysterious and scary, but none of us wished you harm.” Lyana’s agitation was plainly visible.

”You didn’t bully me. I did that to myself just fine.” Jaina muttered in a low voice, and it was true. She couldn’t blame the rangers for only having a scandalously lewd sense of humour. It had been Jaina herself who had jumped to conclusions about their intentions.

”We meant nothing bad with it in any case.” Clea said gently, and a little sad.

Jaina tried to smile a little back at her, at all of them.

”You were all morons!” she pointed out. ”You and all your insane flooded comments – those were the real flood on that ship!”

”You blushed so prettily.” Anya smiled shyly from Jaina’s right side.

”Most of all I just wanted to go to bed at that time, it’s hard work pushing frigates around all day. I’m lucky the gallant queen saved me from your lewd clutches.”

”In my line of work you quickly learn that rangers need to be kept on a short leash at times.” Sylvanas commented with dry Dark Lady-like amusement.

”Dark Lady?” Anya asked, suddenly very serious. ”How long have you known about Lady Proudmoore’s misconceptions about our opinions of how she looks?”

”She mentioned it during the later part of the crossing to Lordaeron. I got the distinct impression that the subject bothered you and did not want to press the matter.” Sylvanas added towards Jaina.

”Oh. Yeah, you weren’t wrong about that, I guess. And kind of a lot of things happened since we landed.” Jaina argued.

”True, but Anya is right. I seem to owe you an apology for yet another thing, Lady Proudmoore. I should have cleared up this misunderstanding much earlier.”

Jaina wanted to make more excuses for Sylvanas, least of all did she want her and Anya to be arguing because of her in any way, but if they both thought Sylvanas should have said something at least they were in agreement.

”I’m not blaming anyone. I could have asked, too, for a clarification of this particular cultural quirk of the elves.” Jaina finally said.

”Can we ask you something, Lady Proudmoore?” Kitala sounded unusually respectful.

”Of course.”

”Do you…do you really think we are that graceful?”

Jaina stared at her. Was this a joke? But no, if their conversation so far should teach her anything it should be to take such questions seriously.

”Well…yes? Who the heck wouldn’t?”

”Ehm, a lot of people in Quel’Thalas for one…” Kitala said, and sounded almost embarrassed of all things. ”We – us rangers – used to be regarded as half savage simpletons by a not insignificant part of the refined and rich. Not exactly conversation material or the right type to sweep artfully across the dance floors, if you catch my meaning.”

”Well, I would take alleged simpletons like you over confirmed simpletons like them any day.” Jaina said with determination. ”And I can’t imagine how anyone could find a fault in any of you. You’re all so fit that it’s bordering unnatural – and don’t even think of making some smart remark about having lived with the Sunwell for millennia or now being sustained by necromantic magic, my point stands regardless!”

”Beanpoles.” Lyana commented cryptically.

”Beanpoles? What?”

”Or is it beanstalks? Your human idioms are so strange sometimes. We kind of all feel like gangly youths with you, Lady Proudmoore. In the contrasting company of a fully grown woman.” Lyana smiled, a little resigned.

”With a rack to die for.” Kitala added, and then looked aghast. ”Sorry! Bad choice of words, again!”

The rest of the rangers burst out laughing, and Jaina too. It was getting late and she was tired and starting to feel silly. But everything felt much better too.

”Well, you lot make me feel like a walking pumpkin.” Jaina quipped, half jokingly. ”So we’re all equally dissatisfied idiots I suppose.”

”Isn’t pumpkin a compliment?” Clea asked. ”Or a term of endearment?”

”Yes, but that wasn’t the point.” Jaina tried.

”Of course, pumpkin.”

”Certainly, pumpkin.”

”As you say, Lady Pumpkinmoore.” Anya added respectfully, and Jaina collapsed in fits of giggles.

”Dark Lady?” she could hear Anya asking Sylvanas. ”What are you thinking of?”

”I am thinking that I dearly hope that Arthas Menethil was the Lich King’s mindless tool when he invaded Quel’Thalas, and not truly in command of anything at all.”

Jaina’s jaw dropped, and she stopped laughing. What was this about, all of a sudden? The Dark Lady turned her head to smile lopsided at Jaina.

”Because if the crowning achievement of my military career actually is to be losing to a general possessed of such unfathomable stupidity that he would break off an engagement with Lady Proudmoore, I fear it reflects rather poorly on me.”

[Maltacus]

Chapter XXIV. Administration and Archery

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

It was, Sylvanas supposed, just another day at work.

And she leaned back in her chair, stretched her legs, and just enjoyed it. Because it was also not at all like any previous day at work.

Sylvanas let nothing show, but inside she was smiling broadly. They City Council had a guest today, and a spirited guest it was.

Proudmoore was sitting on Sylvanas’ right side, both of them a little bit off from the other five members. Despite her obvious shackles and Sylvanas’ even more obvious grip and tugging of her chain, a living archmage was still too out of the ordinary to pass without a visible wave of unease among her councillors who managed to clump together by the opposite side. Apart from Varimathras of course, whose gaze as always gave no clue at all to what he was thinking. If they wanted to win the trust of this assembly they had their work cut out for them.

And Proudmoore rose to the challenge, and Sylvanas would even bet that her mage was unaware of how effectively she did it.

She was not an expert on the topic – city-building and logistics – but Proudmoore was bright. And she was curious. And not even Sylvanas’ reserved councillors could remain unaffected by her mage’s enthusiasm for eternity.

Sylvanas herself kept a lower profile for the time being. It suited both her mood and her long term goal of having this council able to operate independently without her direct supervision. To that end it was likely beneficial that Proudmoore raised the questions and not Sylvanas, although Sylvanas could tacitly show her approval and encouragement with an unnoticed touch against Proudmoore’s hand under the table now and then.

Like every fortified position, the Undercity traded accessibility for defensibility, naturally bottle-necked at the entrances that provided a passage both too narrow and too steep to accommodate the necessary traffic, at least so long as their luck would hold and they could continue the expansion and improvement underground and subsequently ferry building materials down and unusable rubble up. The question was how and what to devote their sparse passageways to.

To tell the truth none of the Forsaken were particularly well versed in converting sewers and caves to underground cities. Sylvanas suddenly wished that the dwarves Runar and Halvdan could have been there. Perhaps not all dwarves were the archetypical stonemason but they had claimed to hail from some sort of mountain at least, and in hindsight she had to concede that their methods in general had been sound and highly practical. Belore knew what they were up to now.

Proudmoore was something of the same, Sylvanas realised. She did not know mining and masonry in detail but she knew how to learn and how to make use of what she did know, and in that way she was a good example to hold up before an equally layman city council.

”So, the primary issue is that the amount of goods needed to be ferried overloads the city’s network of transportation, leading to…” Proudmoore started to count on her fingers as she summed it up. ”…delays in construction works, traffic getting stuck and inefficient use of storage space since some but not all necessary material for a specific work may be waiting for the remaining parts, correct?”

”I am sure we are all greatly helped by the eloquent listing of our many deficiencies and pleased that at least some of the latest half hour’s discussion has not eluded our honoured guest.” Varimathras’ words were polite but his snide tone left little to interpretation.

Sylvanas’ chancellor had managed to avoid addressing Proudmoore directly since the meeting started, and phrased his comments in this manner, as if he personally summed up the sentiments of all of the rest of the council.

”Yes, well, but bear with me.” Proudmoore continued undeterred. ”Shouldn’t our first action be to try to reduce the need for new materials? My master carpenter in Theramoore always reminds me about the need to not waste building materials. What about the stone and earth that is excavated and dumped outside the city, can any of that be used on site instead?”

”That stone is just gravel and rubble, it’s not fit to build anything with.”

”But what if we cut it square and even while digging it out?”

”That would take ages, and besides, where are you going to store the maybe even rocks until you have enough to do something meaningful with them?”

”It’s just one option, really, and maybe we won’t be able to fully explore it in one meeting…” Proudmoore tried, but Sylvanas discreetly pulled at her chain to rein her in for the moment. Proudmoore had pointed out something worth thinking about and now she needed to keep quiet, lest the other participants would feel slighted by a little too insightful outside voice in their affairs.

”Good thinking. Now let the idea brew for a while.” Sylvanas told her out of the corner of her mouth, while keeping her gaze forward and quite impassive.

The meeting went on and eventually Sylvanas settled for the radical, crude but immediately effective solution of dedicating the first half of the day to ingoing transports and the latter to outgoing ones, through the few of the entrances suitable for that kind of use, and directing everyone with lighter or no load to use the rest. It was bound to be impopular at first, but she had yet to hear of a large-scale logistics or transport policy that wasn’t a veritable bed of nails in any case. There were a good deal of questions and issues that would have to be worked out later.

It was always later. And later. This was why Sylvanas was badly suited for civic government. She had no patience for things that were – seemingly – always solved later and by something that she did not control herself.

They broke for lunch, in Proudmoore’s case, and to think things over which Forsaken retained the same need for as living beings. Perhaps even more, Sylvanas sometimes wondered, since they did not sleep regularly. As the still discussing members filed out through the door they offered their slightly reserved goodbyes to Proudmoore as well as Sylvanas. It was always something. Varimathras was last, and his parting comment made her bristle.

”How fortunate that the City Council has at least been able to provide some amusement for visiting children. My Queen.”

Without waiting for a reply, her chancellor stormed off and left a heavily sighing mage in his wake.

Proudmoore remained in her seat, munching on the lunch Lyana had snuck in with a little earlier.

”He doesn’t like me being here at all, does he?” Proudmoore tried her best to sound ironic about it.

”I am positive he does not like me being here either, for that matter. We must not let our understandable anguish over that fact drag us down, but bravely stride onward.” Sylvanas said solemnly, and with a perfectly even face.

Almost unwillingly, her mage started to smile a little.

”I will keep his comment in mind, and maybe ask Anya to procure a set of colourful balls for the next meeting where I assign my chancellor to practice juggling for the amusement of all – with a public performance scheduled for the Hallows Eve.”

Now Proudmoore was coughing and held up her hand to signal that she couldn’t risk laughing too much while eating.

”We are a divided people brought together by terrible circumstance and somewhat mutual goals of survival and revenge against the Scourge, but not too much more. I am, despite various efforts to the contrary, essentially our military commander rather than queen.” Sylvanas mused. ”Varimathras has a knack for making use of, and in some regard bringing together, this disparate crowd. I would hazard a guess that he does not take kindly to someone else intruding on what has been his particular sphere of influence.”

”So not sorry, actually.”

Sylvanas flashed her a smile. A little defiance and cheekiness were promising signs.

When Proudmoore had eaten she had also had time to think up a myriad of questions and ideas that Sylvanas should be informed about promptly.

”Why do all materials need to be stored underground? You have this huge city above, wouldn’t it make sense to store and sort things there first and then bring down what you are sure is needed for a specific building project?”

”If we could count on replenishing our stocks in the worst case and preferably holding the city against attacks, yes, but we have been on the defensive from the start and that has left it’s mark on all of us. We very much dislike leaving anything exposed for invaders to ruin.” Sylvanas explained.

”Maybe a middle way? There must be some things that are less vital than others for you to have below. And somehow I have trouble seeing ghouls voluntarily assaulting a batch of stone blocks.”

”You should see the abominations in action then…”

Sylvanas had led Proudmoore further from the council chambers and into the depths of the Undercity. She noted with deep satisfaction that there weren’t any uncouth Forsaken bullies plaguing the streets this time. She still held Proudmoore in a firm grip, even though it could be argued that she should start cultivating a public picture of the mage as her civilised advisor rather than strictly guarded spellcaster. Keeping up this theatre remained, Sylvanas had to admit, the more entertaining option.

”Where are we going now, Dark Lady?” Proudmoore asked.

”I have decided to cater to your previously expressed wishes and invite you to my rooms, Lady Proudmoore. Or room, as it is. It is just around the corner in fact.”

As always, the door was guarded – this time by the regular deathguards – and they automatically saluted Sylvanas as she unlocked the door. Sylvanas sighed inwardly and showed Proudmoore inside her sparse quarters.

Proudmoore took in the lonely chair and desk, the hard cot on the hard floor, the mostly empty bookcase with some documents, a small stack of papers and some spare quills and ink well ordered on one of the shelves.

”Do you…do you stay here all on your own, Dark Lady?”

”There is barely room for anything more.” Sylvanas said somewhat dryly.

”Doesn’t it get lonely?”

Lonely? Was a Banshee Queen ”lonely”?

Had it been lonely to rack her mind day after day over how to make a single nation of Azeroth so much as hear them out?

Had it been lonely to stare at Cyndia’s line in the roll and never be able to force herself to strike it out?

”It’s just that…it just occurred to me that…I have all your rangers now.” Proudmoore was searching for the right words it seemed. ”Your own squadron. And maybe that you miss their company.”

Too kind for her own damn good, yet again.

”That is…very thoughtful of you, Lady Proudmoore. And I am forced to admit that I do find myself missing their company at times.”

Anya and the rest were fortunately waiting outside, otherwise Anya would likely that that statement as a cue to order the squadron to abduct their ruler form her office and drag her with them to Proudmoore’s dungeon.

”You know you are always welcome to come and visit whenever you need to, Dark Lady? I’m sure everyone would want that.” Proudmoore looked at the lonely chair thoughtfully. ”Maybe I could help you with something?”

”That, as a matter of fact, I think you can. Take a look at this, and give me your assessment.” Sylvanas said and handed over the long report from the dwarves that she had taken out from a drawer.

Proudmoore sat down and read it eagerly. She was quickly caught up and Sylvanas took the opportunity to go out and tell he rangers to take an hour off. She and Proudmoore would probably be here for some time.

She could tell when her mage reached the report about the dwarves’ continued travels when she exclaimed ’Rhonin?!’ and smiled warmly. Sylvanas allowed her some time to get to the parts dealing with Khaz Modan before she broached her questions.

”What do you think of the bit at the end, the plan described?”

Proudmoore read out loud. The short log-like style of phrasing suited her well.

”Conventional diplomatic approach deemed futile until able to counteract aforementioned anti-undead prejudices. Attempting to ingratiate ourselves with Khaz Modan to obtain favourable positions of negotiation. Time estimate and method of approach yet to be determined. Will keep you informed as circumstances allow. Signed Runar and Halvdan, Loch Modan the 17:th.” Her mage looked up. ”But this is good news, isn’t it?”

”Do you believe it…authentic?”

Proudmoore peered at her in slight confusion, but then looked at Sylvanas knowingly.

”Of course it is authentic, how would an impostor know about their mission in the first place?”

Sylvanas shrugged, not having a good answer.

”You are so used to terrible disappointment that you don’t dare to believe that something like this can be genuine.” Proudmoore said gently. It was not even a question and Sylvanas did not even bother trying to refute it. She shrugged again, uncomfortably.

”It’s quite alright. I understand.” Proudmoore had moved close enough that her warmth was noticeable. ”You haven’t been given a great deal of reasons to trust others.”

She looked so terribly understanding and also like she knew everything that went through Sylvanas’ mind. It was some time since Proudmoore had done that thing of hers, which was bloody unsettling.

”So you would recommend that we treat this message as authentic and sincere until further notice?” Sylvanas muttered, reaching for something to say to move them onward from her mage’s scrutiny of her.

”Most definitely so. If they were disinterested in helping you then sending this elaborate package would be the least logical course of action.”

”Unless it is the beginning of some sort of larger trap.”

”The great scarf plot? I will have to give these nefarious dwarves a point for originality in that case.” Proudmoore commented with a hint of amusement. Then she seemed to think of something. ”What about Alina, though? This gift held a special meaning for her, didn’t it?”

”She used to keep the dwarves company when they were conducting research, and on one occasion she Wailed and they barely got out of the room in time to escape injury.” Sylvanas paused, suddenly thoughtful. Proudmoore had a point here. ”But they returned, that is one of them did, to reassure her and after that episode i decided to disclose more information than previously to them. Alina continued to keep them company in her spare time and her squadron escorted them through the Scourge territories south towards Dalaran. Amora seems to be of the opinion that Alina and the dwarf spy were growing rather close during the journey.”

It was almost silly how Proudmoore started to grin.

”And then they went through Tides know what troubles to send her and the rest of you those scarves? Then I’m with Amora in this – they care for her!”

”Maybe so. Can I trouble you for advice on one other matter? Far more grim, I am afraid.”

Proudmoore nodded.

”It is not something substantial as of yet but in the worst case I would like to use your advice as an outside and neutral party. When we were sailing to Theramoore Areiel informed me of certain rumours in the Undercity about Forsaken betraying their brothers and sisters to the Scarlet Crusade in exchange for their own safety or perhaps that of their close ones. The rumours by themselves are damaging enough and the very idea repulsive. I instructed Areiel to look into matters upon our return. Her time for investigation is limited and she is forced to approach the issue very delicately lest it should lead to more rumours and all-encompassing suspicion. We Forsaken are, as you have seen, not always the best of mates.” Sylvanas added dryly.

Proudmoore had listened with wide eyes, but when she opened her mouth it was to comment on a – in Sylvanas’ firm opinion – completely irrelevant point.

”You said ’mates’, Dark Lady!” her mage grinned.

”Yes? I dearly hope your grasp of Common is sufficient to make sense of that not too complicated word.”

That had no effect on Proudmoore’s grin whatsoever.

”Aye, I am just approving of the fact that you don’t always talk like a complete landlubber, Dark Admiral Windrunner! We may yet make a Kul Tiran of you some day.”

Sylvanas shot her a stern glare.

”As I was saying before this un-required interruption, Areiel’s investigation has been forced to proceed slowly but the sack of Hearthglen brought into our hands certain documents from the Scarlets that we are not finished researching. And they seem to support the idea of Forsaken being taken as prisoners closely after our liberation.”

”No…” The mirth was gone from Proudmoore’s face, which Sylvanas could well understand.

”That is where we stand as of now. So, what do you think about it off the top of your head?”

Proudmoore licked her lips. Sylvanas berated herself for being distracted by it. The human woman’s skin got dry at times, there was nothing strange with that.

”Negotiating in any kind of way with the undead strikes me as rather unorthodox for them, for obvious reasons…” she rolled her eyes ”…but it doesn’t rule it out. It’s more like something a mercenary gang or some kind of bounty hunter would do I suppose, or maybe there are just less pious parts of the order that used it as an easy way to hunt you?”

Sylvanas nodded, she agreed with the logic.

”Regardless, the method would probably not have worked too long since rumours slipped out, as you describe, and more of your people gathered together and found their way to the Undercity. But I honestly can’t say for sure, maybe this is all just speculation.”

”Thank you. Speculation is currently the best we can do but hopefully more investigation will yield results. Do you have any other advice?”

”Maybe you should talk to Westley? He ought to be able to tell you something of how the Scarlets work.”

”Bringing a former Scarlet member to the city to ask about Forsaken traitors, that ought to work wonders for the public opinion.”

Proudmoore snorted.

”You could always make it a field trip to the new outpost. Then you could check on Cyndia’s squadron too.”

It was actually a quite pleasant prospect. Sylvanas turned it over in her head. If they could only get more reliable information about the Scourge’s positions first. But she would probably be forced to send Areiel instead. There were always som many things calling for the Banshee Queens attention.

”Dark Lady, what did you think about the meeting today?” Proudmoore interrupted her thoughts.

”Decent, I suppose. I have seen a lot worse. To tell the truth I was rather distracted today.”

Proudmoore nodded.

”I can really understand if you found it hard to focus on roads and rocks and such with something like this hanging over you. What a terrible thing to have to think about!”

”I will not deny that it is an...unpleasant picture to dwell on. But I must admit that for the most part my attention was occupied by another issue.”

”Oh? What issue?”

Sylvanas held off answering just to enjoy the palpable curiosity that radiated from her mage.

”The issue of how absolutely delightful I think your round human ears are when they redden like they do, my little mouse…” Sylvanas whispered.



***



It was another day, and Jaina and the rangers had an afternoon without anything scheduled. They were strolling by themselves around the surface level of the city and Jaina greatly enjoyed being able to do something leisurely like that. At least not everything outside her dungeon had to be calculated to alleviate public fears of her.

The rangers clearly appreciated the relative peace and quiet too but Jaina feared that she was boring them. She wanted to let them have some time off, or at least decide what they should all be doing for the rest of the day, but it turned out to be easier said than done. Dark rangers were highly skilled, but not in taking time for themselves.

”Well, what did you all use to do when you had time off? Before you were assigned to archmage guarding I mean.” Jaina asked with growing exasperation.

”I don’t think we had that much time off.” Clea shrugged. ”Kitala and I mostly explored the woods, until the Scourge started sniffing around too closely. Lyana found her spider and Anya was building something.” Clea looked questioningly at Anya at that.

”It didn’t work out.” Anya answered. Jaina got the impression that it was something she had no particular wish to talk about.

”But there must be something you wish to catch up with at least, right? Don’t you do, like, drills and training and such like other soldiers?”

”Hush!” Kitala hissed at Jaina, and sounded admonishing but the way her eyes sparkled made it plain there was nothing to worry about. ”Don’t let Areiel hear that and get ideas. And for the record, we work very hard to avoid drills and training and such like other soldiers if they have any brains.”

Clea looked at her ranging partner with such dry amusement that Jaina highly doubted the veracity of Kitala’s statement.

”You are right, Lady Proudmoore, we have a lot of maintenance and training to do and it used to take up most of our spare time before we were assigned as your guards.” Anya explained. ”Taking care of our gear is actually easier now thanks to the room we have next to yours where we can put our things, but training is harder to make time for. We usually schedule some time for that when two of us go out to gather food or other things for you.”

”Meaning our noble leader does that, even though she is unparalleled when it comes to overlooking her own contributions.” Kitala added.

”Quite true.” Lyana agreed.

Jaina looked with interest at Anya, who almost squirmed on the spot. Jaina understood the feeling of not thinking you deserved such praise all too well. But in this particular case she felt only inclined to add to the dark ranger’s embarrassment.

”I for one would never want to be guarded by any other ranger lieutenant, living or dead. So I vote that Anya decides what we do next but make it quick, because we seriously can not stand here talking about what to do for the rest of the day.”

The rangers snickered at that and Anya gave it some thought.

”If it would be fine for you, Lady Proudmoore, we always have a good amount of archery to catch up with and we actually have a range in the city – the city above ground. But are you sure it wouldn’t bore you?”

”Nonsense, all hands to the archery range it is.” Jaina ushered Anya along.

The range was in the southern part of the city, or technically outside it, just outside the former city wall that was especially ruined in this place. Four ordinary targets made of bales of hay and various poles and other ludicrously narrow objects were placed at intervals at different distances from the line.

Jaina found an uncomfortable piece of rubble to sit on while Anya started the day’s practice.

”Five at fifty steps, five at seventy.” she ordered. Jaina looked over the range. There were some poles far away and some even further away that looked far too narrow to act as targets. Maybe Anya had meant something else…

”Swish!”

Anya had not meant something else.

”Swish! Swish! Swish!”

Four quartets of arrows competed for space across four small sections of wood. Jaina stood up and wandered closer and closer to the rangers just to watch how they did it. It looked so fluid, so easy and natural. And every dark ranger stood tall as a tree and looked frighteningly competent.

”Five at twenty steps, with our backs turned.” Anya ordered.

Jaina frowned at first. Were they going to shoot backwards? But the exercise consisted of each ranger beginning with bows lowered and facing the other side. When Anya whistled each of them turned on the spot, nocked an arrow, and shot at one of the bales as quickly as they could. When they had finished their five shots Jaina applauded.

”Is this what it looks like when rangers are behind on their archery exercises?”

Clea smiled at her and Kitala grinned.

”We have slowed down a little bit, maybe…” Anya thought out loud.

”Don’t listen to her, she’s too critical. It’s some affliction that strikes squad leaders.” Kitala protested. ”Lyana could probably diagnose her.”

”I don’t think I’ve seen archers deliberately turning their back on their targets before. Why are you doing that?” Jaina knew she shouldn’t interrupt their practice but she was too curious to keep quiet.

”We are meant to stay in the woods where it is easy to be surprised or ambushed, even for us. If that happens every ranger must be able to shoot fast and accurately at close range.” Anya explained.

”Twenty steps? That’s your idea of ’close’?”

”When an Amani hunting party charges at you twenty steps is starting to feel very close.”

”Or a pack of ghouls. They may be weaker and stupider but they are very fast, and never stop.” Lyana added.

”They would be really stupid to come after you.” Jaina hesitated. She really shouldn’t take up their time now that the rangers finally had gotten some of their own. But they were her friends. They probably wouldn’t mind. ”Could…mmm…could I try?”

Every ranger looked up at her.

”I mean just a little, I wouldn’t want to disrupt your training. I can wait until you’re done, if that’s better…” Jaina begun to reserve herself, but then Anya smiled so widely that she forgot the rest of her reservations.

”Rangers!” Anya called out proudly. ”Line up and show Lady Proudmoore how it is done. Now I want to see perfect form from everyone!” she added sternly.

She started to describe to Jaina what was important to think about and how to take aim with Clea, who was nearest, as the example. Clea, who happened to be a strikingly athletic example too. Jaina tried to remind herself that Lyana and Anya and Kitala could do it too, who were more commonly built for rangers, and to not be too envious. Neither was very easy.

”So, Ranger Recruit Proudmoore, take position.” Anya looked so happy and that was all that mattered for the moment, Jaina decided as she accepted the dark ranger’s heavy bow. ”Try drawing it a few times first.”

”Yikes!” Jaina exclaimed when she tried.

”Good, you can draw it at least. Most elves spend years building up their strength with lighter bows for practice before they start using these. Now, stand as we do with your arm out like that, take up the arrow…”

Jaina did not get further until her long chain got caught around the lower end of the bow. She tried to let it hang on the other side and managed that after some fumbling, but when Jaina reached down to pick up the arrow the chain hung down to get snagged around it. Jaina sighed, and laughed in resignation over the silliness of it all. She took a deep breath and tried again. This time she managed to pick up the arrow but when she was going to nock it she dropped the loops of chain and it caught around the bow again.

”Anya, we can’t have this.” Lyana complained. ”We have to get her stupid chains out of the way, this is bloody unworthy.”

”No, you don’t need to…”

”Quiet in the ranks, Ranger Proudmoore.” Anya ordered, with an almost triumphant smile that Jaina had to return. Apparently Anya had decided to show as little understanding for Jaina denying herself as Sylvanas for Jaina diminishing herself. ”Everyone to the barracks, on me, forward march!”

The ranger barracks were surprisingly enough above ground and turned out to be a reasonably whole ruin of some large building, perhaps some form of guild hall or office. The rangers explained that shortage of space in the Undercity made it a priority to move as much activity as possible to the surface and in an emergency it would be quick work for the rangers to move their vital supplies down below. Since they, again, did not have very much apart from their armour and bows. They measured their wealth in arrows and counted on spending each one in defence of their city.

The smaller office rooms that had lined the sides of the large hall in the middle were used for storage and filled that role rather well. It took Lyana no time to dig up a handful of strings and ribbons of cloth, which she used to tie Jaina’s chain close to her arms and chest so that she could stretch her arms wide but without it hanging down when she did not.

”Feel good?” Lyana asked expectantly.

”I think so. It looks like it could work.”

”Great! Now let’s play dress-up!”

”Wh-what?”

”If you’re going to be a ranger you will need to look like one, Lady Proudmoore. Now hold out your hands.” Lyana grinned and used a spare string as measuring tape around Jaina’s shoulders and chest while the rest looked on with matching expressions.

Lyana was gone like the wind and back even quicker with her hands full of dark-lacquered armour parts. Jaina wore two thick shirts against the colder autumn weather, which had sufficed so far thanks to the warming bracelets, and now had one of them over her fettered fetters. On top of that Lyana and the rest dressed Jaina up in a dark rangers full attire. Jaina found herself trapped inside tight, if limited, chest armour, shoulder guards and long vambraces on top of her bracelets. Little would get through to her forearms at least.

”Find her some better fitting pants if you can too.” Anya commented with a critical look on Jaina’s too large pair. Lyana was back with two tighter ones of black leather.

”I can’t find a whole set of leg armour of your size, Lady Proudmoore.” Lyana explained. ”But maybe that’s just as well because it takes a bit of time to get used to everything and some of us prefer to go without them anyway. Now let’s see how these look on you.”

Jaina felt her ears and cheeks turn red hot despite the cool weather but there was nothing to be done about it, she reckoned. If it amused the rangers she could very well play along, she would do infinitely more than that for them. At least they held back on teasing her like that time when she had been swimming. Until she had gotten her new pants on, that is.

Kitala whistled lewdly.

”She’s wearing those or I’m deserting.”

”Yes, I really think these fit best.” Lyana tilted her head. ”Would you like to try the other pair, just in case?”

”Eh, no thanks, I think these will do.” Jaina quickly assured her. Undressing in front of a squadron of curious elves once was quite enough.

”I like the shirt.” Clea hummed appreciatively. ”It’s cute on you.”

”She could use a bodice to keep it in place though, the shirt’s a bit flappy. Or perhaps some kind of leather cuirass to add protection…” Lyana mused. She dusted off her hands. ”Well, all in all I think we have a ravishing new ranger, wouldn’t you agree, lieutenant?”

Anya had been silent but not taken her eyes off Jaina.

”Do you like it?” Anya asked quietly.

Jaina looked down at herself. The wide shirt made her attire resemble a romantic swashbuckler in a Kul Tiran adventure novel, reminding a bit of Haley Bones’ clothing, but there was no mistaking that Jaina was wearing the uniform of a dark ranger.

Jaina’s guardians.

Jaina’s saviours.

Jaina’s friends.

She cleared her throat but couldn’t find her voice, but looked Anya in the eyes and nodded.

Anya nodded back, and then turned on the spot and sprinted to the storeroom. She was back with something dark in her hands, that she unfolded. Anya’s eyes shone brightly when she gently draped the ranger cloak over Jaina’s shoulders and fastened it’s ornate metal clasp.

”Let’s march out, Ranger Proudmoore. Form up with your squadmates.”

Jaina’s squadron.



***



Sylvanas had been buried in work (Areiel would definitely use that term) for three days after the guard’s return but she felt more at ease than in a long time. Dividing spoils and finally being able to offer some relief for her bare-scraped craftsmen and industries was a comparably pleasant task. And with the deathguard back in the Undercity there was much less risk of the various Forsaken malcontents harming Proudmoore and also far less danger from potential Scourge raids. They were slowly but surely expanding their patrols and territory outside the Undercity again.

Sylvanas had finished another meeting with her City Council which was starting to take on a working form. She would give them free reign with handling most of the mercantile goods from Hearthglen. Hopefully, it would both put the organisational skills of that council to the test and give it a bit of a boost in popularity if one of it’s first actions would be to bring material aid to those that sorely needed it. Sylvanas had decided to take a detour around the city to clear her head. It also never hurt to check up on things personally as a commander.

She climbed and jumped among the ruins of the south side of the keep. It was afternoon, and would have been regarded as a beautiful day before when they had reason to care about such things. At least it was healthy weather for her mage.

Sylvanas spied the surroundings, perched on a still standing part of the roof. She looked out over her ruined city. Her miniscule withering kingdom.

Her wretched, poor Forsaken seen walking here and there in plain sight, for once given a short taste of safety.

Her dark rangers at the archery range, she noted fondly and with pride. And…?

Well, well…

Sylvanas smiled broadly and looked closer.

Anya was instructing Proudmoore – in ranger armour, no less - and the mage was dutifully doing her best to follow what Anya showed her, but it was not going well. Anya had simply not had the time to acquire that kind of experience training new rangers as most other lieutenants did, and her quiet and shy demeanour hadn’t led to much in the way of that spontaneous training of new and green rangers that could forge a good deal of bonds between the older and newer ones. She was showing Proudmoore how she stood and how she nocked, drew and loosed the arrow, and Proudmoore by all accounts did her best to follow, but maybe a more hands-on approach was needed?

Sylvanas jumped casually off the roof and shifted enough into her banshee form to dampen the fall, a very useful little trick. She strode purposefully towards their range, then stopped. She could use a little exercise herself.

Sylvanas snuck closer on quiet feet hidden behind the closest buildings. It was a good thirty steps of open ground towards the edge of the range, the area being previously a market square or mustering ground. Sylvanas carefully climbed to the top of the closest wall. She braced herself, and jumped as far forward as she could, landing somewhat more easily than someone lacking a banshee’s abilities. And also landing quick and close enough to take her squadron by surprise, Sylvanas noted and forced down her grin.

”Lieutenant Eversong, would you be so kind as to report on the progress of our newest recruit?” Sylvanas commanded and kept her expression impassive as the five of them startled and scrambled to stand at attention when they heard Sylvanas’ unmistakeably strict tone. Although, she couldn’t be completely sure that Anya had been surprised. It was a rare occasion even for Sylvanas to get a drop on Anya and she wouldn’t put it past her lieutenant to let herself be surprised for Sylvanas’ amusement.

”Dark Lady, Ranger Proudmoore is attentive and quick to grasp the principles of handling the bow effectively, but I have so far failed to demonstrate with sufficient clarity how it is put into practise.”

Sylvanas hummed. ”Ranger Proudmoore, assume the correct stance as Lieutenant Eversong has instructed you.”

Proudmoore did that, which is to say that she raised the bow and probably tried her best to hold it properly.

”Alright, er…I’m finished, Dark Lady.”

Sylvanas shook her head.

”You are standing like a drunk magistrix, Proudmoore.”

The indignant look on her mage’s face was too precious. She was actually pouting a little.

”It can’t be that bad. A mildly tipsy magistrix at most.”

Sylvanas sighed.

”Straighten your back but don’t tense up like a statue. No holding your breath, you living creatures sort of need that, remember?” she instructed as she guided Proudmoore with her hands to stand properly.

”Relax.” Sylvanas reminded her. Belore, her mage was really working herself up over nothing. Her pulse had quickened and she was turning redder and redder. ”Elbow up a little, good… And eyes forward.” Sylvanas mumbled as she continued to adjust and arrange Proudmoore. She had to gently turn her mage’s chin back into position a couple of times when Proudmoore wanted to glance at her rather than the target she should keep her focus on.

”Hold your bow steady, not stiffly. Your movements must be strong but smooth, most of all when you loose your arrow.” Sylvanas made some last adjustments to the mage who now stood with her bow drawn and ready.

”Loose.”

The arrow flew to hit the target, but well outside any of the rings.

”Be a little gentler with your bow, you twitched as you released the bowstring.” Sylvanas directed. It was a common mistake before an archer had gotten fully used to her bow and despite Sylvanas’ insistence on the opposite Proudmoore had tensed up a little from keeping the heavy ranger bow drawn.

Her mage nodded.

”Now resume your stance, and no slacking off.”

Sylvanas had kept speaking in her most calm and even instructor’s tone but she was secretly finding all of it increasingly enjoyable. How long had it been since she had last gotten to train a new ranger of any kind? And Proudmoore’s expression when she focused on doing everything the way Sylvanas had told her was just so endearing. It was not the same hard, taut concentration she had displayed when channelling her current spell at sea for hour after hour, there was something so much softer and livelier about it.

The next arrow hit inside the third of the four rings.

The rangers cheered and clapped and Proudmoore looked like she didn’t completely believe she had managed that.

”Next one.” Sylvanas ordered.

This time Proudmoore made everything too fast for her level of skill yet still hit inside the third ring, but further out.

”Again.” Sylvanas whispered. ”Breathe in. Breathe out.” It was curious how her mage immediately relaxed when hearing Sylvanas’ changed tone but still managed to keep her focus up. ”Gently now. Smoothly release…”

It was the best shot so far, Sylvanas could see it before the arrow landed. It hit the target just inside the second ring.

Proudmoore blinked herself out of her trance-like state, seemingly incredulous.

”Did…did I do that?” Her eyes were wide and shiny.

Sylvanas smiled inwardly. It was just like when Anya had scored her first good hit all those years ago. She leant in closer to her mage’s little mouse ear to smoothly whisper her approval.

”Good girl…”

[Alwyn]

I'm still enjoying catching up - Varimathras sounds potentially dangerous (I wonder what surprise he'll have for Sylvanas next). It's an interesting moment when Lyana explains the traditional treatment of infirm comrades, and explains to Lady Proudmoore that she is "one of ours" now. I enjoyed the impish teasing of Irizadan by Kitala, Clea and Lyana, too - and I wonder if the extra enchantment on Lady Proudmoore's new cuffs will become significant.

[Maltacus]

Chapter XXV. Running and Ranging

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

”The smallest ranger unit is the squadron. It is a scouting and raiding party of six or, more to the point, three pairs and commanded by a lieutenant.”

”That is her.” Lyana whispered out loudly and pointed at Anya from the side. Anya tried her best to glare at her ranging partner. At least Ranger Proudmoore listened attentively and did not interrupt her briefing with inane comments. More senior members of the squadron might learn from her example.

”A ranger paired with her ranging partner form the smallest part of our units. The composition of three pairs gives the squadron the minimum numbers to work tactically on it’s own – one pair to distract the foe, one pair to flank them and one pair to be held in reserve. Eight squadrons make up a company, together with a captain and company quartermaster. Of course most of our squadrons are understrength now so we can not operate independently as effectively as we are supposed to. Since you have no assigned ranging partner yet you will be pairing either with me and Lyana or Clea and Kitala during your training.”

”Because none of us can get enough of you.” Clea whispered to Lady Proudmoore – no, Ranger Proudmoore of course – and probably winked.

”A dark ranger is not abandoned. She is not alone. She may walk the darkest of paths but she has her squadron around her and her ranging partner beside her.” Anya thought of Sylvanas. She should be here. They were her squadron and she should be a part of it instead of having to be alone with her thankless Banshee Queen work. Then they would have three pairs.

Then they would be complete.

”Any questions so far?” Anya asked.

”No, lieutenant.” Proudmoore shone at her.

”First exercise then. Pair with me and Lyana.” Anya turned around and nocked an arrow. She loosed it at the base of a tree on the other side of the field. ”Now, please retrieve my arrow and bring it back here, Ranger Proudmoore.”

Ranger Proudmoore ran off and Anya and Lyana ran with her, which prompted a confused look from the mage. When they had reached the arrow and Ranger Proudmoore tested how deeply it was lodged, Lyana took the opportunity to sigh theatrically.

”That lieutenant Eversong is such a lazy larva, isn’t she? One would think she would have worked up the stamina to retrieve her own arrows by now…”

Ranger Proudmoore burst into a laugh.

”Yeah, I know.” Anya agreed. ”Is she planning on spinning herself a cocoon and go to bed on us or something? And this is just the day’s first exercise…” She shook her head lamentingly.

After a few trying tugs up and down Ranger Proudmoore had gotten her arrows out of the bark. Anya appreciated the care she displayed for their equipment. When she had risen Ranger Proudmoore looked at them in slight confusion.

”Now we need to get back as ordered by our slothful commander, I suppose.” Anya shrugged.

”I hope she manages to stay awake until noon at least.” Lyana added sceptically.

Anya liked seeing Ranger Proudmoore run. It looked healthy and free on her. And her ranger garb fit her very well. Not that Anya was staring.

Not too much at least.

When they were back at the starting position Ranger Proudmoore handed over the arrow to Anya with a flourish, but also lot’s of bemusement.

”Arrow retrieved, Lieutenant Eversong.”

”Thank you, Ranger Proudmoore.”

”Er...can I ask…”

”Always.”

”What are you and Lyana up to when you talk about yourself like a larva and all that?”

”That’s the first lesson. I am the lieutenant of this squad because someone has to be, but I’m still just Anya. I’m still your ranging partner, no matter the rank.” Anya inspected the arrow tip and decided that it was satisfactory enough to put back in her quiver. ”We survive through mutual trust and loyalty, not ceremony or titles. When we are in the field we only bother with ranks and salutes when it really means something. And you are hereby ordered, Ranger Proudmoore, to think up at least one good joke a week about Lieutenant Eversong because I sure as hell isn’t taking her more seriously than that.”

Ranger Proudmoore looked at Anya with rapt attention mixed with barely contained amusement.

”Being ’just Anya’ is a fine enough title for anyone in my opinion.” she smiled.

Anya had to shake herself. Proudmoore could be just as distracting as Ranger Proudmoore as when she was Lady Proudmoore. And it was not even noon yet.

”For the next exercise you pair with Clea and Kitala.” At that Kitala made a long nose at Anya and Lyana.

This time Anya picked a closer tree, but suddenly aimed a lot higher. Her arrow disappeared in the lower canopy.

”Oh, dear me! I seem to have misplaced another arrow. What will my quartermaster say?”

”Yes, wantonly wasting arrows on perplexingly wild shots? She is not going to be pleased if she finds out, I can tell.” Lyana cast a very meaningful glance from beside her.

”It’s Lyana.” Kitala whispered out loud to Ranger Proudmoore.

”I know.” she whispered back just as loudly.

Anya shook her head in mock despair. ”And here I try to teach people the very basics of stealth and discretion at least… Ranger Proudmoore, use everything available to you and please help me get my second arrow back too.”

”On it at once, lieutenant!” their new ranger affirmed cheerfully and took a closer look at the tree. ”Right…”

It was a sturdy oak with long and good branches for climbing. If you could reach them, that is. Ranger Proudmoore took the measure of the lowest one and reviewed the ground. Anya liked that. She wouldn’t want the mage to strain her ankle because of some errant stone hidden under the tufts of withered grass. Ranger Proudmoore bent her legs, and jumped up. She reached the lowest branch, but it was too thick for her to reach around. She tried again further out, but the branch bent upward there and was too high for her. Going back towards the trunk she then tried to grab hold of a smaller outlying branch, but when she jumped and managed to grab it the dry and long since dying wood snapped, and she would have fallen to the ground if Clea hadn’t caught and steadied her.

Ranger Proudmoore breathed out heavily and looked around.

”I suppose there wouldn’t happen to be any reasonably sized stone or fallen branch lying around here…”

Clea cleared her throat, low but audible. Ranger Proudmoore looked at her, and then looked her over.

”I’m allowed to ask for help for this, aren’t I?” She sounded a little sheepish.

Clea grinned at her.

”Could you, ahem, give me a boost please, Clea?”

”One boost coming right up!” Clea whispered as loudly as she could. She grabbed Ranger Proudmoore by the hips and effortlessly tossed her high in the air and onto the thick branch, where she grasped and kicked for a moment until she found something to hold on to and could pull herself up to sit steadily.

”Thanks, Clea!”

”Move closer to the trunk, I’m sending Kitala up to help you.” Clea then heaved her regular ranging partner up beside Ranger Proudmoore with equal ease and they both proceeded higher up among the skeletal crown of the oak. Anya saw Kitala scurry ahead like a squirrel but Ranger Proudmoore was not bad either. Anya decided that she got to be a climbing mouse at the very least. And they were soon back safe and sound with her misplaced arrow.

”Thank you both! Well done everyone.” Anya congratulated. ”Second lesson of today. You will always, always have your ranging partner or partners to depend on and they will always have you.”



***



Jaina had spent two strenuous but exciting days doing everything Anya told her to do. And she loved it. The way Anya’s eyes blazed with proud little fires of her own made Jaina force down her tiredness and try with all she had. The sight was worth everything.

And Jaina was learning something new, and if there was anything she liked it was that.

From the first morning Anya had strung together series of exercises, drills and explanations that were just the right length to never be boring. Jaina couldn’t say that she mastered anything but she felt that everything connected to each other. Climbing trees and hiding most efficiently and with the best possible view of the ground ahead lead to practising stealth by jumping – or as Anya insisted, dancing – across the ruins and rubble in the city without making a sound or touching the ground. Jaina’s squadmates followed Anya’s lead dutifully but in stealth their lieutenant was matchless and Jaina honestly thought that someone must have stuffed her ears full of cotton whenever Anya moved ahead of her, until she encouraged Jaina to follow.

There was no method or pattern to Anya’s way of staying silent, if anything Jaina thought that the dark ranger just danced back and forth over the stones to a melody only she could hear. It was captivating to see, and Jaina felt immensely proud for Anya’s sake upon seeing her being indisputably the best of the best at something. She would count herself lucky to have a tenth of that kind of balance, no matter how highly Clea regarded Jaina’s sea legs.

This morning, an unpleasantly wet and chilly one, Anya had however had the unbecomingly bland idea of the squadron doing high jumps in order to get Jaina warm. Jaina panted on the ground after the last of five sets of them when Areiel, with her uncannily bad sense of timing, entered into view.

”At ease, everyone!” she greeted them with blasphemous cheer. ”What a lovely morning, isn’t it?”

”I suppose the wet will dampen sounds and make it easier to sneak around at least…” Jaina coughed.

”Precisely, Ranger Proudmoore. You’re already thinking like a dark ranger!” Areiel said cheerfully.

”Do you ever get cold, ranger captain? Or is it just captain?”

”Hm, good questions. Either title is correct as it is, so spare your breath and just use ’captain’. As for being cold, I wouldn’t exactly call it that. What do you think?” Areiel mused and turned to the rangers.

Jaina admired this side of Areiel greatly. She radiated confidence and responsibility, but she could still ask the rangers she commanded for advice and opinions as casually as anything. There was no misguided pride between them.

”We feel the cold of course, that much is fair to say.” Clea begun. ”But we don’t suffer from it any longer and we don’t need to fear it since being cold will not harm us. That said, some of us find warmth very desirable from time to time.”

”That’s probably as clear as I can describe it too.” Areiel nodded. ”Ranger Proudmoore, I was looking for a bow of your own for you but I’m afraid we have none of ranger strength and quality to spare yet.”

”That’s alright, I’m hardly a ready dark ranger archer yet anyway, captain.”

”Don’t be discouraged, at least you can draw your bow well and good and that is nothing to sneeze at. You just need to keep practicing. Just like your endurance training.”

Jaina rose and stretched. Her legs still felt like overly boiled vegetables.

”I have an idea, captain. Many of you are banshees, right? And banshees can possess people, like me. What if you took turns practicing possession on me and at the same time made me do exercises when I was running out of breath and felt too tired. Wouldn’t that work?

”Ten laps around the city wall. One hundred push-ups. And if I ever hear you suggest something so dangerous again, Ranger Proudmoore, I will double it.”

Areiel stormed off, muttering something about rangers having less sense with every year.

”Sorry…” Jaina said in a small and nervous voice to Anya.

”Let’s go pack some lunch and extra clothes for you. We have a long hike ahead of us today it seems.”

Jaina sighed.

”It was just a joke. Of course I wouldn’t want to make anyone of you have to do that!”

”Areiel has this thing for character building exercising.” Anya was actually smiling.

”She and Archmage Modera should have tea some day.” Jaina grumbled.

Anya sent Jaina after spare clothes while she and the others went to fetch provisions, still in inexplicably and heretically good spirits. Jaina had quickly packed and managed to get a third of the push-ups done at least before Anya was finished.

”Sixty-eight ones left, lieutenant.” Jaina panted when Anya appeared in the doorway.

”Good work, ranger! You’ll be done with the rest in no time.”

The ’no time’ proved to be just slightly longer than that however. They started with a regular march, which was a quick enough pace in Jaina’s opinion, but Anya interspersed it with stealth training, stretching exercises and even a session of archery practice.

By lunch Jaina was quite sore in her feet.

”You let Clea take a look at your soles, Ranger Proudmoore, then get along with your push-ups!” Anya ordered. ”I bet we have your lunch cooked before you reach thirty!”

Just to prove Anya wrong, Jaina strained herself through thirty-one with her feet bare with Clea cheering on her from her position kneeling by Jaina’s heels. The dark ranger then proceeded to rub and massage Jaina’s feet until the worst of the raw feeling was fading away.

”New boots. Always the same story.” Clea shrugged at her, having read Jaina’s mind and preempted any disparaging comment from Jaina about her poorly conditioned feet. ”I hope you packed spare socks, now would be the time to change them.”

Jaina felt slightly less like an intimidating dark ranger with a pair of damp and not very pleasantly smelling socks tucked inside her belt to dry when they continued their patrol after lunch.



***



”Head up high, Proudmoore! You can be light on your feet, don’t let anything make you believe otherwise!”

”That is – huff – easy for you – huff – to say! You don’t – huff – need to – huff – breathe!” Jaina gasped as they rounded the eastern city gate.

”I didn’t quite catch that Ranger Proudmoore, sorry! Could you repeat yourself, please?” Anya grinned widely.

The three last laps were apparently supposed to be done running. And that was after the two at a brisk march after the lunch. Jaina felt like she would be ready to join the Forsaken ranks in no time…

Jaina tried to think of anything except her breathing and how heavy it was. At least she wasn’t likely to fall further out of shape at this rate. She could look a tiny bit more like the dark rangers. That was a pleasant thought. Far more pleasant than the blood taste in the back of her mouth. She could…she could..look more like Anya…

Anya was running ahead of her, lighter than the wind and noiseless except for when she tried to encourage or distract, or maybe just pester, Jaina with cheerful comments. Tides, how effortlessly all the dark rangers moved, but Anya most of all. Like she didn’t weigh anything, which of course she did but Jaina could probably carry her reasonably easily if she would ever have to (another time when Jaina was not wobbling around like now). Anya was just…easy to hug, and easier to want to hug. She felt like she in some way fit inside Jaina’s arms and belonged there, which was silly and inappropriate to think but also endearing, because Jaina had never gotten over thinking that Anya could probably stand most of all of them to have an extra hug from time to time. She thought of everyone else and nothing of herself, so Jaina would damn well have to step in and do that for her if no one else would. She recalled with a wince the heartbreaking sight when Anya had nearly boiled her hands just to get Jaina warm, without a second thought of her own comfort.

Her straining lungs be damned in fact, now Jaina wanted to run up to Anya’s side and keep her company.

”Only two laps left!” Kitala pointed out.

”Two…laps…left…” Jaina panted from her position at Anya’s side.

”The best of numbers!”

”Why…”

”The best things in life and death comes in two’s. Hands holding, eyes that watch you, feet to run with, ears that listen to you, mouths kissing!” Kitala counted off.

Right…she had some good points…

Forsaken did kiss. Anya had kissed Sylvanas when she gave her the sash, that had been so sweet. Beautiful, even. Did Sylvanas ever kiss anyone? What would that look like?

Anya had slowed down, or maybe Jaina had gotten more used to the cold air. Her throat did not sting quite so much anymore.

And Sylvanas’ kissing was her own business and nothing Jaina should be nosing about, she reprimanded herself. But wouldn’t it be sweet if the Dark Lady kissed Anya back some time?

The day was drawing to an end and shadows were lengthening in the setting sun. If Jaina wasn’t so out of breath she would probably be feeling hungry about now.

Forsaken workers here and there were putting their things in order for the coming night. Their shining lamp-like yellow eyes notwithstanding, most were at a sufficient disadvantage in the dark to prefer to work in daylight. Jaina had wondered if it was an advantage or a disadvantage. Did it help you feel more like your old self or was it just an added annoyance amid hundreds more? Were undead – free undead – a mockery of life when they tried to act like their living selves like many of them so evidently tried to do? They would always at day’s end remain dead, or un-living, of course. But was hobbling around with a walking stick along your favourite path a mockery of a walk? Or was the pouring of a glass with shaking hands false? Was an offer of water less earnest than one of wine?

It was…unjust…to hold up the living world as the mirror and bar to measure everything Forsaken against. Jaina did not know if she did that…she was…too tired…to know…

”SMACK!”

Kitala’s palm came down hard against Jaina’s buttocks and left a burning and burningly indecent palm-shaped sensation where it had landed.

”Constant vigilance, Ranger Proudmoore!” Kitala shouted with laughter filling her voice while she sprinted ahead out of Jaina’s reach.

That does it, Jaina thought. That, that…insolent little half-eared barn-cat!

”Get her!” Lyana shouted, and Jaina sped up after the merrily skipping Kitala with the other rangers in close pursuit with her.

Jaina’s indignation lasted until only one lap was left. Or, strictly speaking, Jaina’s pretended indignation because she was way too tired to bother with being cross at her ranger squadron’s inappropriate idea of humour.

”I will – huff – pinch your – huff – nose so hard – Kitala!” Jaina panted, and the next moment she stumbled on a rock and would have fallen if Anya had not caught her arm.

”Just one more. We take it on together.” Anya said kindly and kept holding on to Jaina’s hand.

It was a help in the twilight to have Anya’s guidance to count on. Jaina imagined that Anya was likely pulling her along more than a little too, but maybe that didn’t have to matter.

One more step…

Breathe…

The world faded to dim grey of less importance. She had Anya’s hand in her own. Anya’s cold hand that needed warmth. Anya’s small hand that needed to be held. Anya’s gentle hand that deserved to be caressed.

Anya was slowing down, so Jaina did that without question. They had passed the north gate, only the west gate was left.

Around a corner, and there was the last stretch to the city’s main entryway from the west. Someone was waiting for them in the darkness under the gate.

”Welcome home!” Areiel cheered for them.

Jaina slowed to a stop with the rest of them. Tides, her legs felt numb now! She reached out to lean against the stone wall.

”One damn good ranger recruit runned ragged as ordered!” Anya reported, and sounded a little proud.

”Well, ain’t that stellar?” Areiel turned to smile at Jaina with aggravating merriment. ”See, Ranger Proudmoore, you can do it, all on your own.”

”Yeah, yeah – huff – just gloat about it – huff – captain…” Jaina panted while Areiel laughed even more.

”And if you really would like to get a ranger inside you…” Clea whispered with a barely contained chuckle. ”…there are far better options than possession for that.”

The whole squadron fell over in fits of extremely unprofessional giggles around Jaina.

”You are all such children!” Areiel shook her head. ”And Anya, unless I’m very much mistaken your new recruit could use some instruction in maintaining her equipment. Double shifts tomorrow.”

”Excellent idea, captain!” Anya nodded eagerly.

Jaina glared at her. Double shifts? Then she felt Clea’s nudge in her side.

”Maintenance means mending broken gear. In other words, no running.” she winked at Jaina.

Oh. Right. Maybe Areiel had a point. Just this once.

”Kitala!” Anya called out. ”Me and Lyana will be running ahead to get the dinner started. Since you have such a hard time distinguishing between Ranger Proudmoore’s hindquarters and your mount’s, you can act as her mount now and carry her to the keep!”

Kitala laughed and squatted down. ”Up you go, Ranger Proudmoore.”

Jaina was too tired to argue, and in all fairness her feet were really starting to protest against the day’s exertions at this point. She slumped over Kitala’s head and shoulders while Kitala neighed very authentically and cantered off towards the keep with Jaina on her back and an amused Clea next to her.



***



Jaina’s feet had made valiant efforts to match her cheeks in redness and she quickly came to agree with the idea to spend a day sharpening arrow tips, mend broken fletching, stitch up torn cloaks and help Lyana nail and glue ranger boots together again. Arrow making was a new craft for Jaina but a lot of the rest was similar enough to what she had practised when she was younger for Jaina to make herself useful fairly quickly. It was quite cosy, sitting spread out in her dungeon and making things whole for the other dark rangers. Lyana and Clea competed about who could fuss the most over Jaina’s feet, which had been scraped raw at the heels yesterday.

Sharpening blades were ten times trickier than it looked and before Jaina knew it the day had turned into evening and she had hardly gotten anything finished, but Anya assured her that it didn’t matter. Jaina still found herself wishing she would have been able to cast. She could have smoothened out most dents in no time with some simple fire magics and probably added a little enchantment as an extra bonus.

The next morning Anya took them out for more stealth training and archery practice. Jaina still struggled with almost every shot – she thought, at least – but whenever things felt too hard she would close her eyes and think of Sylvanas’ calming voice from the first day at the range. It was such a vivid memory that Jaina almost found herself shivering right now.

She raised the bow another time and took aim. She loosed the arrow.

”Breathe out just a little longer before you release your arrow.” Sylvanas’ smooth voice caressed her ears from a little bit behind Jaina, who spun around.

”Dark Lady!”

Sylvanas was standing with her arms crossed and looking over Jaina appreciatively.

”Look at you. The magistrix is sobering up slowly but surely.” Sylvanas smirked. Jaina put her nose in the air and did not deign to comment, but she smiled all the same. Sylvanas was here, and she also seemed to be in a good mood.

”Dark ranger garb suits you, Ranger Proudmoore. How do you find it?”

”It’s kind of…snug.”

Sylvanas nodded.

”We do like to avoid getting tangled in things if at all possible. Keeping track of bows and blades is hassle enough when you need to run across a forest.”

”Lyana wants to make some leather armour bodice thing to keep my shirt tucked in properly.”

”Not a bad idea. Maybe some sort of girdle could serve the same purpose in the meantime.” Sylvanas pondered. Then she flashed a smile at Jaina. ”Before you know it I will be chasing off admirers of my dark rangers with a stick all day long.”

Jaina felt herself blushing like a red apple and looked away.

”You are going to eat soon, correct?” Sylvanas asked.

”Yes, usually we make lunch about now I would think.”

”Good. Do that, and report to the training hall in two hours time. Your squadron knows where it is.”

Sylvanas left Jaina bursting with questions that she wanted answered. What was this about? What did their training hall look like? What was it for? Who would be there?

Anya and the others treated Jaina’s curiosity with mild patience and Anya eventually assigned Jaina to continue with the maintenance work from earlier to keep her mind on something else.

After their lunch and a dutiful hour and more of mending worn out things Jaina followed the rest to the entrance down into the Undercity. Anya and Lyana kept to the front and Clea and Kitala watched her back. Jaina felt a little bit more secure, and confident maybe, in her ranger cloak and armour. She may not be a trained dark ranger herself but she wore their uniform and walked side by side with them, and it would take someone truly daft to imagine that Jaina could be harassed without openly challenging all dark rangers at the same time.

Their path took Jaina to a part of the city she had not been inside before. High stone vaults and sturdy walls were illuminated by lanterns in iron bounds. Anya led the way to a door like half a dozen others and indicated that Jaina should go inside.

Beyond the door was…an arena? A huge floor of sand bounded on three sides by four rows of seats and on the fourth by a storage space with well-hacked logs and other similar targets for violent practice sessions. Stretched out on one of the seats was Sylvanas, without her pauldrons, gauntlets and chest protection, who rose gracefully as Jaina entered.

”Ranger Proudmoore. Remove your armour and take position.” Sylvanas ordered and indicated the centre of the sand.

Jaina’s heart hammered against her ribs as she untied and disassembled her chest and shoulder armour and vambraces and put them in a neat row on the lowest row of seats. Was Sylvanas intending to beat her up? Was she angry at Jaina for something?

”A dark ranger’s first and best defence is speed and stealth.” Sylvanas declaimed as she started to circle around Jaina without further ado. ”But it will only last you so far. In the end you yourself is the one thing standing between yourself and your squadmates and the death or enslavement of you all.”

The Dark Lady’s eyes burned fiercely and Jaina involuntarily took a step back.

”And that, my ranger, you must never fail. Not against the Scourge. Not against the Scarlets. Not against anything. For you are mine!” Sylvanas hissed the last syllables with such intensity that it took Jaina completely off guard when she followed it up with flying through the air and crashing into Jainas shoulder.

The sand in the room had looked deceptively soft.

Jaina coughed and sputtered. The hard landing had pushed all air out of her. She rose to her feet to see Sylvanas patiently circling her like she had never done anything else.

”Footwork, Proudmoore!”

Right. Jaina nervously backpedalled. She circled with Sylvanas to keep herself from being caught in a spot.

”Back straight, not stiff!” Sylvanas commanded. Then she leapt at Jaina and landed with a hard slam into the ground where Jaina had just been standing.

”I just left my defences wide open. Take advantage of that!” Sylvanas was on her feet before Jaina could take advantage of anything.

Sylvanas proceeded with a wide and demonstrative round kick which Jaina hurried out of reach of. Then another. And another. She was forcing Jaina towards the shorter side of the floor. Jaina had to come up with something else than just keeping out of the way. She counted for herself. There was a rhytm to Sylvanas’ kicks. A regularity. A predictability. Jaina steeled herself and when Sylvanas’ boot swept before her the next time she dodged with her arms held up to shield her face and threw herself forward towards the Dark Lady’s upper leg, where she couldn’t kick with the same momentum.

”No, no, no, Proudmoore.” Sylvanas purred and caught hold of Jaina’s arm with one hand while she lightly pushed Jaina with the other to send her tumbling forward into the sand. ”Do not become fixated on only one part of your opponent. I still have hands even when I kick at you. Again!”

Jaina backed away in the other direction this time. She licked her lips. At least Sylvanas encouraged her to try something else and was not disdainful. Just domineering.

The next time Jaina dodged but chased after the kicking leg around Sylvanas and went for the Dark Lady’s arm instead. Sylvanas flashed a smile at her but held her ground even with Jaina grabbing hold of her left arm, and waved her right one at Jaina.

”I still have one hand free to break your nose Proudmoore, how were you going to counter that?” Jaina pushed closer at Sylvanas and tried to unbalance her. She was getting caught up in the contest now and didn’t want to disappoint her Dark Lady.

”Dodging my attack and controlling my one arm in the process was good.” Jaina warmed at the small praise. ”Better would be for you to follow your own movement after my leg to take hold of my hand and get it behind my back.”

Sylvanas turned and grabbed hold of Jaina’s other arm instead of the planned opposite way around. Then, with a wink at Jaina, she threw herself backward and took Jaina with her, so that Jaina rolled over Sylvanas’ shoulder and once again slammed hard into the sand.

”Clea usually enjoys grappling the opponent, as you can imagine, and drives Kitala and others mad with getting them on the ground all the time.” Sylvanas had rolled back to her feet and Jaina hurried to pick herself up. ”But am I to understand that you are of opposite taste, Proudmoore, and likes it when someone puts you in your place?” she teased.

Jaina glared at her. She did not enjoy being thrown into the sand!

Jaina aimed a kick at Sylvanas, who sidestepped it easily.

”You must move faster if you intend to catch me, Proudmoore.” Why did she have to purr like a smug cat when she pronounced Jaina’s name? It was…immensely distracting. ”But most of all you must move with your whole body.”

Sylvanas stepped forward and whipped forth a sharp kick at Jaina’s outer thigh with the upper side of her foot.

”Everything is connected. A good swordsman let’s the blade become a part of himself instead of just a tool to be wielded. You must use every part of your body just as fluently.”

Sylvanas dodged a strike from Jaina and at the same time stepped close enough to retort with a light punch to Jaina’s side.

”Footwork.” Sylvanas reminded her.

”You almost sound like Anya. I think.” Jaina huffed. She wasn’t really so out of breath, it had just been so intense from the start that her pulse was up.

”And what does Anya tell you?” Sylvanas inquired while she made a couple of threatening jabs.

”It’s more like what she shows, I guess. About moving silently. She’s does that very fluently like you describe.” Jaina circled out of reach of Sylvanas.

”Yes. Good thinking, Proudmoore!” Sylvanas grinned at her as she leapt forward to chase Jaina away with a vicious straight kick. ”Balance, coordination, smoothness. It’s the same thing in stealth, in shooting and in close combat.”

Jaina tried to wrap her head around that – while at the same time keeping said head from contact with various incoming hard body parts of the Dark Lady. Anya was light and quick. Anya danced across ground, rubble, stock and stone. Small, quick steps, never enough to lean too heavily on a single foot.

”Now we’re getting somewhere!” Sylvanas complimented. Jaina tried not to be too affected by the praise. ”Try to counter me now. Every strike exposes something to a counterattack. Make use of it.”

Jaina bit her lip. This was a little bit like a puzzle to be solved. Maybe it would be easier to think of it like that. How could she find a gap in Sylvanas’ defence?

She could see that Sylvanas gave her hints here and there. She would do some movements deliberately slow or overt, but whenever Jaina hesitated or acted too slowly Sylvanas was there to strike down on it, quite literally. It was tiring to never seem able to land a single good blow on the nefarious elf, but it was exciting too. Sylvanas managed to always keep Jaina on edge but also always gave enough encouragement and praised her when she did something better than before to keep her confidence up.

And the Dark Lady was of course also just as big a tease as any of her dark rangers.

Sylvanas spun Jaina around on the spot after trapping her arm behind her back, tripped Jaina’s legs to catch her in her arms like a swooning damsel, threw Jaina – at least rather softly – face first into the sand after telling her that dinner was served.

”Do you need a nap already, Ranger Proudmoore?” Sylvanas smirked and pulled Jaina up after throwing her to the ground for the latest uncountable time.

”You’d wish!” Jaina exclaimed defiantly.

But now that Sylvanas said it Jaina noticed how wet she was with sweat and how her chest heaved from effort. At least it was a more fun way to exhaust herself than running.

Sylvanas saw it also.

”Perhaps I had better yield while I still have some of my limbs in one piece.” she smiled at Jaina. ”Good work today, Proudmoore. Come over here.”

Sylvanas proceeded to brush Jaina clean of the worst of all the sand from the arena that now decorated her. Jaina clawed and scratched at the grains that had lodged themselves in her hair and tried not to think too much of Sylvanas’ hand that moved across her backside and certain extremely embarrassing similarities with what Sylvanas had been doing in a certain dream.

Jaina bent down to adjust her bootlaces. She grasped at the floor. All this sand…

”Think fast!” she yelled and turned around to fling a fistful of sand into Sylvanas’ face and hurl herself right into the elf’s stomach to lift her up and crash down onto the floor with Sylvanas under her. Jaina quickly took hold of the Dark Lady’s forearms and put her weight on them. She was standing with a knee on either side of Sylvanas and pinning her down with her body weight.

”Well, well!” Sylvanas grinned at her. ”Not bad, my ranger. You obviously have me right where you want me, don’t you?” she husked at Jaina. Sylvanas was obviously trying to be distracting, and not without considerable success it had to be said, but Jaina would not relent.

”Although…” the Dark Lady whispered almost seductively. Then, driven by her strong legs, she thrust her hips against Jaina’s with such force that Jaina found herself knocked away, and the next moment Sylvanas had wrapped her legs around Jaina’s waist from the side and was holding Jaina’s arms stretched out over her head. ”…I admit that I prefer this position, little mage.”

Jaina wondered whether she would have time to surrender before her face ignited itself in embarrassment. It would be a close call.

”Fine. Can you let me go now, Dark Lady?”

”Mhm…” Sylvanas hummed and smiled more predatorily than ever. ”I think I rather like you where you are…”

”Sooner or later Anya will be wondering where I am. Then I will tell her that only a spell uttered in Eastern Lordaeronian accent can release me.”

”Is that how it’s going to be then?” Sylvanas purred. Jaina almost fainted on the spot. Had Sylvanas…no, that had to be some kind of coincidence… ”Well, I suppose I better let you run along so you don’t miss your dinner.”

Sylvanas released her grip and Jaina struggled back onto her feet, now breathing very heavily. She staggered just a little as she picked up her gear and went to rejoin her waiting ranger squadron.



***



Sylvanas could not stop herself from grinning long past her tired mage’s sortie out the door. Belore, how delightful Proudmoore was.

And not too bad at it, actually. She was not as fast as most ranger recruits but that was to be expected from someone without the same martial background. The girl was learning well, and she had a good head. Sylvanas chuckled at her mage’s priceless expression when she had thrown her off and turned the tables on her. She had allowed Proudmoore to get a little confidence-boosting drop on herself as a final treat. Creative tactical thinking like that should always be rewarded.

It was almost a shame that her little training session was over. It had been every bit as entertaining as Sylvanas had expected, and she hoped that the exercise would be of some help for Proudmoore’s self-confidence.

Sylvanas was just about to gather her own things when she noticed another set of dark-lacquered ranger armour next to it. Had Proudmoore forgotten something? But no, she hadn’t put hers at the same place…and neither Proudmoore nor any other ranger was so eerily silent that it left a veritable hole in the fabric of sounds…no ranger except for one, of course…

A black shadow vaulted through the air in the corner of Sylvanas’ eye.

”I have told you a hundred times that excessive acrobatics serve no practical purpose, Anya. And who is escorting Proudmoore home?”

”Lyana will link up with Amora’s squadron who we invited over for dinner while you kept yourselves entertained. I have every confidence that she will leap at the chance to take a closer look at my squadron’s newest member.”

”That would be putting it mildly.”

Anya and Sylvanas were circling each other now, each eyeing the other warily.

”I will be joining the others shortly.” Anya informed her. ”I just need to make sure my Dark Lady is not letting her crown dull her instincts first.”

”Dull, Lieutenant Eversong…?” Sylvanas whispered warningly. ”You need to learn to watch your mouth I would say.”

”Why don’t you come over here and make me?” Anya whispered back.

Sylvanas bared her teeth.

”It seems my dark rangers are nothing but smart-mouthed brats as of late.”

In response Anya sweetly mimicked a kiss at her.

Sylvanas flew through the air.

Ranger Anya Eversong had always been just short of an excellent fighter. She was fast and mobile like running water between your fingers, but she lacked the strength to make her blows take full advantage of that. She had never quite developed the iron fists of Velonara despite them being of almost similar height and build.

Dark Ranger Anya Eversong had the undead strength to compensate for that slight deficiency.

She dodged in and out of Sylvanas’ guard while keeping up a rapid succession of counter-strikes against every part of herself that Sylvanas left exposed.

She had only herself to blame. It was after all Sylvanas who had instructed Anya and taught her everything she now made use of against Sylvanas. And she would have it no other way.

Sylvanas hissed as she took a hit to her ribs that would have felt terribly when she was alive, and bought herself an opportunity to grab Anya’s other hand and spin her around on the spot as if they danced. She forced Anya to arc her back and half fall back against her.

”You need to be taught a lesson, Anya.” Sylvanas growled into her ear while keeping a hard hold of Anya’s both hands. For the briefest moment Anya did not resist her in the slightest. She was even craning her neck back and she and Sylvanas were looking at one another’s red eyes. Then, only the smallest glimmer of mischief preceded Anya tightening her arms and tricking Sylvanas into reflexively doing the same to keep her pinned. Supported by Sylvanas holding her arms tightly, Anya kicked up from the ground and curled her entire lower body up to wrap her legs around Sylvanas’ head. Anya was now hanging down with her own head about the level of Sylvanas’ groin, and her own legs keeping Sylvanas in a corresponding position.

”I can hardly wait.” Anya almost growled back. But Sylvanas still had the most control, being the one who was actually standing, and simply dropped Anya’s arms and let both of them tumble to the ground, with Anya beneath her. The dark ranger gasped when she hit the ground, but somehow managed to snake her knee under one of Sylvanas shoulders and force her off. Next thing Anya had wriggled out of Sylvanas’ hold and risen to her feet just as quickly.

Hair dishevelled, clothes in slight disarray and eyes so very bright and clear, Anya was magnificent. How the hell were you supposed to get things done as a queen with rangers who dared to be so indescribably distracting?

Anya did not content herself with defending. She sped towards Sylvanas, but instead of putting her momentum behind a devastating kick forward she somehow managed to pirouette on the last step and spin around to plant her heel in Sylvanas’ side.

As much as Sylvanas saw it coming by the barest of margins, she had time to admire her ranger’s exquisite agility while she whirled around herself closer to Anya and used that movement to grab her by the shoulders and slam her into one of the sturdy pillars that marked the corner of their storage and armoury part of the room.

”What did I tell you…of excessive acrobatics?” Sylvanas smiled at her while she snatched up Anya’s arms and held them stretched over her head. Actually quite similar to how she had held Proudmoore in her place on the ground earlier. Sylvanas forced Anya’s one leg against the pillar with her own to keep her ranger off balance.

”They seem to work just fine so far.” Anya smirked at her.

”Is this your idea of fine?” Sylvanas cast a meaningful glance at their arms.

In response, Anya looked even more intensely at her under lowered eyelids. Then she leapt, right up on the spot, and wrapped her legs around Sylvanas’ waist.

”Gotcha.” Anya whispered.

[Alwyn]

Great updates, it's interesting to see Lady Proudmoore becoming a Ranger, getting trained in archery and learning to depend on her ranging partner.

[Maltacus]

Chapter XXVI. Vignettes and VDSD:s

This was a joke advertisement of sorts I made for Valentine's Day.

[Maltacus]

Chapter XXVII. Horns and Horses

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Halvdan slowly peeked out under a pointy branch of some thorny kind of bush. He should have picked Runar’s spot beneath some smooth-looking spruces instead.
Before them the road from Loch Modan snaked down towards the Wetlands where King Magni of Khaz Modan was supposed to be encamped. A good distance lower it straightened out over rocky heaths crossed by a stream that had dug through the rock over untold years. And over that stream there was a bridge. The only one for mile after mile.

He didn’t see a thing down there. Halvdan slowly pulled back and crouched down to make it over to Runar and the rest of the advance party without showing.

”Did you spot anyone?”

”Nope.”

They were at the head of a caravan of rams with themselves and their grouchy caravan master Korgan Bloodhammer riding ahead as escort of the dozen of pack rams tended to by four of Korgan’s underpaid henchmen. They were on their way down from the highlands around Loch Modan and with Runar and Halvdan being unfamiliar with the land and it’s sometimes unfriendly inhabitants as well as the exact location of King Magni’s encampment, the temporary job as caravan guards had seemed to offer a convenient and lucrative way of travelling from Thelsamaar and onward. But Korgan’s mood and general demeanour made Halvdan question whether the coin and convenience were really worth it.

”Get your arses back here, stubs!” Korgan shouted at them at just that moment.

”There goes the discreet approach…” Halvdan muttered, and hoped there would be enough of trees and rocks to hide their caravan while they descended the mountains at least.
”Catch anything interesting?” Korgan glared at them when they returned to the waiting caravan.

”Nothing in sight.” Runar answered neutrally before Halvdan had time to come up with something more well deserved.

”Enjoy while it lasts. This be the turf of Thor’Gal Bonechewer and his band of trolls and you can bet your scroungy beards they are lying in wait for us by that bridge.”
”If so, how do you suggest we deal with them?”

”That’s where you come in.” Korgan Bloodhammer grinned, but it was not the pleasant kind of grin.

A couple of hours later the caravan had descended most of the winding road and were at the edge of the woods. What had looked like a fairly even heath from above turned out to be crossed by small ridges and hills and dotted with bushes and sparse trees that masked a great many spots.

”They’ll come at us when we cross or are close to crossing that bridge.” Korgan explained. ”They’re brigands and robbers, they’re after a peaceful settlement if they can get away with it. No point in mincin’ words with them though. So! You go ahead, break ’em up, and then I’ll join up!”

”Why don’t we charge together instead, that ought to be much better?” Halvdan wondered as he tried to take in the approach to the bridge. If these trolls were watching this side of the bridge there would be plenty of hiding places, but also ground that was no match for the great Khaz Modan rams.

”Because I bloody tell you so!” Korgan snarled at him. ”Now get to work!”

Runar rode up next to Halvdan.

”Arrow fodder.” he whispered.

”Spear fodder, I’d say.” Halvdan whispered back. ”I don’t like this.”

”Nor me. But our chivalrous gentleman of a taskmaster claimed they would try to rob us without picking a fight if they could, so maybe they would let us approach before pelting us with spears?”

”Do we even want that? I’d like full plate for something like it. And a really heavy shield probably. What if we would actually follow the order and break through them with our rams?”

”We’d need some sort of distraction. Maybe. What then?”

”Cross the bridge, put some distance tot hem or force them to follow us. If the trolls reveal themsleves we will have the range advantage if they rely on javelins.”

Their previous encounters with less amenable creatures around Ironforge had caused both Runar and Halvdan to invest in improved mail coats and helmets and above all state-of-the-art dwarven crossbows. Neither relished going toe-to-toe with wendigos and the like if they could avoid it. An exorbitant sum of coin and a round of negotiations with a grouchy weaponsmith later, Halvdan had a very practical and compact small crossbow at hand whose sturdy construction and reinforcements guaranteed durability as well as draw weight well beyond the expected from something of it’s size. And it could be loaded with three bolts at once, although that impacted range and accuracy heavily and was only advisable against crowds at short range. All in all an excellent investment and easy to carry with you in it’s practical sheath.

Runar had not gone for anything resembling practicality. Trust the diplomat to want to make an impression…

The unwieldy monstrosity that his colleague now carried with him was an advanced prototype of dwarvish and gnomish engineering with a newer type of loading mechanism that let the wielder quickly reload half a dozen times. The idea was sound in itself but the creators had necessarily had to outdo their peers even in the fields of range and accuracy too, and the result was a crossbow so heavy Halvdan seriously wondered if it should not be classified as a ballista instead. On top of everything it had a frost enchantment of some sort too and the bolts froze a small area of whatever they hit. When Runar had tried it out he had pierced two heavy infantry shields placed next to each other and put a huge dent in the third. It even had a name, ’Nonayk Od Azirub’, whatever that could mean... Runar had shortened it to Nona.

And of course Runar had to smugly point out that as a diplomat it was of course only fitting to carry the craft of two nations’ artisans, and also how a repeating crossbow was a superb choice in the business as you frequently had to repeat yourself to warmongering idiots who would not listen to sensible arguments.

Honestly…

***

After some more deliberation two haughty rams with two less assured riders galloped out of the trees and headed straight for the bridge. They kept their inadvisable speed up and only the legendary surefootedness of the rams prevented a disastrous fall.

When they had nearly reached the bridge, three ordinary bushes rose and cast off their cloaks stuffed with branches and tufts of grass to reveal the mean-looking trolls beneath. Further away two more joined the rising group.

”Hide!” one of the dwarves shouted.

”Run for your lives!” the other terrified rider implored them, sounding agitated enough that Thor’Gal Bonechewer held off hurling his spear at them. There must be something coming after those lunatics that he couldn’t see.

”Save yourselves!”

”Korgan Bloodhammer is after us!”

That was a name Thor’Gal knew, but why would dwarves yell it like that? Were they somehow pursued by that sour fellow? He strained his eyes and nostrils to catch sight or scent of any other ram rider but could not make anything out. He was just about to sign to his band to put a permanent stop to the approach of these two when the foremost rider, mounted on the smallest ram, yelled anew.

”Don’t eat me, eat him, he’s much fatter!”

The absurd message left Thor’Gal gaping in confusion and the next moment the mad dwarf had dashed past him and out onto the bridge while the next followed suit.
”Don’t eat me either, I’m only the middle ram! Eat the big ram after us!”

Finally Thor’Gal snapped out of his astonishment and roared at his band.

”GET THEM!”

In answer, three crossbow bolts flew into their band, wounding two of them in their legs. The dwarves were already galloping off, but they would not outrun his band forever. Just as Thor’Gal were about to join in the hunt he heard a faint sound behind him, growing into a primitive roar, or possibly a dwarven battle cry. On the largest ram so far appeared indeed Korgan Bloodhammer, charging right at him. Just as Thor’Gal eagerly hefted his throwing spear and took aim, he felt a stinging pain and chill in his shoulder and lost his form enough for the throw to glance off the rider’s shield instead of impaling his mount, which in the next heartbeat rammed into him and sent Thor’Gal Bonechewer crashing into the river, which drowned out his tirade of assuredly foul curses and insults.

***

King Magni of Khaz Modan was encamped a day’s march into the Wetlands on one of the firmer spots. Deep ditches and solid palisades protected it against unwelcome visitors as well as floods. The middle of autumn was not an ideal time to visit the soggy marshes and when Korgan Bloodhammer’s caravan arrived with edible and drinkable supplies it was a most welcome break from the routine of scouring the vicinity for bandits and monsters.

After the self-satisfied caravan master rode a couple of fervently discussing guards in cloaks and high quality mail armour.

”I maintain that this would never have happened if we had been flying.” Halvdan pointed out.

”Keep your lunacies to yourself, kindly.”

As the entire caravan dismounted and begun to unload the goods Korgan promptly excused himself.

”Carry on, lads! And you two help them! I will be back in a while.” He then briskly walked off towards the command tents.

”Now he’s hurrying to take all the credit for chasing off those trolls at the bridge by himself…” Halvdan muttered angrily.

”Let’s bide our time and await an opportunity to rectify that.” Runar advised thoughtfully. He nodded towards the largest tent from which a lot of noise was leaking out. In other words it was obviously the tavern.

After helping with stabling the rams Runar and Halvdan stepped inside the tavern tent. Braziers and the mass of patrons kept it fairly warm and a good three dozens of slightly bored dwarves glanced up at the overloaded newcomers.

”Welcome, my friends!” the enterprising tavern keeper beamed at them. ”Care for a drink or meal? Or both?”

”Looks more like they’re gonna make camp in yer tent.” one of the guests at the closest table commented with a look at their luggage.

”All in due time.” Runar answered smoothly. ”Priorities first. Two ales!”

Halvdan let Runar run the show, and on top of everything he was rather thirsty. Leading troll brigands away through trackless wilderness was thirsty work. His colleague downed his drink with proper fervor and banged his tankard against the bar to summon the crowd’s attention.

”Good folk! I am pleased to announce the recent arrival of Korgan Bloodhammer’s caravan of supplies! Only slightly delayed by the interference of Thor’Gal Bonechewer’s band of robbers. Me and my trusted colleague here have just returned from dashing madly through troll ranks with all limbs in place and noses unbroken! To our shame, we have however been niggardly to our employer and only left him with a single troll for himself when we stole away with the other four.” Several of the seated dwarves snickered at that way of putting things. ”And all because master Bloodhammer tarried a little and stayed behind at the first charge. Alas, alas…” Runar shook his head as if lamenting their own behaviour. ”But we strive to better ourselves, and therefore the next round for everyone is on us!”

That struck home, and wave of roaring cheers and lifted tankards saluted them. Stools and benches scraped against the wooden floor when the opportunistic patrons rose to take advantage of free refreshments. Runar deposited an assuring sum of coin to the widely grinning tavern keeper and ordered two plates of food while he was at it.

”Shouldn’t we go and see the king?” Halvdan asked later after they had downed their lunch at one of the larger tables while regaling the other occupants with their tale at least three times, along with their other misadventures since arriving in Ironforge. Not that he was very adverse to the idea of eating and having walls and a roof around them.

”Now we lean back and let these content patrons spread our story to the king and other eager listeners. Then we go and see the king.” Runar whispered in answer.

Apart from the fact that the benches lacked any support for any manner of leaning back, they followed Runar’s advice and just after they had been able to borrow a space in the tavern to store their luggage for the time being and went out to look around for accommodations, or a free spot to set up their tent, they were hailed by one of the guards who fairly politely asked if they would be able to see King Magni of Khaz Modan. Which they would.

Magni resided in a large round tent which was half a reception hall and half a council hall, which had the slight side-effect of making the curious eyes of visiting spies as well as diplomats drift ever so slightly to the alluring maps and presumably important papers left on the large table to their right. Halvdan pulled his gaze away with some mental effort.

The dwarven king had been standing bent over the table but looked up expectantly. Halvdan wondered if the campaign was troubling him and he was glad for having something else to occupy himself with.

”Welcome! So, you are the current talk of the tavern. I hear Master Godvin can close early today.”

”I sincerely hope not, since we left our travelling packs with him.” Halvdan muttered, which caused the king to snicker. ”Greetings also, King Magni.”

”Come in, take you seats!” Magni indicated a couple of the chairs. ”Runar and Halvdan, was it? I am in need of your help. I am running some sort of campaign to clear these sorry marshlands of a veritable bloody army of thugs, robbers and wild beasts that make life miserable for the people who try to carve out an honest living for themselves. So far we have succeeded in getting out boots muddy and our coats wet and little more. So I am positively dying for news of anything that isn’t drenched tents and flooded ditches, and as I have understood it there may be a little more to the good Korgan Bloodhammer’s story than his heroic goring of the troll chieftain into the river.” King Magni grinned expectantly.

Runar rose to the challenge and presented the king with a detailed, and just a little artistically embellished, account of how he and Halvdan had charged and lured off their four trolls before Korgan bravely and courageously caught up to deal with the remaining one. King Magni chuckled and sent for some pastries for his guests and himself. Planning campaigns was tiresome work.
The pastries were covered with deliciously tooth-trapping glazed nuts and the smell caused Voo to twitch with excitement and peek out from his nest inside a pouch at Runar’s belt. Spotting the target, the squirrel scurried up to the table in a blur of red-brown and sniffed eagerly at King Magni’s plate.

”Well! Hello there!” the king burst out in amused surprise.

”No, Voo, here…” Runar tried, to little avail. On the contrary, the squirrel seemed to take it as a cue to woo instead, and subjected King Magni himself to his most maid-toppling look.
”Aye, these are quite the treat.” Magni agreed. ”Shall we share a plate, little fellow? You can have the nuts, and I take the filling.”

Voo squeaked in agreement, and jumped across the table to climb up on the dwarven king’s arm to be in close proximity to his pastry that the amused ruler divided into two equal halves.

”Might be for the best, lest I’ll have to order a wider mail shirt, hrm… At times I think our baker is too good for our own good…” He scratched Voo on his back with a thick finger. ”Where did you pick up this colleague?”

Halvdan noted with satisfaction that at times like these it was beneficial to be the spy of the party. While Runar was once again called upon to tell a tale, now of how they had found Voo in a pile of bones under a box, Halvdan could concentrate on eating his pastry in peace. King Magni’s baker really knew his or her business. He saved the topping of glazed nuts for last. Unfortunately, it was not only delicious but also incredibly sticky and strong as glue.

”…so we call him Voo because he expertly woos people, at least tavern staff, but at times it gets a bit confusing.”

”What about ’Rattletusk’?” Halvdan suggested, in reference to the rattling bones where Voo had been found. Or more correctly tried to suggest, with most of his jaws still stuck together.
”’Ratatosk’?” Runar asked, and Voo chattered happily at that. ”Did you like that?” he asked the squirrel before Halvdan had the chance to correct him.

”Ha! Clearly an expert scout and representative of the party in any case!” King Magni remarked.

”Oh, yes, speaking of representatives…” Runar smoothly interjected as if he just so happened to remember something. ”We had been meaning to see you about a certain issue of diplomacy, King Magni.”

Halvdan could see how the king straightened his posture and carefully moved Rattletusk (or Ratatosk) into his lap in order not to squeeze his tail. The king was back to business and Runar had his full attention.

”As we are all well aware the greater part of Lordaeron is under the rule of the undead Scourge of the Lich King.” The mere mention of that was enough to banish the previous good mood of Magni. ”We have - through a strange series of coincidences - happened to come across what appears to be nothing less than a letter of introduction form the alleged queen of an independent faction of the undead in open rebellion against the Lich King and in search of allies against their former master.”

Both the eyes and mouth of King Magni had narrowed, suspicious and ill-boding.

”Now, farfetched as it may sound…” Runar continued quickly. ”…it is the professional opinion of myself and Halvdan that said letter is authentic, at least enough to warrant a deeper investigation. And with the kingdom’s resources and manpower stretched thin – the depressive troubles in the Wetland not adding to things – we thought that we could undertake that sort of investigation. We have some experience with faraway matters from before and would be honoured to be able to help.”

”You’re gonna throw your lives away for nothing. For a pile of…hrm! If you think for one moment I will trust those accursed…fiends you’re sadly mistaken!” Rattletusk jumped up in alarm and King Magni breathed out through his teeth and regained his composure with visible effort.

”No one is asking anyone to trust anyone. And as far as probabilities are concerned most would consider this a fool’s errand without doubt. But in the improbable event that there actually are some sort of undead splinter faction fighting the Scourge right now, wouldn’t it be wise of us to find out as much as possible about them? At the very least so that we do not accidentally step between two undead armies determined to beat each other into heaps of powdered bone? And also, with the distraction provided in such a case we could strike all the more effectively at the Scourge in the meantime at far lower cost in dwarven lives.”

There was that of course. King Magni may loathe all undead with a passion but he was first and foremost a dwarven king, and a dwarven king’s first duty was to protect and spare the lives of his people.

”If I may suggest one other thing, King Magni.” Halvdan had finally gotten his mouth freed. ”Perhaps it could be worthwhile to consult Dalaran about the matter? They are much closer to Lordaeron than we are and have more knowledge of necromantic business.”

”Aye, that is true.” the king assented, somewhat sidetracked from his instinctive distaste for the idea.

”We would see to the equipment and organising of the expedition ourselves. All we need is Your Majesty’s authorisation to negotiate on behalf of Khaz Modan, should we encounter any rebellious undead willing to listen. And oh, pardon my manners, here is the letter of introduction I was talking about.”

Runar quickly procured the Banshee Queens second elegant letter and handed it to King Magni to read through. Halvdan recognised it for the deliberate move it was to create a pause where the king could consider the arguments just made by Runar while quietly reading.

”Sylvanas Windrunner, eh… Sounds elvish to my ears…”

”We are of the same opinion. She appears quite elvish – like with that handwriting I mean. I suppose it makes a certain amount of sense. The elves were rather magical creatures in life and their home was deliberately hit hard by the Lich King and his lackeys…so perhaps their magic and wrath could somehow have enabled the pointy-ears to break away?”

”Pointy-ears? Hehe…”

”Ah, just, ahem, a nickname I seem to have picked up. Probably spoken with the highest affection of all of elvenkind at all times.”

King Magni was silent for a while, then read through the letter one more time.

”Alright. I still don’t like this one bit and I think you could be of much better use if you would like to help in other ways. You’ve made yourselves known to be reliable in Ironforge and I’d hate to lose good men, but I won’t stop you if you really think this is worth the effort and the danger.”

”No worries, King Magni. Unappealing diplomatic missions are something of specialty of ours.” Runar smiled.

”Very well. I will have properly written and sealed letters of introduction and authorisation produced for you both – nothing like this flimsy pointy-ear thing – and you will see my quartermaster to ensure you have the proper gear at least if you’re dead set on going into Lordaeron… Ah, blast it!”

”Thank you, Your Majesty. We will approach our mission with grave seriousness.” Runar said with a masterfully straight face.

”You can put your full trust in our readiness to undertake this mission.” Halvdan added reassuringly.

”Oh, off with you both!”

”Just one question, or perhaps more of a favour, King Magni.”

”Yes?”

”Speaking of elvish things, do you know of anywhere one might procure elven musical instruments these days?”

***

”Keep up, stableboy!”

Westley was seriously doing his best. He really was. But leading Nick through dense forests, where the horses could not be ridden for fear of being spotted and injury from the many obstacles in their path, did not get easier with practice. Or less demanding.

Cyndia walked ahead of him with Vicky. She seemed to trust the strangely pale and cold elf, undead or not. Vicky was a little smaller than Nick so Westley had mostly ridden the stallion since they escaped, reckoning that he would be heavier than Cyndia. Right now he certainly felt heavier. Cyndia, and the other dark rangers when he saw them, moved almost noiselessly and hardly even seemed to touch the ground.

There were four others now. Kalira, their harsh and frankly intimidating commander, Velonara who wanted to stick close to Cyndia as much as possible, Lenara, and Nara who had only one eye and a long and deep scar on the other side. Not that it appeared to stop her from anything. From what he had seen there wasn’t many things that would stop dark rangers. They circled Westley and the horses, and Cyndia right now, and kept watch further out. Kalira had commanded that they stay hidden as often as possible still, for the ranger squadron could not scout far enough ahead for her taste whiles till being close enough to be of help if it was needed. She gave off the impression of not being very pleased with Westley accompanying them, but it could be that she only disliked being restricted by three living beings that slowed her rangers down and risked drawing attention.

Cyndia spent a lot of time, most of the time, with the other rangers. When she was close by she was as she had been earlier – sarcastic, eerily flippant, hard and sometimes almost snide. But she never made a threat, not even jokingly, and she remained friendly towards his horses, especially Vicky. Nor had any of the other rangers said or done anything hostile. And that was enough.

That was infinitely better than the monastery.

Westley hurried to not lose track of Cyndia any more than he already had.

They made camp for his sake and the horses’. A small meadow, with traces of receding blight but it should do so long as Westley kept an eye on where Nick and Vicky grazed. Another day survived. Westley left them tied at a safe distance from the bad grass and went to look at his almost empty saddle bag. It wouldn’t be long before it was completely empty.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do. He was a farmer more than a woodsman and with the pace they were keeping there was not much time to hunt or fish or look for edible roots and the like anyway. But Nick and Vicky came first. Keeping his mind on them meant keeping his mind off himself and off what had happened. That was good. That worked. Had worked.

”Not that it’s really my business, but were you actually going to eat something today or are you leaving that completely to your horses?”

Cyndia was looking him over critically. She was always critical. No, not always, but lately she had been. Not that Westley had known her – as much as escaping together from a nightmarish place and riding together in the wilds meant you got to know someone – a long time or honestly really knew her at all.

”I have a little left.” He answered her with a shrug, there was nothing more to say about it.

”And tomorrow?”

”Probably a few crumbs.”

”Figures.” She reached forward and handed him a sharpened stick with bits of something fleshy and slightly bloody impaled on it. The carcass of some kind of bird, plucked clean.

”I needed the feathers for fletching.” Cyndia shrugged dismissively. ”You can have the rest.”

***

Westley stretched himself out on the straw bed. He was so very tired. Just a little while.

It was almost evening, and every part of him ached. For all the time he had spent caring for horses Westley was not an experienced enough rider to not be stiff and sore all over from almost two weeks of hard riding. First from the Scarlet Monastery, and then further out from the Forsaken capital city.

And on top of that the better part of this day had been spent making this ruined farmhouse somewhat inhabitable and most importantly foraging and setting up a fenced enclosure outside for Nick and Vicky. And everything around here was either broken or rusty or plain useless.

The dark rangers had helped. They had kept largely to themselves and mostly out of his sight on the way here, but they had helped. Cyndia had made ironic comments about how his horses running off would disrupt their patrols and lead all sorts of wild beasts here, but she and two or three others had still cut enough branches and young trees for him to make a fence of. It was no impressive feat of construction but as long as it would hold for some time it would do. He was almost done, then he could release Nick and Vicky to walk around on their own. He would get to that and then see if he had time to do something about the roof of the house. The size of the hole in it was worrisome enough even without the prospect of more rain coming this night.
Here they were, two days ride west from the small town of Brill and in the middle of nowhere Westley knew, but it was somewhere. And it was not blighted. Yellowing grass and slumping, scrawny weeds and bushes clung to life still. Here they could stay, at least for a while. What would happen when winter came, he couldn’t tell. Perhaps that would be the end of all of them, likely even. But he had to worry about that another day. Nick and Vicky could graze, they would have to, they had nothing stockpiled…and what would Westley live on…he was so tired…

Just a little while…

He woke with a start. He was cold. There was no fire, the hearth was dark and cold. He had fallen asleep…what time could it be? He was…he was supposed to have finished the last of the fence and seen to Nick and Vicky’s feeding. Damn him. Had they even water in that trough?

Westley staggered out into the darkness. Twilight, almost night now. He could see but barely more, it was hard to make out details. Lucky the house was so small. He followed the wall around to the small paddock behind. The fence…was whole. Complete. How was that? He ducked under it, just to be safe, and both horses took notice when he got closer but went back to slowly chewing on some pile of grass in front of them.

There was water in the trough.

All was well.

Westley had a feeling that something was watching him but all he could see when he turned around was darkness and shadows. He should, honestly, be more worried than he was but maybe he was simply too tired. Nick and Vicky somehow had what they needed and he shivered in the cold and had to get inside and light a fire.

When Westley turned to walk back inside he could have sworn he saw a flicker of something red in the corner of his eye. A small red dot, or possibly two.

***

Sitting still by a stream waiting for the odd unlucky fish to snap it’s jaws shut around a barbed hook may be the favourite pastime of a perplexingly large part of Azeroth’s denizens but Cyndia had never quite understood the attraction. If she got to choose, she would wander or glide around somewhere reasonably scenic and enjoy the quietude of a moonlit night without caring about whether some Lordaeronian trout mistook her baited hook for something edible.

”How’s it going, oh great master of rods?” Velonara inquired. She was standing slightly behind Cyndia and looking down at the display with doubtlessly amused eyes.

”I don’t get what people see in this, honestly…” Cyndia mused without turning her head. ”Sure, catching a fish is nice and all but… Here I am, sitting and waiting for someone to bite and spear himself on my barbed hook, I am so entertained…yey…”

”One is led to wonder why.”

”I’m trying out a new hobby. It’s not like we can sneak in and crash fancy parties in Silvermoon at week’s end anymore. I need something to do between the rounds of bathing in the splattering blood of my enemies.”

”Oh yeah?”

”I can’t sit around sulking all day just because I got beaten up by some red-clad creep in a cellar.” Cyndia shrugged.

Velonara sat down beside her. They had a stone each to sit on. In life it would have gotten uncomfortably cold quickly but now it didn’t bother either of them.

”Is that what you think you’re doing?” Velonara asked quietly. ”Sulking?”

Cyndia groaned inside. She didn’t want Vel’ to be serious right now. She didn’t want herself to have to be serious. She wanted a quiet moment of trying out a stupid hobby and don’t think of anything in particular. Especially not anything Scarlet in particular. But then Cyndia had been the one to mention them so she had herself to blame.

”I’m a banshee, alright. I’m created to sulk.”

”Cyndia. Please talk to me.”

”I am talking.”

”For real.”

”Vel’, what do you think I’ve been doing for the past half week? I’ve been talking your ears off.”

That was true. They had spoken at length about what happened when Cyndia got separated on the way back, her capture, the squadron’s retreat, Cyndia’s return and all kinds of sappy misery in-between. It was…it was sensible. It made sense. And they had cleared things up and maybe they were a step or two on the way to work like a squadron like before, if the others could just stop glancing back every now and again to check that she hadn’t tripped on the nearest log or something. Couldn’t that just…just do for now?

Velonara didn’t really seem to know what to say either. She sat on her stone beside Cyndia with her knees pulled close to her chin and watched as Cyndia reeled in her fishing line and untied it from the rod and hook. She had decided she was done with this famous pastime for now. Instead she picked out an arrow and her knife and started to carefully cut a notch around the back part of it. She then winded the fishing line around and tied it tightly together.

”Do you have any spare strings?”

”Three, why?”

”Hand me two, I want to try something.”

Velonara took out two spare bowstrings from a pocket. Cyndia tied them together with the two that had made up her fishing line and the loose end around the lower part of her bow.
”Watch me turn the fishing business upside-down.” Cyndia grinned at her ranging partner.

”Two silvers that you won’t hit a thing.” At least Velonara immediately took the bait. She was a damn more accommodating than the lazy fishes.

”It’s on.”

Cyndia had risen up and was looking for signs of movement in earnest. Velonara had stood up with her and despite her wager she was making an honest effort to keep still and scout with her.
It took a while. Cyndia didn’t actually mind that. She liked having Vel’ with her and she liked not having to think of things to say about things she didn’t want to think of. Maybe that was part of the point of fishing.

”Left of the light grey stone.” Velonara whispered.

Cyndia aimed and loosed in a single motion and next a perch thrashed in the water with her arrow through it’s belly. Cyndia pulled it in and struck the head off without delay. She then sat down and proceeded to cut the fish open, and cut out her arrow as well. Velonara watched the ugly work but it wasn’t with the same almost comfortable silence any longer. She was about to say something when Cyndia handed her the two spare bowstrings back and rose to make her way back towards the slightly less than ruined farmhouse that their current patrolling had them encircling.

Velonara was right behind her, but Cyndia could practically feel her darker and darker scowl as they walked.
”He’s still a Scarlet, Cyndia. A ing Scarlet.”

”He’s the reason I’m still here.”

***

The last embers in the fireplace were about to die down. It was in the middle of the night and Westley was sleeping soundly, underneath a haphazardly repaired roof and all warm clothes and scavenged blankets he had. His chest rose and fell slowly, and the movement of the dark shadow that had slunk into the room did nothing to disturb his steady breathing. It crossed the small room in a blink and reached down to roughly shake him by the shoulder.

”Get in the saddle, stableboy! They are coming.”

[Maltacus]

Chapter XXVIII. Might and Magic

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Anya would allow Ranger Proudmoore just a quarter of an hour longer, she decided. She had almost just had her lunch and Anya had prepared an especially difficult obstacle course across the most unaccommodating ruins of the city for the afternoons exercise. It wouldn’t do if her recruit had to break it off because of any stomach cramps when Anya had made the effort to create such a challenging task.

And Jaina looked so very sweet when she was resting in her indoor tent.

While Anya shouldn’t be staring of course.

Lordaeronian fortress architecture could only keep you distracted for so long time.

At first it was a tremor in the ground and the walls. It was so unexpected and small that Anya would not have paid any heed to the feeling unless it had been for Jaina’s cup of water, where it made the surface ripple. It shouldn’t do that when it was on the floor.

”Kitala…” Anya asked slowly. ”Could you go out and take a look around the keep?”

”Why me…” Kitala whined half-heartedly, but when she saw that something was clearly bothering Anya she rolled to her feet and half ran out of the room.

The others had stopped talking and were listening along with her with the slightly glassy stares of people concentrating on other things than what was before their eyes. For a while there was nothing and Anya started to think she had fretted over nothing. Then the silence was broken by the loud crack and breaking sound of stone and masonry falling apart.

Jaina, Lyana and Clea had risen to their feet without prompting and hurried out with Anya. Just outside the room a high yell echoed from outside.

”Was that…” Jaina started to ask.

”Kitala!” Clea answered, in a loud whisper that was the most she could manage even now.

Anya begun to run.

They cleared the corridor outside, the stair up, through the next one and then two floors up to the ground level where Kitala almost barrelled into them. If a dark ranger could ever appear out of breath it was at a time like this.

”South side!” she called out and turned on the spot without waiting for them. She led the squadron to a ruined house that was more a pile of rubble than anything else, and from the elevated position they could see enough for Anya to grow even colder with fear than when watching Jaina being dragged into Hearthglen.

Forsaken infantry and dark rangers manned the broken city wall and adjacent ruins along the southern side. Beyond them was the open ground closest to the city and further away the woods that covered most of the land in that direction. And out of those woods crawled, walked and shambled the largest concentration of Scourge Anya had seen in one place since the fall of Quel’Thalas. The trees swayed and the forest…teemed with undead. They were pouring out across a wide front and rushing for the part of the city closest to the south gate. And over their heads rose rocks or flung corpses or whatever the projectiles were of the Scourge siege weapons, their grotesque meat wagons or whatever else it was hidden in the woods or ranks.

The city wall was not repaired beyond the barest minimum. Dozens of breaches could easily be reopened and ghouls were good enough climbers to ignore such minor obstacles as barricades altogether. The Scourge dispositions where they were pouring everything against the not even functional city gate made no sense at all.

Then an ear-piercing, soul-piercing, scream reverberated across the city, a sound that carried endless anguish, loss, rage and defiance all at once. A banshee’s Wail that Anya knew all too well, and the enemy’s actions at once made perfect sense.

For of course it would be Sylvanas out there, challenging the Scourge in plain sight and drawing everyone and everything the Lich King had to throw at her on herself so that the rest of the city would be given time to form up or retreat below.

And of course the Scourge would jump at the opportunity to remove the Forsaken king and queen from the board in one single strike no matter how many easily replaced pawns it may take. It would, eventually, only be a matter of time. Sooner or later any quiver would run out, or Sylvanas and what deathguards and rangers she had with her would be so fixed to the position they needed to keep holding in order to not be completely overrun, that the indiscriminate barrage from the meat wagons could no longer be dodged.

Anya could practically see it play out before her very eyes.

She could see what needed to be done. Sylvanas was holding and needed to be supported by a push from somewhere else, or she and her unit needed cover to retreat to another position. But what then? The Scourge would keep rushing forward and apart from the Undercity there were no fortifications strong enough to hold them at bay. And with so many Forsaken manning the broken wall they could never disengage and descend through their narrow entrances without horrendous difficulties. It would be a slaughter when the greater part of them were caught and overwhelmed.

Anya was not a battle commander like Sylvanas, or Areiel or Kalira or Baron Fostfel. If there was some sort of plan for a counterattack being put into practice Anya could not make out where or how.

But Sylvanas had Wailed.

She had Wailed.

Sylvanas would not retreat, whether relief came or not.

She would stand and die her true death. And Anya…

”Anya, we have to do something! Lieutenant Eversong.” Jaina insistently pulled at Anya’s attention, and the rest of the squadron looked to her for orders with warring worry and loyalty to her written across their faces. They had their bows and sidearms ready, their quivers filled. Except Jaina who had been given neither yet except a knife she used more for cutting her food than anything else. Jaina, who Sylvanas had ordered them to protect and who Anya had decided was worth her own true death a hundred times over to keep whole.

But Sylvanas’.

Anya did not know what to do. She only had a single squadron. She only…

She had Jaina.

She had Lady Proudmoore.

Anya opened her eyes wide.

”Clea! Get the staff!”

Clea had sprinted off before Anya had time to rethink. Maybe they should all have been running back together but now she had better stay and keep watch of what happened. There were more than one way in and out of the keep and they could miss Clea if they followed her back now. Jaina was not as fast as the rest so they wouldn’t have been able to catch up or keep up with Clea anyway.

Anya fumbled when she reached for Jaina’s arm and started to untie her vambraces.

With one hand unavailable Jaina could not help her but she held out the other one for Lyana when Anya’s ranger partner understood the intent. Kitala unclasped the chest armour meanwhile as bestial cries and crashing of metal against bone echoed from the walls to announce that the Scourge lines had at some point made contact with the Forsaken.

Lyana was many times faster and steadier than Anya and by the time she had gotten the troublesome vambrace off Jaina the other two were just about to pull the ranger armour over the mage’s head. Jaina was humble enough to simply stretch her arms up and let them pull her outer shirt off rather than insist on doing it herself. Lyana and Kitala untied the knots of the bands that kept the long chain tied close to her arms and chest while Anya reached inside her armour for the silvery pendant with it’s matching blue gem.

Anya loathed the bracelets. She would have wanted them never to have been made regardless of how beautifully crafted they were or the enchantment that kept Jaina warm. But to remove them now, it meant, it implied…

Jaina looked so knowingly at her. All there was in the world were two blue oceans that Anya could not look away from. And Jaina raised her arms towards her with a small smile. Trusting. And maybe…expectant?

Carefully, almost like she was afraid of breaking or jamming something in the magical lock, Anya put the blue gem on her necklace against the ones on the bracelets and they clicked open almost noiselessly and clattered to the ground.

Jaina breathed in a deep, deep breath and sighed with relief. Anya felt ten times worse for having kept her in those shackles when she saw it. But still Jaina smiled at her.

”Jaina… I don’t have the right to ask it but Sylvanas is in trouble and…” Anya’s voice ran out. She had to swallow and refocus herself. ”Can…can you…”

Jaina shook her head. ”No.”

But she was still smiling.

”Not alone.” Jaina reached down to pick up her dark ranger cloak. She wrapped it around her shoulders and clasped it in place.

Anya was the first to hear Clea’s boots against the ground. She was jumping more than running, from stone to stone like a deer with the white mage staff in her hand. Before she had reached them, though, Jaina held out her hand with a grasping motion and her staff flew from Clea’s hand into her own before the dark ranger could react.

”Tides…it’s about time…” she mumbled as she gave it a quick looking over.

”Jaina!” Anya cried out at the last moment. ”You must know one thing about us. An agreement, of sorts, of this squadron. Do not, ever, let the Scourge take one of us alive. Not if you can prevent it. Let us have our true deaths instead.”

Jaina had closed her eyes and lowered her head slightly, as if concentrating on something only she could sense or detect. But Anya’s plea had made all of her stiffen visibly.

”The Scarlets will torture and kill us if they can. But the Scourge will drag us back and take our will from us and make us their own again. Don’t let them!” Anya could not keep her voice steady any more. ”Save a last arrow for your sister. Don’t let them take us.”

She almost whispered the last sentences. But Jaina flinched when she heard her and Anya could see the mage’s lower jaw trembling. Then it stopped, clenched hard, and Jaina straightened her back and opened her eyes.

They were glowing whiter than heated metal.

Lady Proudmoore bared her teeth and her nostrils widened when she glared south towards the Lich King’s massed minions.

”The Scourge…WILL TAKE NOTHING TODAY!” the crackling dark clouds gathering above her echoed.

The world flashed in white.

***

Sylvanas irritably kicked the skull off a shambling skeleton that had somehow managed to crawl all the way up to her shooting position on a sloping pile of rubble spilling out of the city wall. The waves of Scourge lapped ever closer to the shore that was the wall and the Forsaken lines.

It was just like her last days as Ranger-General, all over. She had the expertise, the skilled soldiers, the prepared position. And the Scourge had the numbers and the option to completely ignore their losses, confident in their ability to replenish them afterwards, and the very concrete chance to beat her by the bluntest means imaginable.

The Scourge casualties were vast. And irrelevant. They did not care like living enemies did about their survival or about how many of their comrades that fell to black arrows or hurled themselves to their doom against the deathguard shield walls. The enemy had spotted her and massed all they could against the Banshee Queen who was so visibly exposed. And Sylvanas welcomed it, and shot, and Wailed, and swept down to carve the wretched slaves to the Lich King into pieces when she could in order to conserve arrows, with three ranger squadrons and the best of the guard around her. And still every wave reached further, took longer to repel, and left them with ever blunter blades and ever fewer arrows.

It was frustrating too, because she was so close to being able to turn this on the unimaginative enemy with ease. And so far away from it. As desperate as the situation was becoming for Sylvanas, and the Forsaken line should her position fail, it was a highly vulnerable place for the Scourge as well to be in with their throngs formed up tightly in one place. If Sylvanas had only had a flanking force ready or artillery of her own she could have beaten them bloody. Instead she had nothing and was slowly pressed back into a tighter and tighter area.

She wanted to Wail again.

Undead were not immune to banshee Wails as such, but they were much less affected. They lacked the vulnerable hearing of the living and the awareness to be fully affected by the terror the otherwordly scream induced.

Amora’s squadron was on her left, Anthis’ on her right. They occupied reasonably elevated positions on parts of the city wall and deathguards waited in the breaches amongst piles of bones and rotting corpses. Baron Frostfel commanded the gatehouse from a mound of dead ghouls and the limbs and heads removed by his greatsword. All around Sylvanas the Forsaken fought to their last without any meaningful option to retreat.

The wind had increased, she hadn’t noticed it until now. It was quickly rising to a gale against her back and dark clouds were covering the sky. The exposed rangers staggered and crouched down to not be swept away and clutched their bows and quivers tightly as the wind grew into a storm buffeting the Scourge away. It tugged at Sylvanas from behind, from her left and from her right sides intermittently. What kind of trick was this? Were the Scourge trying to drag her out to them with weather magics? Chill and foul winds had accompanied their approach at times but never directed in this manner, and in any case they had knocked their own forces out far more than the Forsaken, Sylvanas noted as she discerned ranks upon ranks of skeletons swept off their feet and towering abominations here and there that stumbled and staggered about.

She could feel the winds abate slightly, it was a shift in them. Like the winds had moved forward before the walls and did not touch what was behind them, which would have been a ludicrous notion had it not been happening right before her.

Then hails appeared in the wind. Small and hard and annoying, until they grew to the size of peas, then nuts, then to apples and beyond.

”Get down! Everyone seek cover!” Sylvanas barked over the wind and climbed down from her elevated position together with the other rangers. The hails were being blown with force against the Scourge but she would not take chances. Ranger armour did little to protect against such a barrage from above.

Sticking close to the wall, Sylvanas moved with some difficulty to a sheltered position with a view of the field outside. Unordered, Amora and Alina were following her closely.

The hails were no longer hails, but chunks of ice that fell from the sky as swift as their own arrows and with the weight of ballista bolts.

Sharp and jagged chunks of ice, water frozen into lances and blades.

Suddenly something illuminated the battlefield from somewhere to her side.

”What was that, incendiaries?!” Sylvanas barked the question without taking her gaze from the Scourge formations.

”This-is-lightning!” Alina shouted and to underline her point the clouds crashed against each other in deafening thunder and white lights flashed all around them and blotted out everything as lightning bolts struck down in the middle of the hailstorm.

The next moment a new flash of light, smaller and closer and with arcane runes glimmering in the air, nearly blinded her. It revealed Anya’s squadron standing in a spot momentarily disoriented except for Proudmoore. Proudmoore held her staff again in a tight grip and it’s crystal and her eyes blazed white like the sun. She wore no armour but her dark ranger cloak billowed in the wind around her along with her golden locks. She looked angrier than Sylvanas had ever seen her, even more so than after her rescue from Hearthglen where humiliation and bitterness had tempered her mage’s loathing of how her fellow living humans had acted.

The blushing, girlish woman who so loved to fall asleep curled up closely against her dark rangers was right now very far away. The glowing archmage standing before her directed arcane destruction with bared teeth and lowered brows, indifferent and unmoved by the force of the storm she had conjured.

Or the storm she was, more like.

Sylvanas had no reserve force ready to sweep in from the flanks and no artillery mounted on her broken battlements.

But perhaps today she could manage without.

For by all accounts her mage had just begun.

”Back to your positions! Resume shooting!” Sylvanas shouted. ”Lieutenant Eversong! Your squad is with me!”

***

Jaina had seen Sylvanas furious before and more or less invariably wished for the Dark Lady to calm down and tried to offer what comfort and advice she could to that purpose. Today Jaina revelled in it and Sylvanas’ state of mind seemed to her the only proper state of mind for any decent person.

How dared they come here to raze her host’s city that was already in ruins, that the Forsaken toiled with pitiful means to repair? How dared they hound and haunt the poor people that they had previously murdered with plagues and warfare only to enslave them in unending servitude?

How. DARED THEY. Scare. Her. Anya.

So long as it was for someone else’s benefit and not her own, the dark ranger lieutenant baulked at nothing. Jaina knew enough about what had happened at Hearthglen to understand that Anya had taken on a city wall’s worth of soldiers essentially on her own. She was provocatively ignorant of dangers or discomforts so long as they befell only her. She would have boiled her hands off only to keep Jaina warm and battled her own people numbering in the hundreds if needed to ensure Jaina’s safety.

Save a last arrow for your sister.

If Jaina wasn’t so angry she would have wanted to cry. Hearing the naked desperation behind that plea hurt so deeply Jaina did not know what to do with it.

Don’t let them take us.

She tore an especially large piece of ice from the sky and rammed it into the head of one lumbering abomination, which barrelled into the ranks on it’s side in confusion.

The Scourge was reeling from her onslaught and frantically redeploying it’s forces. Now there were undead of various kinds rushing forward across a wide front instead of concentrating on the one point where Sylvanas was.

Save a last arrow for your sister.

Jaina snarled at them all and channelled more of her mana into the blizzard – an odd term for what was more of a deluge of ice – she let sweep across the entire field and wreaking havoc wherever Scourge formations came in it’s way.

Save a last arrow for your sister.

Anya’s kind and hopeful eyes had been wide with unmitigated dread. Some fear of the dark ranger that she stood without defence or consolation against. Something that haunted Anya and never let her be, and would keep haunting her forever and ever. Something she would beg for her true death rather than have to face.

What had those Tides-cursed bastards done with her?

Jaina breathed heavier and heavier as if she was running all her laps around the city wall. She did not feel out of breath, more that all anger was swelling inside her and it was becoming harder and harder to prevent it from just explosively bursting out.

She hurled a fistful of lightning bolts down form the sky at the area from which one or two projectiles still soared through the sky, until Jaina contemptuously blew them out of their arced trajectories with a couple of fireballs.

Save a last arrow for your sister.

She would…

”Proudmoore!”

Sylvanas. Her voice, ethereal and crackling with the power of a banshee was like a lifeline thrown into the sea. It pulled Jaina back, back towards the surface of the sea of wrath her mind was currently swimming in.

”They are switching tactics as you see.” Sylvanas hissed, or however her many-layered, echoing voice could now be described. ”They are too spread out for you or I to target them all and we must coordinate to break their ranks so that the infantry can withstand the waves.”

Yes. Sylvanas wanted Jaina to listen to her. Her Dark Lady. Her Dark Lady whom the Scourge had hurt just as deeply and who cared so much for her rangers and Anya most of all. Jaina was Tides-damned ing honoured to serve under her against the Scourge.

”Your orders, Dark Lady?” Speaking the words was a relief in itself and helped Jaina gather herself.

”My rangers will focus their arrows on the field to our right and front. The Scourge is spreading out on our left to mass against the deathguard on that wing.” Sylvanas pointed and Jaina followed her reasoning. ”I will move the guard forward to form an unbroken straight line before the wall to tempt the enemy commander into attacking prematurely when he sees our thin ranks. Strike where I direct you to keep the enemy off balance.”

”Understood!”

”For our purposes we divide this length of our lines into four equal parts. Outer left, middle left, middle right and outer right. Try not to strike closer to our lines than four ranks of Scourge unless I order it, I don’t want my infantry distracted.”

”Yes, Dark Lady.”

”Good. Now, eyes on the middle. See that large wave of Scourge coming to reinforce? Can you break up their momentum with your winds?”

”I can. But there are more amusing ways to do it!” Jaina grinned malevolently as she conjured ice to cover the entire stretch of ground and at the same time let the winds cease. Caught by the surprise and sudden loss of wind to struggle against the undead minions tumbled and fell in droves, several hard enough to break bones. Jaina followed it up with new gusts of wind from other directions to throw the struggling mass further off their feet. When they crawled their way to the back ranks of the Scourge line it was not in a charge but a crowding mob that did little to increase the pressure forward.

Forsaken deathguards and dreadguards that bolstered them knew how to brace the ranks before them with their shields while the Scourge had few disciplined minions at hand. Mindless skeleton warriors milled about and ghouls were crawling on each other as much as anything in their single-minded eagerness to reach their foes.

”Amusing?” Even in it’s ethereal state, there was a notable dryness in Sylvanas’ voice.

”Since you won’t let me play with your city guards you can at least find me some other toys.” Jaina answered somewhere between vehemence and cheek. ”Shall I give them a little harsh weather?”

”They’re contained for now. Outer left. See the lights clustering there? That’s skeletal mages and it means we are facing master necromancers. Instruct those minions in the ways of a true mage.”

A casting later pieces of ice the size of cannon shot rained down on the Scourge casters.

Jaina…breathed easier now. She was still raging inside but it was tempered by Sylvanas’ steady presence and directed instead of thrown wildly about. She…enjoyed Sylvanas taking the lead, and she enjoyed being able to demonstratively stand by her side and fight under her command. No shackles or bracelets, that could be said to inhibit Jaina’s freedom of choice. She was here on her own volition right now, and she would be the Dark Lady’s mage with all her heart, and to the seas bottom with every Scarlet and Scourge piece of filth that would have something to say about it!

Jaina was already convinced that Sylvanas knew her thing as a general but as the Dark Lady continued to direct her she was slowly becoming more and more impressed. Not only was Sylvanas using Jaina with uncanny efficiency and flawless logic at every step, but to be able to do that and put a deliberate plan – Jaina was dead sure Sylvanas was putting a very specific plan into practice – into practice right after being so obviously raging looked outright unreal to Jaina.

She thought she was getting the general idea. Sylvanas directed her to strike furiously against the Scourge’s outer flank at the left and funnel them inside towards the great teeming masses in the middle of the left side that pressed against the Forsaken guard and their close ranks. This was another quirk of being undead, Jaina realised. They did not tire as the living did, not nearly as quickly anyway, and infantry soldiers did not have to replace one another in the front ranks due to fatigue which meant they could keep up a much tighter defensive line much longer. Something the Scourge, with their wasteful tactics and careless disregard for their enslaved minions, had very little experience with.

Sylvanas was containing the bulk of enemy forces along her left side, luring or forcing more and more in. Holding, and waiting.

Jaina tried to follow Sylvanas’ way of thinking. She wanted efficiency, maximum effect and minimal effort and energy expended. She also wanted to keep the Scourge unbalanced.

”Dark Lady?”

Sylvanas nodded to her, without taking her eyes off the field.

”I have an idea. Most battle spells are intended to explode in some way because that is usually most effective but it isn’t the only way to focus arcane energy. If I can get to lower ground I believe I would be able to shoot something parallel to the ground at quite some range. Lengthwise, where they are most closely bunched together.”

Sylvanas did not answer at first but Jaina could see her rapidly shifting focus from one place of the battlefield to the other, considering and calculating.

”How much time would you need?”

”The longer the better. If I need to break it off I can just jump back up here, right?”

”Anya! Form up around our mage! We are going to sally out – keep the Scourge out of her way while she casts!”

It wasn’t very much of a distance at all, in fact Jaina simply teleported them down in front of the half-ruined part of wall and tower they had been standing on, but it was enough to make the surprise count. Sylvanas and her squadron had Jaina encircled before she could blink and before she could blink again they were whirling around in close combat with ghouls that were swarming all around them.

”Get to work, Proudmoore!” Sylvanas commanded while joining Anya and Lyana in a half circle in front of Jaina. ”Focus on your task!” the Dark Lady added, knowing without looking that Jaina was sorely tempted to help the rangers out instead of doing that.

A fireball was arcane energy bent to form a heated flaming mass and explode – essentially. The bigger the better. But mana was mana, Jaina had said it herself. Magic was magic, arcane energy was arcane energy. If it could be bent and shaped to explode with force, why could it not be formed in the opposite way?

Shaped into being dense, instead of huge. To fly swiftly with force in one direction instead of blasting everything around it.

It looked almost like a small fireball, but it’s core was differently coloured. Darker red. It matched the dark rangers’ eyes.

Jaina held it formed between her hands. There was…pressure that she felt. Something was, for lack of a better term, packed more tightly than in a usual fireball. There was a good reason why this would be rarely attempted.

She took aim, and forced the quivering fiery shot ahead.

It was a fire magic shot like a cannon shot, rather than a fireball, and struck the Scourge ranks just as terribly but without ricocheting from contact with what it hit when armour melted and bone and clammy skin was burned through instantaneously.

”Again!” Sylvanas ordered without taking the time to look, while she blocked a skeleton’s swing with a dagger and took the arms off with a swing of the other.

Jaina focused on repeating the process. Aiming was the hardest part. She wanted her fire shot to fly straight ahead, deviating neither up nor down nor to any side all the while it had to have enough force to strike through all those Scourge.

Her second shot was not as good as the first but it still followed the enemy line and ghouls and skeletons fell in droves.

”Fall back!” Sylvanas commanded. Jaina had just about opened her mouth to argue for staying put when she remembered herself. It wasn’t about her own ability to conjure another fire spell. Jaina promptly teleported the squadron back to their elevated position. The dark rangers swayed and staggered when they landed, in a blink pulled from intense combat to staying clear of the edge.

”Good call, Proudmoore.” Sylvanas said appreciatively. ”I confess to underestimating the deviousness of Dalaran’s battle mages.”

”I actually just came up with this. But the principle is the same as with ships – you want to take raking shots lengthwise across your enemy’s vessel’s bow or stern to hit as much as possible…” Jaina begun until she remembered that for all her competence and knowledge of military things, Sylvanas was still quite the landlubber.

”I will take your word for it, Admiral. Now, for our next…”

”Gargoyles!”

”Look up!”

Alina and Mira called out warnings and Jaina snapped up her gaze to see a dark cloud of flapping wings and long, lanky stone-like bodies.

Jaina did not unleash fireballs or winds to blow them away. Contemptuously, she raised her staff and froze them all in ice. Not enough to damage the tough creatures, and not enough to hold a strong undead in place on the ground.

Just enough to prevent them from moving their wings any faster than Jaina raised her tea cup in the morning.

One by one, the flight of gargoyles tumbled down out of the sky to smash their frozen stiff carapace against the equally frozen ground. Stone was hard, but the frost made it brittle. They cracked and broke instead of bending when they hit the ground.

”It has become a rare thing to see massed gargoyles in these lands. My belief is that they are native to Northrend like their crypt fiends. Our dear guests are starting to get desperate… I can not for my life think of why…” Sylvanas was no longer speaking with as much of the banshee echo in her voice. And she sounded almost pleased. Next thing the Dark Lady drew a deep breath and whistled.

Tides! Jaina resisted the reflex to clutch her ears. Were banshee Wails not enough? That whistle had hurt.

In response to that awful sound however, shouted commands all across the Forsaken front to their right reached Jaina’s ears and that entire half of the deathguard raised their shields and stepped forward. Jaina was sure the ground shook just a little. Then another step. In impeccable lockstep and ordered ranks, the now reinforced deathguard advanced with the closest company almost marching on the spot and the outmost ones lengthening their stride so that the whole line was wheeling inward towards the centre of the field.

Dark rangers sprinted around the right flank and covered the end of the infantry line. Black arrows rained down with renewed intensity on the weaker Scourge masses on this side. Fallen gargoyles still trapped and sluggish in their ice were kicked and trampled under Forsaken iron boots.

”Now, my rangers… Loose at will!” Sylvanas shouted, hateful and triumphant at the same time. Black vapours rose from her and her voice fell back into it’s many-layered etherealness.

Jaina looked out over the buckling Scourge left wing being overrun by the advancing deathguard and rangers and less elite infantry following. They could use some help to break up pockets of resistant Scourge so their momentum would not be lost. She viewed the vast dark mob of enslaved undead before the Forsaken left wing. They had to be kept there until the Forsaken infantry had marched into position to begin their envelopment. And then they needed to be crushed, ironically in the same manner the Scourge had originally intended for the Dark Lady. It would take a great deal of magic to accomplish all of it, and Jaina was starting to feel herself nearing her limit.

Then she looked to her side. Clea, Kitala, Lyana and Anya were all around her, ever guarding her, ever watching over her.

Ever ready to offer one another a last arrow rather than to see them taken by the Scourge.

Now that she thought about it, Jaina found that she was not the least bit less furious at the Lich Kings monstrous hordes.

For how DARED they scare her Anya?

Above the battlefield, dark clouds gathered again.

***

The sun was almost setting. It was finally over.

Below their small broken tower, deathguards hobbled and limped back towards the city while dark rangers were searching through the field for whoever they could locate.

Jaina could not channel enough magic to light a candle. She was probably close to fainting.

She was starting to feel cold, and that was as good a sign as any of how drained she was.

Jaina was sitting, or half lying, in Clea’s arms with Kitala and Lyana on either side shielding her with their cloaks and bodies from what cold they could. Sprawled across Lyana and with her head in Jaina’s lap and Jaina’s fingers in her hair, was Anya. Her eyes were closed and the only movement she made was the small occasional scratching against Jaina’s thigh with her hand to reassure Jaina that she was still with her and had not suddenly met her true death.

Sylvanas had stood looking out at the field and the forests beyond, now torn and ragged after winds and hail had ravaged the dead trees. She turned towards them and carefully sat down before Jaina. They looked at each other.

”I’m sorry for being late.” Jaina tried to smile. The right corner of her mouth probably moved a little bit.

”Yes, do try not to tarry the next time we face an undead invasion, Ranger Proudmoore. It is very unprofessional.”

”I also seemed to have forgotten where you all had remembered to tell me you had put my mage staff.” Jaina managed to smile a little more.

”So you are saying that you were late because of lacking…staff management? I will have to improve upon that area to have all personnel accounted for more quickly then.”

Jaina’s eyes widened. Sylvanas Windrunner, fearsome Banshee Queen of Lordaeron, had actually told a ranger captain pun all by herself! Sylvanas seemed to reach the same horrifying conclusion at the same time and quickly moved the conversation forward.

”I also note that you seem to have joined battle entirely without your armour, Ranger Proudmoore. How very unbecoming.” She reached forward over Jaina, and Anya underneath her, to look deeply into Jaina’s eyes and trail her finger along Jaina’s jaw line.

”What should I do…” Sylvanas husked ”…with such a delinquent of a recruit?”

Jaina would have been very content if she could only hold Anya closer to her and sink deeper down into Clea’s arms and Sylvanas’ eyes. But to her dismay the Dark Lady had other ideas and rose to her feet all too soon.

”Rangers, forward. We have paperwork to do.”

***

It was such a small thing. A line of scribbled ink on paper.

It was such a small thing that had nearly every dark ranger of the Undercity lining the street leading to Sylvanas’ office, with several other Forsaken mixed in. Blood-drenched from top to toe, Baron Frostfel still looked as gregarious as if the occasion had been a favourite niece’s wedding. The deathguard stood in immaculate order and the Forsaken mages stretched their necks and stood on their toes to catch a glimpse from the back ranks.

Hurt or hale, the rangers stood at attention when Sylvanas emerged with the chronicle of their sorrows, where name after beloved name was struck out.

But not this day.

Anya held up the dark rangers’ roll of duty and Areiel handed her pen and ink. Sylvanas removed her grimy gauntlets, dipped her pen and added on the first empty line:

Jaina Proudmoore - Hon. Ranger Mage

Proudmoore’s eyes had ceased glowing white. Or, Sylvanas thought so. But they seemed to shine more than usual so perhaps there was something of that arcane light left. Her newest ranger stood proudly at attention in front of her as Sylvanas finished the last ’e’ and gave the pen and ink back to Areiel. For the first time in two miserable years, they had a new one.

”Rangers! At ease!” Sylvanas commanded. ”Ranger Mage Proudmoore, good work today!”

”Thanks, Dark Lady!” Proudmoore beamed at her, but also rose on her toes to steal a glance down at her name in the duty roll. ”Oh, that is quite the penmanship. You write really elegant, Dark Lady.”

Sylvanas could only stare in disbelief at her mage. Of all things to concern herself about at this time it was Sylvanas’ handwriting?

”I’ve never been very good at writing prettily I’m afraid. Master Antonidas once likened one of my essays to a flock of crows having dipped their feet in ink and danced drunken jigs across the papers. I told him to get new glasses but then he challenged me to read it out loud to him and, ehm, he kind of had a point…”

Sylvanas’ squadron were bunching up tightly around them and the rest of the onlooking crowd were drawing closer too. And Sylvanas could still not think of anything sensible to say.

”Did I say something weird?” Proudmoore asked, oblivious and earnest. ”Er…would you have preferred pen-elf-ship instead? Penwomanship?”

”No…no…” Sylvanas said weakly. ”All is fine, Ranger Proudmoore… It is just that in the thousands of years the rangers have existed I know of none that has commented on penmanship first thing after attaining her rank.”

”Oh. Er...” Proudmoore started to look sheepish but before she had time to dwell on it further Areiel had drawn her into a hard hug that put a stop to any further dwelling on her scholarly instincts.

”Heed Cyndia’s words! I need my ribcage too.” Proudmoore warned preemptively in the ranger captains arms. ”I thought we were supposed to salute or something like that?”

”Normally, maybe. But normally newly appointed rangers don’t save my city and my corps on their first day.” Areiel smiled warmly at her so that all her scars bent and stretched. ”Now you listen to Anya and stay out of trouble. If you get lost from us like Cyndia I won’t be going so easy on you.”

The dark rangers were reading out loud from the roll over each others shoulders.

”’Hon. Ranger Mage’. What does ’Hon.’ mean?” Kitala obviously had no intention of missing such an opportunity to play dense. ”Maybe it stands for ’Honest’?”

”Maybe ’honed’? Then it means you’ve trained her well, Anya.” Lyana joined in.

”I think it stands for ’Honey’. Jaina is so sweet to all of us.” Clea guessed. ”Don’t you think so too, Anya?” she asked innocently.

”It means Honorary Ranger Mage obviously, since Ranger Proudmoore is also a head of state of the foreign nation of Theramoore and not solely a ranger, and it is too long to write it all out. Honestly…” Sylvanas rolled her eyes at them.

”That also fits.” Proudmoore whispered to her. But then she straightened herself and made an excellent ranger salute to Sylvanas who returned the gesture with approval. She knew her mage wouldn’t want to seem disrespectful towards her on this occasion, for all the ways her rangers’ (mis)behaviours had been rubbing off.

The gathered rangers, deathguards and other spectators seemed to take that as a cue to cheer and clap hands. The armoured guards applauded her with beating their pommels against their shields – in perfect unison of course – and it was overall an almost painful noise in the echoing space of the wide tunnels.

”Quiet down all of you, before you wake the dead with this racket!” Areiel shouted gleefully and made Sylvanas cringe when hearing it while they were slowly making their way through the congratulating crowd.

And apparently Proudmoore just had to.

”I think Areiel is very funny.” she said with her most innocent voice.

”Don’t encourage her…” Sylvanas groaned out of the corner of her clenched mouth.

On their way through the ranks they came across two of the few male dark rangers, which drew her ever curios mage’s glance. They were similarly outfitted as their female colleagues except for the design of their – equally sparse – chest armour which was dominated by one larger flat piece rather than two rounded. Sylvanas counted herself lucky that neither of them belonged to the most grim of her dark rangers.

”Yeah, we do exist.” Vilerion – wry and even-tempered and of course illogically nicknamed ’Vile’ – commented with a lop-sided smirk.

”Guess congratulations are in order. Or condolences, depending on how you look at it. ” Rishk (dubbed ’Risk’ when colleagues like Kitala and Velonara were close by) greeted her. ”I’m Rishk and he’s vile. Vilerion if you’re picky. Welcome to the party, sister.”

He extended his hand and Proudmoore shook it eagerly.

”Like our cheeseplates?” Vile asked her embarrassed, but disarmingly honest, mage and rapped with his only four-fingered left hand at the chest plate which happened to actually be of a rounded design.

”Uh, yes actually. They’re really artistic.” Proudmoore admitted and admired the engraved patterns.

”You girls got the cups and we got the dinner plates.” Rishk smirked with a nod to Proudmoore, whose gear they had retrieved on the way down, and elicited a round of improper approval from her squadron. ”Together we have a full table. See you ’round, and thanks for the fireworks earlier.”

”Yeah, a real show. Stay frosty out there, Ranger Sister.” Vile grinned and before Sylvanas could do more than glare the two rascals had snuck away into the crowd.

Stay frosty… Belore save them.

Rishk and Vile had set something of an example and the remaining way out of the maze of well-wishers took twice as long now that it was established that Proudmoore had time to be personally thanked and congratulated. But Sylvanas did not begrudge her that. After what her mage had endured during her previous trips around the city she deserved every recognition and every encouragement she could get. When they were finally a little more on their own Proudmoore suddenly turned to her and despite her tiredness she saluted Sylvanas eagerly.

”Ranger Mage Proudmoore reporting for duty!” She was still practically bouncing on her heels like a breathless recruit. ”I, ehm, just wanted to get to say that, Dark Lady.” Proudmoore blushed self-consciously. ”Should we return to the surface now?”

”Not quite yet. First, I have a certain point I feel the need to hammer in…” Sylvanas growled vengefully and led her squadron towards the mercantile district.

The streets were bustling, with the curios, the worried, the relieved and the celebrating of the Undercity mixing and mingling. One of a thousand things they lacked was a way of spreading news. Everyone would have felt the tremors of Scourge siege artillery striking and seen the Forsaken soldiers rushing out, and now seen them return bruised and battered but with astonishingly few losses, but little more details had been made available to the majority of the population. Sylvanas noted it with disapproval. They all deserved to know that they were safe for one more day. The un-life was rife enough with fears as it were.

Sylvanas took the opportunity to bring all they met up to date, while she let herself gradually relax. She knew that if something happened Anya would spot it for her.

Proudmoore was staying close to her, very much like before when she had worn her bracelets. Maybe she still felt insecure and with her mana all but spent and herself exhausted from such a day she was in no shape to put up a fight should things turn out bad.

But that would never happen. Today they had won, they had won overwhelmingly and outclassed the Scourge, and it was Proudmoore’s doing and Sylvanas would tear apart anyone who dared to disrespect her mage.

Then again, maybe Proudmoore was keeping up something of the same kind of act she had before to take the edge of suspicions and hostility from the Forsaken, pretending to be Sylvanas’ docile and well behaved little mage. It wasn’t unthinkable, Proudmoore could be both considerate and cunning and it would be an easy way to lessen any potential lingering resentment against the ranger squadron. Sylvanas decided that she should test that thought.

They had arrived at the armourer’s quarters and a certain tanner’s shop.

”Good evening.” Sylvanas smoothly greeted the stunned owners. They looked every bit as stunned as she could have wished for. Neither Sylvanas nor anyone else had had time to do more than wipe the very worst gore off their legs and boots, and must have presented a very horribly grisly picture.

”Do not let me keep you from your trade for long. I was just dropping by to inquire if you now have the materials you need to meet Lady Proudmoore’s order of lined gloves for our sailors. It was reported to me that the loot extracted from Hearthglen included some amount of fine cloth that would be of use.”

Sylvanas stared them down in her strictest stance while the surly couple stammered about silk and whatever else that could be used for lining.

”And furthermore.” Sylvanas interrupted them. ”My new ranger mage has been sweet to me and saved my city, and I would like to give her a treat. I would like to order a leather cuirass for her, form-fitting and dyed black. The wind tends to catch her shirt a bit too much when she is calling down her ice storms. I will send Ranger Lyana later with exact measurements and specifications. Make it a priority.”

With that Sylvanas whirled around on the spot and left without another word with her rangers in tow and barely able to keep themselves from laughing. Except for Proudmoore who smiled much warmer at her.

”Thank you, Dark Lady.” she almost whispered.

”You are the one owed thanks. My new ranger mage.” Sylvanas looked her over. An tangle of hair had formed above her mage’s ear and Sylvanas raised her hand to comb it out. She then almost cursed herself for yet another time forgetting to remove her clawed, and right now visibly bloodstained, gauntlets before doing that, but Proudmoore did not seem to mind. Far from being repulsed, she had almost closed her eyes and looked like she relaxed in anticipation of something pleasant. She apparently trusted Sylvanas enough with sharp objects next to her to not give the thing a second thought. Once rested, Proudmoore could likely lay waste to half the Undercity without breaking a sweat, but here she was letting herself be vulnerable and exposed under Sylvanas’ hand like she had not seen her rage and murder for hours the very same day. It was…so very touching.

That little tangle was long gone. Her metal claws kept scraping across Jaina’s scalp, never enough to break skin and causing no more alarm than the odd hitching of breath and following sigh from her mage. How long had they been standing like that now?

Sylvanas decided that it did not matter. And she also decided that she cared even less if people were watching her.

”Once you are back home and have had a real supper from Anya or Lyana…” Sylvanas whispered into her mage’s round little ear. ”…permission granted to conjure as many mana buns as you could possibly eat.”

[Alwyn]

It sounds like Halvdan and Runar know a really good weaponsmith - and that they have very different preferences for crossbows!

Also, it sounds like all of their diplomatic skill is needed to persuade King Magni, considering his instinctive reaction to the splinter faction they're talking about. The favour that they asked the King about is intriguing. Good update!