Legacy of Oblivion

A free falling descent jolted them both wide awake. The air thickened, smothering their faces and squeezing the air out of their lungs. As the heat hit the underside of the bats, the thin sheet of ice that had collected on their thick pelts melted and steamed upward, engulfing their riders in a layer of sweat, dirt and other unrecognizable filth. Zug and Caulbraen buried their faces in their sleeves until the unwanted bath ended.

In synchronized motion, the bats leveled out just long enough to allow a desperate gasp for breath, then dropped to the earth. A few feet above the red, barren ground, the mammals glided in perfect parallel with the rocky terrain. Everything that passed was a blur and the speed made their eyes tear up when they tried to look ahead, so they worked on untangling themselves from the straps that secured them to the bats. Though they had just come from the coast and it would be another hour until their destination, the movement helped return feeling to their constricted limbs. Even the bats seemed impatient to land, though they would most likely continue until they reached a bat nest farther north. The Badlands was not a favored climate for bats and, after the trauma they had experienced in Stonard, they would probably want to nest with their own kind for a while. Zug really couldn’t blame them.

When they finally landed in Kargath, the sun was setting and the air had cooled to the temperature of molten lava. For some reason, an overeager guard had started a bonfire that wouldn’t come in handy for another three hours. No one was standing around it now. In fact, there was no movement at all in the small strip. If it hadn’t been for the noise coming from the four buildings in the post and the handful of guards taking refuge in the shade, the place would have looked abandoned.

Zug was thinking about securing new transportation and moving on when the aromas of an orc kitchen wafted through the air. His stomach grumbled noisily. Suddenly he was aware of every aching muscle and every layer of dirt that had compressed on his skin. Caulbraen did not look up, but nodded beneath his hood in agreement with the assessment Zug’s stomach had given.

Slinging bags over their shoulders, they tromped up the stairs and into the tavern. The smell of meat and beer hit them in the entryway and they followed it to the crowded bar. Zug took a stool at the end of the counter where he could survey the action.

The room was dimly lit, making each table a shadowy copse. Some faces he recognized, some he did not. Others were in corners, hunched over mugs of cold, frothy beer, their eyes periodically scanning the room just as he was. In the far corner, a pair of eyes connected to a bulky orc form with a torn ear. Their eyes locked. Familiarity tingled in the back of his brain but he was unable to make a positive identification. The contact lingered for a half second too long, then both looked away, resuming their casual sweep. He was still trying to place the face when Caulbraen dropped onto a stool next to him.

The orc behind the counter didn’t bother asking them what they wanted. He took one look and set two steins before them. A pitcher of ale followed, and he shouted something indiscernible over his shoulder that was either a call for dinner or a gun to put them both out of their misery.

Two large bowls of stew with a drumstick of roasted meat slid down the counter and stopped as if on cue. Immediately, Zug plunged a torn hunk of bread into the broth, his mouth watering as he stirred up the bowl, checking the contents. He saw a small assortment of vegetables and a meat not even he could identify. After some consideration, he decided he didn’t care if Iraas’ left thigh was an ingredient, he was going to eat it anyway.

“Need a room?” The barkeep grunted.

Caulbraen did the talking, which was for the best considering Zug had his beer in one hand, the drumstick in the other, and was somehow slurping the contents of the soup bowl.

“Two,” Caulbraen said.

The barkeep nodded carefully, looking them over again. They didn’t look like they had much, but they could definitely afford separate rooms. It was dangerous to separate at night, but there were certain things males did not do. Sharing a bedroom was one of them.

“Well you’re in luck,” the barkeep said. “This morning the zeppelins started running again so I had two rooms open up.”

Zug grunted questioningly as he chomped down on the drumstick.

“Dunno,” the barkeep said, shrugging. “Something about killer wolves.” He produced two worn, metal keys and shouted back again over his shoulder for seconds on dinner.

They paid the barkeep and took extra steins of beer and bowls of stew to their rooms. Neither of them said anything to each other before they retired, but they both were of the understanding that if either of them were attacked, they would shout a warning or try to die noisily. Zug locked the door behind him, closed the curtains, and went to draw a bath.

Curiously enough, the round, wooden tub was already filled with water and, not one, but three new bars of soap were sitting on a stool beside it. Lifting up one arm, he sniffed and answered the unspoken question: Yes, he really did smell that bad.

His armor was removed and dropped on the floor where he stood, then peeled off the layer of clothing underneath. As he sank into the lukewarm water, a superficial layer of dirt loosened from his skin and collected in a ring around the tub. Using a bar of soap, he tried rubbing his arm to see how clean he could get it. He sighed at the smudge. This was definitely going to be a three-bar operation.

Despite the growing twilight, the heat was oppressive and accelerating the need to sleep. Abandoning his pursuit of cleanliness, Zug closed his eyes, tilted his head back on the edge of the tub and enjoyed the temperature.

The water was cool and the room was dark when he woke. Shuffling and scratching outside drew one eye open and he rolled it in the vicinity of the door, but the wall was blocking his line of sight. Suddenly, the scratching stopped and whoever had been outside was heard hurrying away.

He stood and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist as he trotted out and looked around. Everything looked pretty much the same as when he left it: A small utilitarian bed had been crammed into a corner with a small nightstand and lamp. On the opposite wall sat a desk that had seen better days and an accompanying chair he had piled his belongings on when he came in. His armor was still in a heap on the floor.

There was one new addition to the room. Under the lopsided front door, a white piece of paper had been stuffed through and had gotten jammed under the pinched end. He opened the door and leaned out. No one was to be seen. Picking up the paper, he flipped it over and elbowed the door shut.

The letter was a threat, badly written. He tossed it on the desk and returned to the bath. It was hard to take a death threat seriously from someone unable to spell the word decapitate.

Just before dawn broke, Zug woke feeling a little more rested and slightly less crusty, and found Caulbraen waiting outside with new transportation and breakfast. Zug and the gray wolf sized each other up for a few seconds found the other acceptable. With that business concluded, Caulbraen handed him a loaf of something smothered with butter and a liquid that smelled of tropical fruit.

Zug didn’t ask where these had come from; Caulbraen had his ways. He didn’t know if they were legitimate, it was just important that no one came asking questions about it later. Since no one ever did, Zug didn’t care. Morals were loosely defined in their line of work.

The sun was just coming up when they headed out across the desert. Their destination lay a full day’s travel to the east and they would still arrive with plenty of time to spare for some reconnaissance work. Neither of them spoke much, and even what little conversation there was fizzled into silence when the heat kicked in full swing. Not that they would have been chatty anyway; it wasn’t their style.

The silence left Zug to wonder about the strange events that had taken place. Friends had gone missing and strangers were in pursuit of them to the point of burning down half of Stonard. To up the ante, a mysterious and powerful crime boss wanted to have a word with Caulbraen.

At the time he hadn’t wanted to mention it, but he disagreed about attending the meeting. Prynex was a very dangerous individual and possessive to the point of extreme violence. It was entirely possible that someone among their group knew something of interest, which could explain the channel tapping, but his gut advised him otherwise: They had something Prynex wanted. Unfortunately there was no way to know for sure without talking to everyone and they couldn’t do that with the channels shut down. If he was right and they had something of value, things were going to get ugly. Anyone with that kind of power didn’t like to be stood up to, especially by a group of nobodies.

They arrived at dusk. The sun had just dipped down over the cliff, and the inlets and caves that wove up and down the steeply slanted stone were shadowed. Dim lights in the pockmarked landscape illuminated where other travelers had taken up refuge and were cooking dinner. Zug and Caulbraen spent the last hour of light choosing a suitable camp; a semi-concealed inlet of rock with only one entrance.

Zug unpacked the camp while Caulbraen arranged their security, which consisted of an elaborate system of contraptions and wires. By the time the camp was set up and the animals were fed, Caulbraen’s traps were invisible to the untrained eye. They ate a quick dinner and set out on foot.

They found Prynex’s fortress an hour away, secured in a deep corner of the landscape. At first glance, it was an impressive stronghold, suitable to someone of power. The facade was a towering construct of indigenous rock and iron, covered in massive, ornate tapestries. An adequate number of guards stood at the front gate, trying to ward off curiosity. The sight did nothing to ward off Zug or Caulbraen since they hadn’t planned on going through the front door anyway.

Keeping a wide berth, they slowly made their way around the back. Zug noted the thinning number of guards the farther they traveled, and Caulbraen noted the growing number of security traps, silently pointing out a few of the more experienced and expensive devices. The back of the structure was encased in darkness and completely devoid of life.

Caulbraen crept closer for a better look, his cloak blending him in perfectly with the darkness. Even though his eyes had adjusted, the rogue’s form was impossible to see. Zug kept watch while he waited. Though he watched for an hour, no one else appeared, not even a routine patrol. That was odd.

When Caulbraen returned, he looked thoughtful. He also whispered, which to Zug was always the promise of a dangerous, yet good, time.

“Impressive and expensive,” Caulbraen said. “These security devices are elaborate enough to neutralize a sizable invading force.”

Zug nodded, partially impressed and equally curious. “Can you dismantle it?”

“Absolutely.”

He nodded again. “Anything else?”

“There’s a door. It’s hard to see because it’s hidden in the shadows, but there’s a narrow staircase going down. The most dangerous devices guard it.”

Zug looked around again, still wondering about the absence of a patrol. “Could you see anyone down there?” He asked.

“Only what’s left of them.”

Both of them cracked smiles.

Caulbraen gestured behind him. “The security system is on a timer, so we’ll need to move quickly. Step only where I step.”

They approached cautiously with Zug stepping into Caulbraen’s footsteps. Many of the traps Zug could see clearly, but some of those had been decoys and there were still many he hadn’t seen and would have unknowingly tripped. Periodically, Caulbraen would point to a spot on the ground and Zug would place his feet exactly where he had been instructed. Sometimes he would have to bend awkwardly, or hold his arms in contorted positions. Once they made it to the stairs, progress slowed even further.

The usual tools Caulbraen used disappeared and were replaced with an exotic array of devices. Pressure plates, trip wires and other dangers were neutralized one by one as they carefully picked their way down. The door seemed to be a different problem, but at least it wasn’t a race against the clock.

“Don’t move,” Caulbraen warned, “at all.”

Zug stood, frozen in place, for what seemed like eons. He couldn’t feel his toes anymore, but he didn’t dare move for fear of getting them both killed. If it hadn’t been for his military training, he wouldn’t have lasted so long.

Caulbraen was standing in front of the door seemingly motionless, soundless, bent over the handle. Zug heard a soft click, and the door cracked open. Weapons were drawn and they padded into the hall.

The hallway descended and stretched toward a dim light that flickered, giving an illusion that the hallway was longer, narrower, and creepier than it actually was. At the end, the path parted either right or left. Torches were lit on the walls that went left, so that was the way they went.

The hall continued on, sometimes breaking off into other directions, but they kept to the lit path. Periodically, large steel doors would appear on either side of the hallway, but quick investigation revealed them to be empty storerooms. At one point they found a staircase leading up to a door that opened to the ground level, but the door looked unused. Cracks and fissures in the walls grew more pronounced. The deeper in they went, the age of the building became more apparent. It didn’t take long for them to realize they were standing in the basement of a building that had seen better days. Prynex had probably commandeered the building temporarily to hold the meeting, and to give the impression of wealth. His actual residence and holdings were off in a secret stronghold elsewhere, kept away from a group he was trying to lure into his confidence.

The hallway once again intersected another, and their choices were either right or left. Both directions had torches lighting the walls, but voices were heard to the left. Neither of them bothered signaling to each other, they just went left.

Even before the voices grew clearer and more distinct, Zug could easily determine three individuals. By the dialects and tone, he guessed an elf, an orc and one troll, all three complaining about being stuck on prisoner duty.

Light spilled out of an open doorway and, as they crept along the wall, the sounds of rustling cards and the chink of coins became apparent.

Caulbraen’s form shimmered slightly and disappeared, moving ahead. Zug stopped where he was and waited for Caulbraen to reappear.

“What was that?” An orc said.

“Most likely nothing.”

“Yah. Nothin’ goin’ on down in here. You in or out, mon?”

A few seconds later, Caulbraen reappeared, beckoning Zug to cross quickly. Stepping as lightly as possible, Zug hurried past the door, but not without sneaking a peek inside. Three young, new recruits had been stuck down here and were trying to pass the time with a game of cards. A disturbance, courtesy of Caulbraen, had taken their attention away from the table momentarily, and were all looking away from the door, into an adjacent room.

Zug reached the other side without drawing attraction and grinned. All he could see under Caulbraen’s hood was a similar smile that spread from ear to ear. Unhurried, they continued down the hall to find out who the young guards may be keeping an eye on, and came immediately to a locked door with a small, barred window.

Caulbraen wasted no time in picking the lock open and closed the heavy, metal slab as quietly as possible behind them. Everything in the prison area was a bit darker than the previous hallway had been; torches had been spared except directly across from occupied cells. Of those, there were only three. Two were kept close to the front door that they had just emerged from, and a very faint light down the hall and around the corner notated that another prisoner had been secluded from everyone else, and kept far from panicky, unseasoned recruits.

Curious, they followed the trail of light around the corner, and the floor dipped down. Cells were much more secured back here, though not with metal and stone. Old magic that remained and covered the walls, ceiling and floors, leaving nothing except for the middle hallway clear. Zug didn’t dare touch anything.

A layer of loose dirt and dust had settled on the floor with a tell tale sign of footprints, though just a thin track, suggesting the prisoner had been neglected. The only time the recruits would come down would be to deliver the obligatory stale bread and water and, even then, only when they had mustered enough courage. Zug couldn’t help but be curious about who they were keeping down here that commanded so much fear.

The floor suddenly angled downward, the cells became smaller, though with thicker walls keeping the rooms apart. Everything hummed with magic. It did not take long for them to realize this wing had once contained powerful sorcerers and kept them at bay. Though the fortress had been abandoned and was in serious decay, the spells remained.

They turned another corner and the hall came to an abrupt end. A single torch was on the end wall, with two cells on either side. The mortar between the bricks had deteriorated severely in this area, but the guardian magic kept the building together. From the looks of things, the magic may have been the only thing holding up the fortress, as Zug was quite certain the bricks were not.

Each of them went to a door, and took a look through the barred windows.

The brick walls inside the cells were glowing a faint purple, a sign of slightly aged magic. A bowl and a plate were on the floor in front of a single cot that appeared as old as the rest of the building. A female Forsaken form was curled up awkwardly on it, with her head down toward the door. Dark hair was caked with dirt and dark smudges covered her face. One shoe was missing and the other was on the floor and, though it was in threads, it was placed neatly under the bed. Her robe was shredded and stained and no longer held much magical enhancers that he could tell, not that Zug was any good judge, but all of her jewelry had been taken, something that a self-respecting mage would never willingly allow. Without boosters, not even a former elf could break through the magical barriers on her own. Her exposed body was bruised and scratched, and she had obviously been through quite an ordeal.

She was curled on her side with her face up. Slowly, her eyes opened into slits. Yellow orbs flickered up to him, then opened all the way. Recognition hit Zug full force and his body went rigid with shock. Caulbraen sidled up next to him to see what was so upsetting.

“Gods,” Caulbraen whispered. “Emberchill.”

They both backed away from the door quickly. Caulbraen’s hands worked furiously, trying to figure out a way to get the traps off of the doors, and Zug upended the one small bag he had brought, searching for food, water, supplies, and bandages — anything that could help.

One small brick at the bottom of the wall had been taken out to slide food and water into, and Zug pushed everything he had into the cell. When he had emptied it of anything useful, he returned to the window.

It obviously took a great deal of effort, but Emberchill reached to the top of the cot, pulled herself to the edge and reached down. The first thing she took was food, next was water, followed by potions. Emberchill was no idiot. Potions on an empty stomach were likely to make her sick.

Caulbraen stepped away angrily.

There’s nothing I can do to these,” he whispered, gesturing at the magical barriers that lined the walls.

Neither of them were magic users, so they had nothing helpful to give her. They were going to have to find some aids so she could break herself out.

Zug stuck his head back up to the barred window.

“We’ll be back,” he told her.

Emberchill nodded slightly from where she was still laying on the bed. Chewing even seemed to take her a lot of effort.

Zug and Caulbraen put everything back into the bag and hurried out of the basement as fast as they could. They had seen enough.

The jog back to camp was done in double time and when they arrived, most campfires across the desert and along the rocky mountain range had died. Caulbraen led the way into their own camp, dismantling and resetting security measures as they went. The animals were peaceful and slumbering, and barely gave them a second glance when they got in. All was silent in the little camp, and everyone under the starry sky was asleep.

Caulbraen turned to Zug, pulling back his hood. A cool breeze whipped in from the desert, snapping the end of his dark cloak. After finding Emberchill captive at the bottom of a decaying fortress, they were restless and angry. Neither of them were going to get much sleep tonight, if any.

“We have to get her out of there,” Caulbraen said quietly.

Zug nodded back in the darkness. “There’s no way we can get through those spells,” he said, “and neither can she in her current state. We have to get her weapons, clothes and traveling gear, otherwise she’s never going to get out of there.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just stood there trying to think of what to do. Zug watched Caulbraen’s darkened silhouette shift uncomfortably.

“It’ll be light in a few hours,” Caulbraen said, sounding frustrated. “We have no time to break back into the fortress to get what she needs. Even if we were successful, getting back down to Emberchill before the meeting and without being discovered will be next to impossible. So if that’s what you’re saying…”

“No,” Zug said, allowing a smile to spread across his face. “I’m saying there’s got to be someone out here we hate.”

Caulbraen only needed a half second to think that one over. The rogue pulled his hood up, masking his sly smile, then turned and disappeared from the camp.

When he returned, his cloak was bulging with a variety of treasures. The most difficult item to conceal was going to be a large, twisted staff adorned with crystals and a large gem at the top. They could deal with that one in the morning, when it was light. Both of them took turns keeping watch, starting with Zug, though neither of them really slept. Tomorrow was going to be a big day for everyone.

Before the sun was peeking over the edge of their camp, both Zug and Caulbraen were up and putting together a simple breakfast: Light on the food, heavy on the coffee. Neither of them thought it wise to fight the lethargic effects of a full belly on a day like today.

A crowd was trickling slowly through the front gate of the fortress. Armed guards made taller by platform boots were checking invitation scrolls and identification before allowing anyone to enter. Behind the row of guards, a few officers overlooked the proceedings. Caulbraen and Zug kept their hoods up and approached when they were beckoned to.

Caulbraen handed the guard his summons, and both produced identification. The guard checked them both, and gave Zug a funny look.

“What’s with the stick leg?” The guard grunted, pointing at the ground.

Zug gave the young tauren an irritated look. “Lost it in battle. Is that a problem?”

The guard grunted again, though it looked an attempt at a shrug, which was a struggle under the plate mail.

“You’re pretty pudgy for a hunter,” the guard grunted, checking out Zug’s bulging armor.

Zug’s eyebrows shot up high on his forehead. “Well it’s a little hard to run with a peg leg, isn’t it?” He shifted his shoulders, bringing notice to the heavy, battle worn bow attached to his back. “I promise I don’t need to run to get you.”

The guard grunted again and handed back their papers. Caulbraen wove through the crowd that was being herded on down a hall, and ducked down a narrow corridor. At the first door, Caulbraen picked the lock and they ducked inside. The room, like most others they had seen last night, was empty.

Zug couldn’t wait to untie his leg and stretch it out. For the last half hour he had hobbled along with his ankle tied up to his thigh and his foot had lost all circulation. He rubbed it until it was tingly, which quickly turned to pain. Silently, he hopped around trying to get the blood moving.

When he felt better, he unloaded everything that had been stashed in his clothes, and rolled them up into a tight log. The clothing, jewelry and the staff was placed under Caulbraen’s cloak. There was no better way for them to keep it except loose.

No one noticed them slipping back into the wave that was heading to the meeting room, and they went with the flow. Everyone poured into a small, round auditorium with tiered seating. The benches all looked down upon an illuminated platform.

Caulbraen and Zug went through the door, up two levels and took up the bench near the door. No sooner had they sat did Zug recognize a voice.

A male Forsaken in a rough, ugly cloak stormed through the door. He was trying hard to keep the cloak wrapped around him, but the ends were whipping around his legs, exposing pale blue silk with white and purple embroidery. He had no weapons visible. Zug was no expert, but he somehow thought the only magical thing the mage was wearing were his shoes.

“Find them! Find everything!” The Forsaken huffed to an orc who was following in his wake. “This is embarrassing!”

Zug bent down, put one elbow on his knee, and covered his mouth with one hand to keep from laughing out loud. Caulbraen leaned over.

“Anyone who travels through rough territory and brings silk pajamas to sleep in deserves to get their gear stolen.”

Zug couldn’t argue with that logic and, even if he could, he wouldn’t have. He hated Nishaia Greggs and the unit of mercenaries associated with the bastard.

Greggs had made his fortune by letting others do all the work, then sweeping in at the last moment for the payoff. A couple of years ago, they had gotten close to bagging a wanted felon after eight months of work. At the last possible second, Greggs came out of nowhere, physically blocked them from finishing the job and stole the target. They had avoided him ever since.

Zug watched him maneuver down the auditorium stairs and smiled. Greggs was still limping from when Thundrax shot him in the ass.

As the last of the group was filtering in, a respectful hush fell over the auditorium. From below, a door just left of the stage opened. Prynex emerged, almost seeming to float across the floor in emerald green, silken robes with exaggerated sleeves and collar. It was a bizarre outfit for a rogue. He was flanked by two trolls who were also dressed richly, though more in an intimidating sort of way. They wore a lot of leather and swords on each hip, though they looked less like bodyguards and more like trusted lieutenants. Both of them took up spots behind Prynex, one on each side of the platform. Prynex himself waited until the room was absolutely silent, and then began to speak.

“I have a proposition to make.”

The room erupted, so much that it was impossible to hear whatever was said next. Now it was Zug’s turn to lean over.

“Well, that’s one way to start a conversation.”

Caulbraen did not respond, though he didn’t look impressed with what he was seeing. It was another ten minutes before the room was settled and the volume was low enough for Prynex to continue.

“We are the same,” he declared. “All of us. Motivated by the same things, ya? Looking to carve out our own place in the world? But we are fragmented. We bow to the same banner of the Horde, but we are not one people. The system that keeps the peace is failing more and more every day, putting strain on our own resources. Though we profit more and more from their failure, the fact remains that our leaders are failing.”

The room was silent, though more with curiosity than agreement.

“See all that I have. I have earned every coin.”

Someone on the other side of the auditorium interrupted, shouting, “By trading with Alliance mongrels!”

The discontented murmuring started again.

“Yes,” Prynex said bluntly, loud enough to be heard. The noise quickly died down again. “I have given them whatever stupid thing they wanted and taken their money in return. See, now, the power and wealth I have acquired.” Stretching out his arms, his head turned so his eyes could sweep the room. “Jealous, mon?” One arm fell to his side and the other pointed in the direction of the offending commenter. “You should be.”

He shifted and his robes swirled around him in a display of magnificence.

“But I did not do it only for money. No. Getting close to the Alliance has given me insight to how they think and what they want.”

The same obnoxious interjector interrupted again, this time with laughter in his voice.

“You want to fight them?”

Accompanying laughter rippled across half the room.

“No,” Prynex said. “I wish to subjugate them.”

All noise in the room ended, except for Prynex’s voice. He had everyone’s attention.

“I have intercepted a communication between the leaders of our races,” he said. “They are looking for components to a weapon of great power – a weapon of the Titans. If they find it and piece it together, the fools will use it and continue to fail, as they have been for many years. But if we acquire it…”

He turned again slightly to pan around to the other side of the room, letting the excitement grow in the silence.

“We will rule.”

Interested mumbling rippled across the room. Zug couldn’t help but notice the excited gestures of those sitting nearby.

Down below, the speech continued.

“I am extending this endeavor to you, because each of you has shown the skill and aptitude it takes to lead a diverse and powerful nation. I ask you now to join me in a partnership. Together, with our combined forces, we can find this weapon of the Titans, bring the Alliance under our feet and lead a new Horde to glorious victory. The riches and power that have eluded you will finally be yours.”

Zug and Caulbraen shot quick glances at each other. There was no better way to motivate a group of heartless mercenaries than speaking to their pocketbooks. By the looks of the room, it was doing the trick.

They sat there for a while longer and listened to more of the same: Add their people and resources to Prynex’s and together they will all get rich. After another half hour, Caulbraen gestured and stood, then disappeared through the door. Zug followed him out, but not before giving one last glance down at the podium. Prynex was still giving his sweeping speech, but the lieutenant closest to the door was quickly exiting.

Zug caught up to Caulbraen out in the hallway and didn’t bother asking what he thought; it was all over Caulbraen’s face. Both of them had listened to enough crap in their lifetimes to know a scheme when they saw it.

“Did you notice most of their soldiers aren’t trained?” Zug asked. “The one who checked us in could barely stand up in their armor.”

Whether or not Caulbraen noticed, it wasn’t acknowledged on his face. He just nodded thoughtfully and said, “Did you notice everyone in charge was a troll?”

Zug had to think about that one. He knew something was odd, but he didn’t quite catch it until now. Deep in thought, they both headed down the hall, back toward the entrance.

As they turned the corner and caught sight of the front door, something tingled at the back of Zug’s head, and he couldn’t help but feel like they were being watched.

“Caulbraen.”

They both stopped and turned.

The lieutenant who left the stage had come through a side door to try and intercept. He had been joined by two others, both trolls. As they approached, Zug and Caulbraen both tensed up, anticipating the confrontation.

“Didn’t like what you heard, mon?” The lieutenant asked.

Caulbraen didn’t flinch. Pale folds of flesh closed slowly over dead, yellow orbs and opened again in a slow, unemotional blink.

“I’m just not interested.”

The troll smiled and said, “You should be. This union could benefit you more than anyone else.”

One corner of Caulbraen’s mouth tilted upward in a sarcastic little twitch.

“You seem to know a lot about me, and I have no idea who you are,” he said.

The troll nodded. “I am Jin’Bathla.”

Though the face hadn’t originally registered with Zug, the name certainly did. Bathla was a radical who had tried multiple times to reclaim the troll empire – whatever that meant. Self-styling himself as “Jin,” the rank of a troll tribal leader, Bathla was responsible for a couple of assassinations among Horde leaders and sporadic attacks on outposts situated close to ruined troll cities. The movement was never widely publicized, though it was safe to say every troll knew about it and each held their own private opinion on the matter.

“Well, Jin’Bathla,” Caulbraen replied crisply, “thanks for your hospitality. We’ll be seeing ourselves to the door now.”

They turned away, ready to be done and out the door.

“Are you sure I cannot change your mind?” Jin’Bathla called. “Perhaps I have something to interest you… Or someone you may care to see.”

Zug and Caulbraen stopped dead in their tracks and turned slowly to face him.

Grinning from ear to ear, Jin’Bathla took a few steps forward, coming close. His voice dropped low.

“Come. I think you will be very interested.”

Jin’Bathla and his two cohorts escorted them back down the hall, past the auditorium. Guards thinned out along the way as they went deeper into the fortress. Natural light was nonexistent and no one had bothered to conceal the building’s age other than spacing out the torches. Warm pools of light splashed out against the walls and floor in certain spots, leaving darkened, dead space between. Zug and Caulbraen followed through shadow and light until they reached a heavy, wooden door.

Removing a key from his pocket, Jin’Bathla opened the door and indicated to a staircase. At his motioning, the guards went down first, followed by Zug, then Caulbraen. Jin’Bathla joined them after locking the door behind.

A couple of turns and a long, dismal hallway later, they were right where they had been the previous night. New guards had replaced the ones who had held the evening shift, and Jin’Bathla ordered them to continue to wait in the room until they had returned.

The keys rattled noisily in the lock, probably more for show. Zug didn’t remember Caulbraen having any problems last night, so he figured this was meant to play up the dungeon factor. He and Caulbraen were going to have to put on a good show to make this look convincing.

The door was not locked behind them, just closed. A torch was removed from the wall and taken to illuminate the corridors. Zug noticed the two captives from the night before were now gone, and every cell was empty.

At the end of the dungeon, the torch that had been on the far wall was now gone. Jin’Bathla stuck his torch into the empty metal coil and gestured to where they knew Emberchill was being held. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face.

Caulbraen’s eyes coolly flickered to the barred window. Without turning his back, he took two cautious sidesteps over and looked in. Zug felt his heart take a half-dozen hard beats before Caulbraen tensed visibly and turned on Jin’Bathla angrily.

“Release her,” he demanded. “Now.”

Jin’Bathla laughed softly, but his eyes weren’t smiling. They were cold and hard.

“She will be released,” he said, “if you cooperate.”

Zug, feigning confusion, went to the door and looked. Emberchill was laying on the cot, face up, head down in his direction so she seemed upside down from his vantage. Her eyes opened and she looked much more alert than she had the night before. She winked at him, and then both eyes closed as if she were unconscious.

Whirling around, Zug grabbed the nearest guard, knocking him into the first.

“You can’t do this!” He shouted.

Caulbraen and Jin’Bathla jumped into the scuffle. Cloaks were ripped off or wrapped over heads, and belongings were knocked to the floor. Zug gave one of the guards a punch to the gut, and received an elbow to the face. His head snapped back in exaggerated motion, trying to make it look good. As he pretended to fall back, he grabbed Jin’Bathla’s tunic in one hand and a guard with the other and used his weight to pull them around, so their backs were facing Emberchill’s cell. When he pretended to go for one of his axes, the tension escalated.  All of them were grabbing for Zug or for their weapon, except Caulbraen, who stepped back and unloaded a staff and a bundle of cloth, and kicked them through the small opening to Emberchill’s cell.

Zug felt a dagger at his throat. Relaxing his body deliberately, he let go of everything and lifted his hands. The guards directed him back by Caulbraen, who was pretending to nurse a bruised lip.

Smugly, Jin’Bathla tugged the bottom of his tunic, straightening out his armor, even stopping to brush off his sleeves.

“She will be released,” he said through gritted teeth, “when you cooperate.”

“Fine,” Caulbraen said. “What do you want?”

“A few of your people went to see Raeln Rivaellyn, the seer in Undercity. We believe they have something we want. Let us speak with them, and hand over any items they may have acquired from the seer.”

Zug snickered. “You think we have the Titan weapon? We don’t.”

“Perhaps,” Jin’Bathla said. “I want them to come here within the next two days. If they don’t have what we want, nothing will come of this and she,” he gestured to the door, “will go free. If you do, then cooperate and give us what we want, and your people will be allowed to leave.”

“People?” Caulbraen spat.

The troll smiled. “I also wish to speak with the one who refers to himself as Barathron.”

Caulbraen froze. His face read a blank page. To everyone else, it seemed as if he did not care. To Zug, this meant something was wrong. Mentally, he checked to make sure his weapons were ready.

“I doubt Barathron has anything to say to you,” Caulbraen said cautiously.

“He will,” Jin’Bathla said, “when he is informed of my very special guest.” He smiled, revealing a full set of teeth that only enhanced his yellowing tusks.

They should have figured Emberchill wasn’t the only one taken captive. It was a vain hope, and nothing more.

“If anything happens to them,” Zug warned.

The trolls all laughed.

“Nothing will happen as long as you deliver everything,” Jin’Bathla said.

“Then where should Barathron meet you?” Caulbraen asked. “Here?”

“No. Give him this.”

Jin’Bathla reached into a pocket and produced a flat, circular stone with a golden coin in the center. Engravings on the stone matched the one on the coin. It didn’t look like a language, just old, artistic carvings.

Caulbraen took it and looked it over. “Barathron will know what this is?” He asked.

“His Highness will know what to do with it, yes.”

Zug tried hard to hide his surprise. That was the last thing he expected to be said.

“How long does he have?” Caulbraen asked.

“Three days.”

Zug gave them all an impatient look. “That’s going to be a little hard for him to do, considering he’s on a boat to Durotar.”

Jin’Bathla seemed to take that into consideration for a second, but said, “When he hears of the situation, I am confident he will find a way.”

It was a somber return back to the front door, but when they were out in the sweltering heat, both Caulbraen and Zug seemed more determined than before. Fueled by anger and a little bit of worry, they made it back to the camp and grabbed their gear and mounts. They rode out, stopping at someone else’s camp to steal something that looked fast.

They were back at the fortress in less than twenty minutes and held back in the shade, under an outcropping of rock. Zug had his hands full trying to steady the young war wolf they had acquired. The beast sensed the excitement and couldn’t sit still. The longer they waited, the more restless everyone became.

Nervous with anticipation, Zug and Caulbraen were both beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong when a low grumble filled the air and a tremor rippled across the dry, desert floor.

Backing their mounts up, they retreated even farther from the building, unsure of what was about to happen.

Clouds moved in suddenly, blocking out the sun from above and darkening the area. The fortress shuddered and they could barely make out the beginnings of an evacuation. A high pitched screech filled the air and Caulbraen’s horse reared in fright. Zug moved over to calm the beast and was nearly knocked from his mount by another, more violent, tremor.

It ended swiftly and everything was silent, but unearthly so, as if all the sound in the world had been sucked up and the silence that remained was more than they could bear.

What came next happened fast.  A blast of heat shot out from the building like a shock wave, followed by the sound of an explosion. From the corner they were at, it was hard to see the area that had gone up, but they saw chunks of the fortress launched above and catapulted away. A smaller spray of rock and debris went up with it in a deranged fountain. Before the stone landed, the fortress groaned. A sickening slam echoed and repeated; the sound of the structure giving way. The back corner started to collapse and was spreading to the front. In a few minutes, Prynex’s fortress would be reduced to rubble.

“Just be glad she’s on our side,” Caulbraen shouted, and nudged his horse into motion.

Zug couldn’t help but agree and willed the wolves toward the blast.