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.

She was riding hard through the swamp, heading away from the military outpost. The usual sounds of travel were muffled by the soft mud and she bent over her horse’s neck to avoid low hanging branches. Though she urged her demonic mount onward, it was not with a sense of urgency or panic, but one of steadfastness – her tasks would always be accomplished as long as she was diligent.

Earlier that evening, Caulbraen had sent her to find their missing companions and retrieve them. Locating them had been the easy part. Most of the missing party had indeed reached Stonard as they had intended, but never made it inside. Emberchill had been taken captive by a group who had set fire to the Stonard Inn and Sabe and Arcadi, in no condition to attempt a rescue, were, in fact, attempting a rescue. The only one missing was Thundrax, but she simply could not be bothered with him now; a new group had appeared and were pursuing Sabe and Arcadi. She did not know who this new group was, but found it curious that all of them were trolls. Though one of them was a hunter, they left a trail even a warlock could follow. Each group was unknowingly being pursued by another, and Arachne was playing the predator sneaking up on the rear.

As soon as they were away from Stonard, they had avoided the main road and cut west through the swamp. Despite the wild terrain, they were making good time. When the deep and clear imprints of domesticated mounts crossed the road that led south, she knew they would be heading to Deadwind Pass. Eventually the procession turned northwest, back toward the road, as if they intended to circle around by the old wooden bridge. She continued to follow, making sure to keep her unflagging demonic mount from gaining ground.

When she finally reached the road, she was treated to a surprise: The old bridge was no longer there. Debris had been scattered everywhere as if the Old Gods had struck the land in their wrath, trees were unearthed and scorched and large craters were embedded in the terrain. Native lifeforms of the swamp had been sacrificed in the assault and their innocent corpses littered the scape.

It was beautiful work. Unfortunately, Arachne had no time to admire the artistry. Snorting silently, her steed sauntered up the hill with the ease of a being not constrained to the mortal plane. Pulling the reigns to the right, they turned the corner and left the soggy swamp behind.

Something was wrong in Deadwind Pass. Normally the grim scape and continual reek of death did not bother her, but tonight it did. Everything was still – too still. Carrion birds that should be perched atop limbs in a nocturnal state and the stale wind that commonly whipped along the road were absent. Warped, dead trees were twisted in such a way that if one stared long enough, it was possible to see tortured faces that stared back and watched travelers as they passed. Something had wounded the strength of this place, and the evil that lived here was recuperating from it. At the very least, it meant travel through the Pass would be uneventful.

The living mounts she followed would be getting tired around this time, so she slowed her demon to a brisk trot in order to keep from bumping into the mysterious group ahead. From what she could see before leaving Stonard, the group was made up of five trolls, and one of them had an animal companion. This meant a hunter, and she would need to stay just beyond their periphery to keep from being detected. Other than a profound interest in Sabe and Arcadi, she did not know who they were or what they wanted. The only way for her to find out would be to get close enough to eavesdrop and, to do so, the hunters would need to be eliminated.

She continued to dwell on his through the remainder of her trip through the Pass. As she neared Duskwood, she kicked her horse into a gallop.

The transition into Duskwood was abrupt; a line in the earth where the grass began was also the line of enchanted shadow that covered the forest. The road ended just as abruptly with a crossroad turning either right or left, and a wooden fence attempting to discourage travel forward. On the other side lay a steep incline of jagged rocks that divided the forest in half. Those she followed would not dare climb it with their temperamental, living mounts, nor would they follow the road on the left as it led to a human settlement. That left the road to the right. As they had all been traveling for half the night and into the early afternoon, each group would set up temporary camps to rest. Though she could not track like a hunter or telepathically sense a variety of lifeforms, she was not worried about finding them. Thick bushes and continual shadow made things difficult to see on the horizontal plane, but the clusters of bracken were spaced apart, giving an advantage to anyone above. Leaning down low over her mount’s neck, she urged her demon over the fence and up the hill.

She was quite a ways above the forest floor when the ledge leveled off and widened slightly, although the brush grew even more dense so their travel was not made any easier. Along the way, another path broke off and inclined up to another level, creating a wall on her left side and narrowing the road. Wild plants growing in the crevices grew thick and dense, pinning her against the stone. Progress was slow. Thorns grabbed at her clothing and a stray branch had given her a bloody lip, but it was a small price to pay for the high ground. When the growth was too thick to continue, she dismounted and traversed the ledge on foot.

A dip in the ground caused her to stumble. Hissing a curse under her breath, she grabbed a nearby branch for support and looked down at her feet. It appeared as though a small landslide had damaged this portion of the rock and a boulder had slammed down the side of the cliff, clearing a path that led almost to the forest floor. Something had ended the boulder’s descent, and the large rock was firmly lodged into the side of the cliff. Staying as hidden as she could with surrounding brush, she climbed into the groove, made her way down a few feet and looked out.

Immediately she spotted the two groups. Emberchill’s captors were burning a small fire, and had set up camp up ahead on her left. To the right was the group pursuing Arcadi and Sabe – the number of their group including mounts and pets made it impossible to miss. Arachne found herself conveniently stationed in the middle. For a brief moment she thought she had lost Sabe and Arcadi completely, until familiar voices floated out from under the fallen boulder and up into her ears. They had set up camp smartly against the wall, under the boulder.

“She is never going to be interested in you.”

The hostility was unmistakable in Arcadi’s tone. “Why?”

“Because she’s a druid,” Sabe answered, “a lover of life and nature.”

“So?” The priest retorted indignantly.

“You’re dead.”

“And you’re the expert,” Arcadi said. “A troll and an orc – now that’s an uneasy visual.”

“I never said that,” Sabe said defensively. “There’s nothing going on between Barathron and me.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Trolls are a very spiritual people. Barathron respects my dedication and servitude to the spirits of nature. That’s all.”

“If that’s what you want to call it, fine, but don’t point fingers at this whole thing I have with Autumnwolf.”

“You have a thing? She ripped your arm out of its socket!”

“That was an accident.”

“What!?”

“It’s not as if she goes around doing that to everyone who annoys her.”

They weren’t shouting, but it was more noise than Arachne would have liked. Hopefully the sound was only echoing upward and the bushes below muffled the noise, preventing it from being heard across the forest. This untamed land had more dangers than a handful of strangers. She decided if those two idiots were going to attract the attention of everything in the forest, they were on their own. Before she could decide how upset everyone would be if she only returned with Arcadi and Sabe’s mutilated corpses, movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention.

Two trolls and a raptor had left the camp to the right, and were headed toward Sabe and Arcadi. Noise from below had dwindled to practically nothing and, considering how badly they looked earlier, they were in no condition to defend themselves from anyone. From what she could hear, they would be passed out from exhaustion by the time the trolls arrived. It was time to go to work.

Working her way back up the groove, she climbed back onto the path where the brush was thickest. She held out her hands. A dark incantation was uttered as her hands were lifted, and the air around her thickened. Her cloak and hood fluttered slightly, trembling at the pulsing orb of raw magical essence she held, its existence both terrible and beautiful. Runes skittered around her feet and she focused her thoughts on the magic. Her companion appeared at first as a shadowy silhouette, but as she continued the form became solid. The demon moved to stand next to her, then was still; an obedient servant.

The demon followed her back down the path and into the crevice. Both trolls were getting closer now. The hunter and raptor were making good time and were headed for the right side of the boulder. The second troll left the hunter and started to circle wide around, headed for the opposite side of the camp. A flash of light caught her eyes – two daggers appeared in the troll’s hands, and then the troll winked out of sight.

As she had foreseen, the hunter was going to give her problems because she did not want anyone detecting her. To stay invisible, she would need to direct her pet from above and, at all costs, keep her presence a secret from Sabe and Arcadi. The last thing she needed was those two bungling up her work. Once she had eliminated the hunter, she would need to move her pet to the other side of the camp to take out the rogue. This was another challenge in itself as the rogue was invisible and, even if she could see them, her pet would charge straight through Arcadi and Sabe’s camp. Somehow she would need to move her pet around the outside and she was not yet sure how to do that yet.

Her lips pursed together tightly and a smile appeared in the corner of her mouth. Arachne enjoyed challenges.

Working her way down the groove, she noticed a tree trunk leaning away from the cliff at a good angle. She climbed behind it and slowly brought her weight down until she was laying against it, allowing it to support her frail form. Both hands were now free and she had a good view to the forest floor below. Her wand came to one hand and a long, curved dagger came to the other. By her estimates, as long as the hunter stayed down on the forest floor, she would be safe.

Below, a raptor’s head bobbed stupidly above a clump of bushes, looked around, then ducked down. The hunter emerged alone and walked into the center of a small clearing. Placing a small trap in the center, they covered it with leaves and stood. An arrow was nocked in a bow, and then they backed up into the bushes.

Arachne smiled and focused her thoughts on the hunter. Her felguard obeyed, becoming a blur as it raced down the hill. Sword raised, it sliced silently through branches and bramble that lay before it. Arachne had expected a little more noise and disruption, and was elated at how well the demon was doing.

The hunter could hardly help but notice the hulking form speeding their way. An arrow flew from the bushes but was parried by the demon’s blade. The hunter ran. Stepping from the bushes, they tried to back up and notch another arrow in a bowstring, but the demon was faster, slamming quick, powerful sword strokes into the hunter’s side. From behind, the raptor pounced upon the demon, raking with its talons, but it seemed to have little effect. The hunter had no distance to use their bow and the beating from the demon’s sword kept nearly knocking them off their feet. Turning, the hunter ran in the direction of the trap. Arachne let the demon follow a short way, then, before they reached the trap, she commanded the demon to turn onto the raptor.

Furious, the raptor dug into the demon, but was not doing well against the demon’s sword. The raptor was driven back a few feet from the force of the blows. This had given the hunter enough time to gain the distance required for their bow; something her demon would not fare well against.

Arachne called her demon to return. It obeyed her immediately, pivoting and moving back toward the steep cliff where she was hiding. Confused, the raptor followed, still attacking the demon. As soon as the demon was angled away from the trap, she sent it back on the hunter.

Frustrated, the hunter dashed out and away from the demon again, trying to lure it into the trap. Arachne commanded the demon back onto the raptor, slamming into the animal with enough force to drive it back and away.

More than a few arrows had broken the demon’s leathery hide and its strength was fading, but Arachne was ready for this. She closed her eyes and focused, allowing her own lifeforce to flow out in a steady stream toward her demon. Her own body was weakening, but the tree she was laying upon supported her.

The demon’s attacks renewed and she sent it away and back into the hunter. The hunter was unprepared for a fresh assault and fell to their knees, drawing out a small axe that blocked the attack. With one hand, the demon reached down and grabbed the hunter by the throat and squeezed.

Desperate, the hunter slammed their axe into the demon, but every stroke became weaker until the axe fell to the ground and the hunter stopped moving. Arachne stifled a triumphant laugh and turned her attention back to the raptor. This part was going to be a little luck and a great deal of chance.

Commanding the demon to attack the raptor, she gave more of her own lifeforce to her faithful servant. The drain made her tired and very weak. Pointing the dagger at the raptor, she focused her energy on a new spell. The dagger flickered with a malicious light that winked out as quickly as it had appeared.

The badly injured raptor turned and fled directly away from her, then bounced erratically from tree to tree. The demon chased it, still beating it with their sword. The enchant ended and the raptor turned on the demon. It hadn’t gone as far as she had hoped.

She tried again. Again, the raptor turned and fled, this time arcing wide around Sabe and Arcadi’s camp until it reached the general area of where the rogue had disappeared earlier. The demon followed, racing to keep up with the panicked animal. When the spell ended, the raptor stopped, blinked, and turned on the demon.

To Arachne’s satisfaction, the rogue had seen the commotion. Realizing there was trouble, they came to the animal’s aid.

The demon staggered under the blow of two daggers digging into its back, but it finished off the raptor easily and whirled on its new opponent. Sword raised and eyes flashing angrily, it bore into the rogue, walking them back away from the camp.

The rogue had made a poor choice. Arachne wondered if they had realized it before they breathed their last. Silently and swiftly, the demon left the corpse in the bushes and began its climb back up the cliff to where she lay against the tree.

As she rested, she scanned the area again and noticed with some amusement that her demon had not dispatched the hunter after all. Badly wounded and moving slowly, the hunter rolled over and pushed themselves until they were sitting upright. Given the distance, she had a hard time seeing what was produced from a bag and quickly consumed, but she guessed it was something to heal their wounds. At her command, her demonic minion rushed down the hill towards the hunter to finish the task.

More movement drew her attention away and she forced her demon to an abrupt halt. From the camp on the left side where Emberchill was being held captive, figures were emerging and heading her way. They were doing well at keeping to the shadows and bushes, so she could not yet make out how many there were. Arachne was not in any rush, and was content to wait patiently. As they got closer, she could see one was a tauren trying to hide their bulk under a massive, dark cloak, and the other was an orc warlock with a demonic companion in tow – a felguard that looked very similar to hers. The trio was heading in the direction of the camp below the boulder. Arachne suspected they were sent to investigate who had been following them.

While she was waiting, the hunter pushed to their feet and went in search of the missing raptor and their rogue friend. Both groups would intersect where the corpses fell. A laugh like a hiss escaped her lips and she called her demon to return. Together, they waited.

Still a few yards away from the camp, the hulking mass stopped in their tracks. The warlock was right behind and knelt down. As Arachne suspected, they had walked right onto the rogue’s corpse. That they lingered over the body meant they knew him. While they were inspecting the scene, the hunter arrived.

Even from such a great distance it was easy to see the hunter was startled and they ducked into the bushes to watch.

After a few minutes, the tauren and orc stood, quickly looked around, and left to report what they had found. The hunter waited until they were gone, then emerged. There was nothing the hunter could do for the rogue, but was able to call back the spirit and soul of the raptor. The hunter then gave the animal something to eat, and returned to his camp.

Arachne smiled her amusement. The hunter’s camp now thought Emberchill’s captors had attacked them. She was definitely going to use this to her advantage.

Prying herself off from the tree, she climbed back up onto the path and sat down to eat. At the end of her meal as she was packing everything away, she found a small package of sweets in the bottom of her bag. Opening the package, she pulled out one of the striped candies and popped it into her mouth. It was quite pleasant.

Swirling the little confection with her tongue, she got up and made her way back down to the leaning tree. By the time she had gotten into position, the hunter was on his way back to where the rogue’s body had been left, and he had brought a friend. Arachne waited until they had reached the far left side of the boulder, then focused on the priest.

Her demon rushed past her once again, down the same path cut earlier. Surprised, the priest leapt back from the demon and ducked away from the blade, but was not so lucky against a massive fist. The priest was knocked to the ground and immediately rolled, trying to get away from the felguard.

Behind the demon, the raptor was trying to rip into the felguard’s back with their massive claws; both followed the rolling priest. This gave the hunter more than ample time to gain distance they needed for an attack with their bow, something that would cause her minion severe damage quickly. Every arrow lodged itself deep into the felguard’s muscular back; the force of the blows driving the demon’s muscular body to bend with every hit.

Undaunted, the demon was driving their sword down with powerful strokes, but the blade was not getting anywhere near the priest’s body. Snarling silently, the demon followed the priest who was intentionally rolling toward the base of the cliff. Arachne knew the priest’s protective spell would only hold for so long. Grabbing out her dagger, she focused on the raptor. The dagger flashed. Immediately, the raptor opened its mouth in a silent scream and fled into the forest. She didn’t give herself even a second to pause, but extended long, gnarled fingers toward the priest. Dark magic was such a part of her being that she did not even need to utter the words, only barely think them. A swarm of shadow surrounded the priest, then another, and another.

The demon’s sword finally cut through the shield and, after a couple of swift strokes, ended the priest once and for all.

By now the raptor had awoken from her spell and was on its way back, but she ignored it when it emerged from the bushes and sent her demon to the hunter. This time the hunter was prepared, and the demon stepped into a trap. A block of ice shot up, encasing the demon and rendering it immobile.

This was fine with Arachne, as it gave her time to impart her lifeforce to the injured demon. The hunter had done more damage than she would have liked, but she was able to stabilize the felguard in the few seconds that the trap held. The drain left her a little weaker than she would have liked, but she was safe in the tree. When the demon was free, it charged the hunter, knocking them off of their feet and slicing away with its weapon.

Again, the hunter ran back in the direction of the cliff, dropping another trap. This time it was badly placed and did not catch her demon. Frantic, the hunter grabbed some of the lowest hanging limbs and pulled themselves up the cliff, trying to get out of the felguard’s range.

That was when the hunter finally detected Arachne, but it was too late. A dark bolt of energy left her hand and slammed into the back of the hunter’s head, knocking him out of the branches. The hunter fell from the cliff and hit the ground hard. Another bolt followed a few seconds after. A dark cloud then appeared, smothering the hunter’s armored form. Head lolling, they scrambled on all fours to get away, but the demon did not stop until the hunter was dead. The body convulsed in the final throes of death and blood sprayed out of the mangled corpse, splattering the demon and coating the forest floor.

Confused, the raptor stopped, casting a blank, wide-eyed stare at its fallen master. With its consciousness still tied to the hunter, it was no longer receiving signals on whether or not it should even still function, much less fight back, and collapsed into the grass, dead.

Arachne gazed indifferently at the damp mess below and popped another striped candy into her mouth.

Her demon returned to her on the side of the cliff. She rested for a few more minutes, and then decided it was time to eavesdrop.

Picking her way down the side of the cliff was difficult and dangerous. Even though she used the path her demon had cut earlier, it took a long time to get to the bottom. On her way down, she caught a glimpse of the camp Sabe and Arcadi had made under the boulder, behind a thick wall of bushes. Arcadi had just woken and was sitting upright, looking around as if noises had woken him but was too disoriented to decide what it had been.

As quietly as possible, Arachne and her minion dropped down to the forest floor, away from the boulder, and crept off toward the troll camp on the left.

She could hear voices as she approached the remaining members of the mysterious party who had been following Sabe and Arcadi. They spoke in Zandali, the native language of trolls. Taking up a hiding spot behind a cluster of bushes, she sat down on a rock, produced another striped candy, and placed it into her mouth.

“Where are they? They should have been back with Kiljir by now.”

“Some resurrections take longer than others, depending on how long the spirit has been away from the body.”

“There’s no time, mon. Our orders are to take the shaman and her friend to Zin’Rokh.”

Arachne sucked thoughtfully on the confection. She had never heard of a troll city by the name of Zin’Rokh. To her knowledge there was not even an ancient city by that name.

“Then why are those fools attacking us? They know who we are – we were together when our instructions were given out.”

“Perhaps they wish to impress Prynex?”

“Other races do not impress him.”

“I do not know the reason, but we should not sit idle and wait for them to attack again. As soon as everyone returns back at the camp, we will eliminate them and take the mage by force.”

“What is the mage for?”

“Leverage, mon. Her boss is on his way to the big meeting and Prynex will use her to his advantage. They will cooperate as long as we have her in custody.”

“Not such an insignificant group, I think. You know who is in league with them.”

“Yes, and that’s why we need the shaman, though her friend is not important. He can be killed and left to rot.”

A slight pause and a mumble of agreement gave Arachne time to bite into the candy. A burst of sweetness filled her mouth. Pleased, she grabbed another one out of her bag.

“They should have been back by now – I think something has happened.”

“Okay, let’s go check it out.”

Arachne grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder and led her demon behind a tree. From there, she watched the two remaining trolls head back to where she had left their companions’ corpses. She decided Sabe and Arcadi should be able to protect themselves from these two, and went off to rescue Emberchill.

She did not usually fare well at traveling long distances on foot but seemed to be making good time, though she was willing to concede the enjoyment of the candies were most likely what was distracting her from what would have been an annoying jog. She did not even notice how much time had passed, and was almost startled when she led her demon around a thick tree and nearly walked into the warlock she had seen earlier. This time, he was alone; his back was to her and he was relieving himself.

Silently, she watched the warlock for a few seconds while she sucked on the candy, then decided what she would do. Since she had not been afforded a dignified death, he should not be allowed one, either. It was over in a matter of minutes, in a pool of blood and feces.

Arachne popped another candy into her mouth and went to find the remaining three who had captured Emberchill.

It wasn’t hard to find them; an argument had erupted over the corpses she had left below the cliff. She leaned up against a tree and listened to the conversation from a safe distance.

“If the shaman and priest killed them, why leave the corpses outside of their camp? It would attract wild beasts. I’m not convinced it was them.”

“Because they were defending themselves. Obviously Valjir and his gang were unsuccessful in their task.”

“If Valjir and his crew were all killed, where are the rest of the bodies? I only saw one.”

“We’re just going to have to assume they are dead based on what you found. It was a failed mission that we will have to finish.”

Murmurs of agreement were faint rumbles across the grass.

“Someone will have to stay here with her while we do this.”

The conversation paused uncomfortably while they identified their weakest member.

“Very well. I will stay.”

Arachne wanted to get back to Sabe and Arcadi before these two arrived, so she jogged away from the little camp and summoned her demonic steed. It appeared out of nothing and stamped impatiently at the ground.

When she arrived back at Sabe and Arcadi’s camp, it was quiet; the two trolls were dragging the bodies of their friends away into the bushes. Hands were gesturing frantically as they talked, trying to emphasize angry whispers. Inside the camp, Sabe and Arcadi were slowly picking their way through a meager meal – both looked too exhausted and disoriented to eat.

While the trolls talked, the two from Emberchill’s camp arrived – a heavily armored tauren and the troll they had seen outside the inn. The troll’s boar pet followed faithfully behind as they dismounted and inspected the scene. The bodies were gone, but the mess remained and a bloody trail led into the forest.

The hunter gestured at the bushes where the two trolls had been arguing, but the conversation between the trolls had ended abruptly with the new arrival. Still believing the hunter and tauren had killed their friends, the trolls were now preparing for a confrontation.

In Arachne’s opinion, the situation kept improving. As she had hoped, Emberchill’s captors had thought the same of the two trolls and wore their expressions on their faces – finding the trolls at the scene of the crime led them to believe they had turned on their comrades and killed them.

Battle exploded in a clash of metal and magic. Completely entertained, Arachne popped another candy into her mouth. She tried to stay as close to the fighting as possible and hidden in the bushes. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure how hunters could so acutely detect other lifeforms, but she hoped she was close enough to another body that it appeared to the hunter as one and not two.

Movement from under the boulder was completely ignored in the skirmish. Arcadi and Sabe could hardly help hear the noise, and recognized the pair who had taken Emberchill captive. A minute later, they were leading their mounts away from the fighting. They did not know what was happening but hoped to free the mage during the confusion. Only Arachne noticed them leaving, sneaking away through the shadows. Even the hunter, completely engrossed in the battle, did not see.

Arachne thought now was a good time to do the same and dashed from the scene, hoping the hunter would not notice her, either. As she was leaving the battle, angry accusations started being hurtled back and forth between the parties. She didn’t stop to find out how the conversation was going to end up; Arachne knew they were about to figure everything out and she would need to rescue Emberchill before they did.

Her demon and horse were waiting for her just as she had left them, and she commanded the mount forward before she could even climb all the way into the saddle. The sound of battle welcomed her again, as she arrived to find Sabe locked in combat with a heavily armored elf. Metal clanged loudly as a great broadsword was parried by one of Sabe’s axes. Her second arm swung wide but caught the elf prepared; he took a hard blow in the side but held his ground.

Behind the fighting, Arcadi had entered the camp and cut Emberchill’s bonds with a long knife. The mage was barely coherent and very weak, and none of Arcadi’s spells were helping her. He put Emberchill’s arm over his shoulders and was struggling to get her on her feet. When he saw Arachne, he shouted for her to help.

She slid off of her horse, sent her demon to the elf, then ran toward the camp.

Faced with a new opponent, the elf shouted frantically for help. One of his hands came away from his weapon and gestured in Arachne’s direction. An unseen force slammed into her, knocking her bag free from her shoulder. It fell to the ground and its contents spilled out into the grass. The world swirled and the landscape rose and fell. Her eyes flickered and she squinted, trying to focus. Arcadi’s mouth was moving, shouting for her help, but she couldn’t move and her brain was buzzing. It was another few seconds before she could concentrate again, and she whirled around to see her demon in a frenzied assault. A magical barrier, similar to the one the priest had earlier, protected the elf’s body from harm and each sword stroke ricocheted back at the demon. He fled into the forest with the unrelenting demon in pursuit.

Now that the elf had his hands full, Sabe was rushing to help get Emberchill on her feet and out of the camp. Their mounts were restless. Despite the noise, Sabe’s wolf swung its armored head around toward the forest and its ears pricked up. The confrontation in front of the cliff had ended; during the shouting they had solved the mystery and were coming.

Ducking back into the bushes, Arachne ran around to the back of the camp where a deep trench had been carved in the earth. In her rush she nearly fell in but managed to stop herself right at the ledge. Anyone falling into that would not easily get out again. On the opposite side, Sabe and Arcadi were helping Emberchill to the edge of it, and were slowly walking her around to the other side. This was going to take a while.

The elf came back. Rushing into the camp, he saw them trying to escape with Emberchill. One hand came free and pointed in their direction. This time Arcadi was the target and stumbled forward as if hit with an invisible fist and tumbled into the ravine. Sabe cried out, frantic to keep herself and Emberchill from following.

The elf made a dash toward them with the demon still in tow. Arachne brought her demon to an abrupt halt and reached for her dagger. The elf saw her reaction on the other side of the trench and laughed maniacally, as if he thought she might throw the weapon at him. He pulled up short as the dagger flashed. Both eyes widened, then the elf turned and ran, panicked, into the forest. That spell would keep him busy for a while.

Sabe set Emberchill gently on the ground and tried to help pull Arcadi out, but the slope of the earth and a twisted ankle from the fall made things awkward. There was nothing Arachne could do to help, so she thought she would go collect her fallen belongings. As she started back around the outside of a cluster of bushes, the sound of running filled her ears.

The only way to see above the thick hedge was to hop up and down and, even then, she only caught glimpses. Four figures emerged from the trees at the other end of the camp, and the elf was one of them. Arachne noted they were missing an additional fighter, and sent her demon to the troll hunter. The four were temporarily distracted by the arrival of the demon, and clustered around the felguard with weapons drawn. The hunter was trying to back away, but was unable.

A large boar charged into the camp, rushing toward Sabe. Lowering its head, it collided into her side, nearly knocking her into the ravine. Grunting in surprise, she released Arcadi, who fell to the bottom. She tried to regain her balance, but one foot slipped over the edge and started to slide down on loose dirt. Throwing her body weight back toward the grass, she grabbed the boar with one hand and dug the other into the ground. Below, Arcadi shouted and backed away from the orc, who was close to pulling the enraged boar into the ravine. The boar squealed in pain and tried escaping Sabe’s grasp. Not far from the commotion, Emberchill, wounded and weaponless, tried to crawl away from the fray.

Grabbing her wand in one hand, Arachne ran back to where Arcadi and Sabe were struggling in the pit, but kept in the safety of the bushes where she would not be seen. As she ran, she sent a series of abusive spells to the hunter. Splashes of light radiating from the elf broke the shadows, strong enough that narrow rays were squeezing through the hedge. The elf was trying to help combat the deadly spells, but wasn’t effective enough against the onslaught. Finally, the hunter collapsed on the ground, and his boar fell with him.

Her felguard was struggling; even with the hunter dead, it was badly wounded. Her dagger came to her hand again, and she sent the elf away into the forest. Sidling out from the bushes, just enough to clear her aim, she summoned a massive ball of dark energy and sent it slamming into the tauren’s head. Arachne jumped back into the bushes and shared her lifeforce with her pet.

The transfer left her a little tired, but she did not let physical limitations affect her. She sent a series of dark clouds to the tauren, then also the troll who was hacking away at the felguard. The elf came back, but she ducked out from behind the bush again and sent them away, running into the forest. Back behind the bush, she sat down, shared more of her essence with her demon, and sent more abusive magics to the tauren and troll, systematically stripping their lives away. She thought if she had those candies with her, she could do this all day, every day.

A panicked shout from the ravine had Arachne on her feet and hopping again to see above the bushes. The missing fifth fighter had shown himself: A troll rogue had snuck around the camp and was holding Emberchill at knife point.

“Warlock!” The rogue shouted. “Come out, Warlock! I have your friend.”

Arachne commanded her pet to stop. The demon’s movement ended abruptly and its sword was lowered. Creeping to the edge of the bushes, she peeked out.

The tauren and troll were still standing near her comatose demon, weapons out and ready. Both cast nervous glances in all directions, looking for her. Their wide-eyed stares gave away too much: they knew to fear her, she who had single-handledly dwindled their numbers within a matter of hours. Closer to her, Sabe and Arcadi were still struggling in the ravine, trying to get out. Sabe had slipped down a little farther and could almost no longer reach the top.

“I know you are there, Warlock!” The rogue continued, and held up his free hand – he had found a few of her belongings that had fallen and snatched them up. A half-empty bag of striped candies was among them.

Arachne’s eyes narrowed at the sight.

She stepped out from behind the bushes. No one said a word.

“Listen, mon,” the rogue said. “Leave now or your mage friend dies.”

Arachne’s eyebrow shot up, challenging his statement. The rogue actually looked embarrassed.

“Again,” the rogue said.

The elf came running back into the camp, seeming confused at the deflated scene.

Arachne did not look away from the rogue. She expressed nothing in her features, nor did she say a word. Mechanically, her arm extended from under her cloak and pointed her dagger at the elf. Again, the elf turned and fled into the forest. Her arm returned at her side and her dark cloak closed over her and was still.

The rogue swallowed hard and tried to look unimpressed, but she could tell he was weighing the situation carefully. Arachne alone had proven herself to be a formidable foe. If she decided to help Sabe and Arcadi out of the pit, they could easily overcome their foes and rescue Emberchill.

She made no hint that she intended to go anywhere, and her eyes stayed locked on the rogue.

“Okay,” the rogue said, his voice leveling. “What do you want? We can negotiate. Do you want money? Name your price. We can give it to you.” He gestured to his friends on the other side of the camp. Arachne’s eyes followed the bag of candy as it extended away from the rogue’s body, and back again.

The rogue paused, looking confused, and repeated the gesture. Again, Arachne’s eyes followed the bag of candy wherever it moved to. He cleared his throat nervously.

“You want… these?”  He asked, holding up his hand.

Arachne’s eyes followed the movement upward, paused, then returned to the rogue’s face.  She said nothing.

“If you agree to leave and do not follow us,” the rogue said slowly, “I will give your things back.”

A few seconds of tense silence followed the offer.

The felguard moved, startling everyone in the camp. It disappeared into the trees and reappeared seconds later behind Arachne, looming like a menacing shadow. Arachne held out her hand.

Everyone looked surprised, though there wasn’t anyone who looked it more than Sabe and Arcadi.

The contents in the rogue’s hand sailed through the air, and she caught the object of her desire: the small bag of candies. Everything else fell into the grass with a soft thud and was forgotten.

As Arachne climbed up on to her demonic steed and rode away, the sound of Sabe’s furious screams followed her.

“Arachne, you bitch! I’ll get you for this!”

Arachne laughed and placed another candy on her dark tongue. Today had been a good day.

In the distance, the low, booming sound of thunder was heard. It was about to get worse.

A stream of bodies were making their way down the hill from the zeppelin tower toward Undercity. Although the traveling masses had been informed there would be no leaving the Stranglethorn post of Grom’Gol once they arrived, undeterred bodies fought against wind and rain to make it to the bat handler, assuming they would find a way out of the post once they had arrived. The races comprising the Horde are not so easily deterred.

Fastening cloaks around their bodies and hiding faces under hoods, Autumnwolf, Airsk, Grimvalt, Raeln, and Matelda blended in with the crowd of disgruntled, soggy travelers who were making their way back inside Undercity. As they reached the entrance to the Lordaeron ruins, the collective outcry of angry travelers reached them; Zeppelins had now officially stopped traveling to the southern half of the continent.

Knowing there would be even more competition for supplies and bats, the crowd picked up the pace and was trying to outrun each other, only to be stopped by the elevator.

Parties were being taken down to the city in small groups, and not fast enough for the impatient crowd. Restlessness moved over the mob and conversation increased to a dull roar as more arrived from the Zeppelin tower and were forced to wait in a line that overflowed outside into the wet courtyard.

Above the crowd, they could barely make out the outline of the elevator door opening. The crowd swelled and pushed toward it like a wave, cramming bodies into every available inch of the small space.

Before long, the party found themselves before the elevator, but there was only space for two more. Grimvalt graciously gave the available spaces to the two orc waiting in line behind. After the unexpected and mysterious attack inside Raeln’s house, it would be unwise to separate outside of the city. Lack of guards and law enforcement would make an ambush all too easy. Even with a crowd of eyewitnesses, no one liked to get involved in the affairs of strangers.

After a short wait, the elevator door slid open. Again the crowd surged at the sight, pushing them forward. Matelda stumbled, but Autumnwolf and Grimvalt grabbed her, pulling her to the opposite side of the elevator where they strategically placed her next to the back door. Hugging her backpack close, the priestess pressed her back against the wall.

The elevator landed with a slight bounce. When the door slid open, everyone began to push, impatient to get out.

Not wishing to be among the first seen entering the city, they waited until almost half of the elevator had emptied. Stepping into the doorway, Autumnwolf stopped the rush just long enough for Grimvalt to escort Matelda, while Airsk pulled an unwilling Raeln out of the elevator.

The majority of individuals leaving the elevator were cold, damp, and irritable, tromping down the darkened corridor, still wrapped tightly in their cloaks. This made it much easier on the group. Concealed and camouflaged, they passed by the guards’ watchful gaze without arousing suspicion.

The top tier of Undercity was a mass of congestion and confusion. A long line at the Bat Handler had already wrapped half way around the room and was continuing to grow. Tightening his grip on Raeln’s arm, Airsk dashed to the back of the line. Muffled protests were heard from the sage who woefully rubbed his recently reattached limb.

Grimvalt and Autumnwolf escorted Matelda to where Airsk and Raeln had gone, amazed at how many were filing into line behind them.

“Guard Matelda,” Grimvalt said quietly to Airsk. “Autumnwolf and I will get supplies.”

The shaman nodded back, and turned to Raeln. The sage looked up at them, clearly unhappy about the situation.

Autumnwolf leaned in close to the sage, bending down so their eyes were level.

“You will also protect Matelda,” the druid said.

Staring at each other, they both waited to see which one would cave first. Again, it was the sage. Rubbing his sore arm, he wrinkled his nose in disdain and nodded.

“Fine,” Raeln sniffed, “but I am only doing this for the protection of the relic.”

Satisfied, Grimvalt nodded and returned his attention back to Airsk.

“Don’t let anyone take the paper either,” the warrior said.

Airsk patted his pocket reassuringly. The perplexing prophecy regarding the Titan’s relic was as valuable as the phallus itself. Both would need to be guarded at all costs. After casting a quick glance around the room, he nodded to Grimvalt.

“Hurry,” Airsk said.

Grimvalt and Autumnwolf turned away in search of the stairs. The platform they were standing on was made entirely of stone, with the center of the room cut out. From the edge, they could see the gridlock that had overtaken the center of the city. Stone staircases led down to a narrow, unfenced ledge that circled the bank. Pedestrians were forced to balance precariously along the path behind bank patrons, and there was barely room for two to squeeze by without falling over the side. More staircases led down from the bank to the city floor, where irritated citizens of the Horde were nearly at a standstill, trying to get through the city.

“It had never before occurred to me just how awkward this city was constructed,” Grimvalt grumbled as he pushed his way down.

Behind him, Autumnwolf was trying to figure out a way to squeeze around three orc. “Food and water should be easy enough to find, but blankets will be more difficult.”

“We can try the auctioneers,” Grimvalt said, “although they don’t normally trade those things. There are some tailors who should have something.”

“If all else fails, we could purchase extra cloaks,” Autumnwolf suggested.

Weaving through the traffic, they passed beneath tall, stone arches into the next layer of the city; a dark pathway that circled around the court. Varied ramps and daises were fixed along the inner track where auctioneers could stand above the crowds, calling out their treasures. The streets here were much wider than in the city center and allowed traffic to flow freely once they were able to push past the crowds clustering around auctioneers.

“Who designed this city?” Grimvalt grumbled, mostly to himself as it was too loud to hear anything other than the loud, rapid succession of auctions being called out.

The general crowd flowed in a counter-clockwise pattern. Knowing better than to fight the current, they joined in the stream, letting it take them along. After a few minutes, Grimvalt turned off of the main road, following a smaller trickle of bodies down a darkened corridor.

Voices echoed off of the rock halls, blending together into an indiscernible low hum. Only as various bodies passed by were they able to make out snippets of conversation, most of it inconsequential.

“…if I wanted a pet cockroach, I’d just pick one out of my hair…”

“…disgusting mind slave should not be allowed out in public places…”

Voices grew louder as they neared the end of the street and they turned the corner into a pavilion of shops. Autumnwolf pulled her hood a little lower over her head and followed Grimvalt, weaving gracefully through the sea of bodies.

A tailor’s store looked discouraging. Rows of shelves had already been picked through and were mostly bare. Anything left for sale had been piled on tables and were being sifted through by a cluster of patrons.

Autumnwolf was only half listening to what was going on around her as she reached over a thin Forsaken female and grabbed whatever her hand might capture. Ignoring the unforgiving look she received, Autumnwolf shook out the fabrics, trying to figure out what each one was.

She sighed. Most of it was small bits of unusable clothing that she tossed back onto the table. Customers clustered around them immediately and snatched up whatever she had discarded, hoping for a good find. Undeterred, she moved to the other end of the table and grabbed up a bundle of ugly fabrics.

A long, thick cloak was too homely to wear, but looked promising as a blanket. A second cloak was unraveling at the end, but was otherwise in good shape. Tossing them over one shoulder, she looked up and across the table at where Grimvalt was standing.

One eyebrow shot up. Instead of scanning the area for supplies, he was talking. It was hard to hear over the general hum of voices, but by straining her ears, she could pick up the gist of the conversation.

“It’s not for sale,” Grimvalt was saying. He sounded irritated.

An orc dressed for travel held a small, bulging money pouch in his hand. His persistent tone matched his expression.

“I’ll pay you more than that cloak is worth,” the orc insisted. “You could buy two for what I’ll give you – three, even.”

Frowning, the warrior looked away and scanned around the room, and seemed relieved to find Autumnwolf looking back at him. She rolled her eyes in support.

“I’m not selling it. Sorry,” Grimvalt said, and picked his way through the cluster of patrons to where Autumnwolf was waiting.

The room was loud and crowded and they were being jostled by other patrons trying to move through the store. Voices were getting louder as everyone tried shouting over the din and it was becoming hard to hear.

Grimvalt beckoned Autumnwolf away, to the edge of where the stagnant cluster of patrons met the swift moving stream of bodies. He took the garments from her, looking them over.

Voices passed by them with the current, most of it being completely ignored while they looked over the potential finds. Satisfied, Grimvalt looked up and handed them back. As he did, they couldn’t help but catch a snippet of conversation that passed them by:

“…eluded us at the sage’s house and escaped…”

The garments were forgotten and both of them looked up at each other. Autumnwolf’s eyes drifted away, fixed to the back of the speaker’s head and followed it as it drifted into the stream. Her height gave a definite advantage to being able to see above the crowd, and she turned to pursue the stranger.

Before he could follow, Grimvalt felt pressure on his arm, and a slight tug. He glanced back over his shoulder. One of the shop clerks was speaking to him, pointing at the garments he held.

Looking back to make sure he didn’t lose sight of Autumnwolf, he reached into a pocket, grabbed whatever coin happened to be in there and hastily pressed it into the clerk’s hand. He probably paid more than the cloaks were worth, but at the moment he hardly cared. Ducking into the crowd, he pushed ahead until he was able to catch up to where Autumnwolf was in pursuit.

He wasn’t sure where they were headed. As one of the shorter races of the Horde, it was difficult to see. Autumnwolf seemed to know where they were going, though. Keeping a safe distance, she dropped back even farther when they veered away from the main crowd and down a side street.

Very few were traveling this way; a dark alley leading to remote areas of the city where questionable business took place. Every body that passed was concealed under a cloak. Traffic became more and more sparse and the roar of the activity in the main city dulled behind them. Feeling conspicuous, Grimvalt tugged lightly on his hood, making sure it covered as much of his face as was possible.

In the open area, he was now able to see who they were following: Two figures in dark cloaks glided quickly along the alley. Although the conversation being held was indiscernible, the sound of hushed whispers echoed back.

As they walked, Grimvalt was trying hard to keep quiet, but his heavily armored boots were making considerable noise against the stone floor. Every step was an attempt to be more quiet than the last, but it was having an opposite effect. Autumnwolf kept looking at him sternly, and he could hardly blame her. The sound of his own footsteps were setting his nerves on edge.

Up ahead, the figures they were following stopped whispering, as if they knew they were being followed. Just before they turned around, Autumnwolf grabbed Grimvalt, hugging both arms around the warrior’s waist and lifting, struggling to move his heavily armored body behind a nearby post.

She set him down as quietly as possible and leaned against the wall to catch her breath.

“Sorry,” he mouthed.

The cloaks they had purchased earlier were still slung over Grimvalt’s shoulder. Grabbing them, Autumnwolf folded the first one in half, and laid it on the ground. Then she tapped his boot once and pointed to the cloth.

Nodding his understanding, he stepped into the center. Autumnwolf wrapped the cloak around his boot and tied it securely around his calf. The same was done to the other boot. When they were finished, Autumnwolf stuck her head out from where they were hiding. Hastily, she beckoned him out.

The two individuals they had been following were almost to the end of the street. Grimvalt stepped out of the shadow, listening for the expected clank of his boots against the floor, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was far from perfect, but quiet enough that they could follow without attracting attention.

The street was coming to an end and they were in danger of losing the chase. Picking up the pace, they made it to the end of the alley just in time to watch their prey ducking under a bridge.

Running on the tips of his toes, Grimvalt followed Autumnwolf to a set of short, stone stairs that curved upward and into to a bridge.

The familiar voices of the individuals they were pursuing floated up to them, and they crouched down low, using the short walls that encased the stairs as cover. Half way up the stairs, Grimvalt tugged on Autumnwolf’s cloak. When she turned, he pointed to the wall.

Crawling back over to where he was crouched, she nodded, listening. The two individuals they had been following were below them on the other side of the wall, using the curve of the stairs as cover.

“He has one of the pieces already,” said a deep voice. “We don’t know how to extract it, so it’s still in containment until we can figure out a way.”

“And the rest of the components?” A hollow, nasal voice asked.

“We’re looking for them. Someone out there has to know something. That’s why he’s tapped into the channels of every organization in the Horde.”

A disbelieving sniff was heard.

“How did he do that, exactly?”

“The goblins created it, and he purchased it.”

Nasal voice sniffed again. “Sounds expensive.”

A quiet, deep laugh was heard. “It was nothing. Our resources are endless and this was a necessity. Now that we have one item, the rest will awaken. Someone must know about them, which is the reason for the taps.”

“You are going through a lot of trouble on a group of nobodies.”

“We wouldn’t even have cared about them, but when they shut off their channels, we figured they knew something.”

“You actually believe they have one of the components?”

“After the incident at the sage’s house, we’re positive,” Deep Voice said. “A few hours ago, one of their mages was taken into custody. She’ll be at the House in another day or so. We are also trailing another one who we believe will lead us to another piece – some paladin. He will be arriving in Hammerfall in a few days. After he has the item in his possession, we will take him into custody as well.”

“What makes you think they will tell you anything?” Nasal asked.

“Prynex is determined to obtain these components at any cost.” Deep Voice laughed quietly. “Believe me when I say he will do whatever it takes. No one will get in his way.”

A pause suggested Deep Voice was about to impress something important. After a tense minute, he continued.

“Many leaders will be joining him soon. It would be unwise for you to choose differently.”

“Like this small group of nobodies you are harassing?”

“They have something Prynex wants. They will cooperate or…”

His voice trailed off.

Nasal sighed a high pitched whistle. “No need for threats,” he said. “I will attend.”

“Good. Take this summons to the House. Directions are in the letter. If you have any problems, show it to them.”

The meeting was over. Grimvalt and Autumnwolf looked up at each other. They had heard enough.

Still crouched, Grimvalt held up three fingers and counted down, then nodded. As one, they stood and reached over the side of the wall.

Autumnwolf placed a firm grip on top of someone’s head and slammed it against the wall. The sound of a coconut being opened echoed softly against the stone, followed by the sound of a body sliding down the wall to the ground.

Grimvalt was not accustomed to that level of finesse. One hand formed a tight fist and slammed down onto the first hard surface it found. He heard a deep groan and the sound of someone collapsing.

Looking around quickly, they made sure no one had seen their assault, then leapt over the wall to the floor below.

Two crumpled figures lay on the ground amidst the spilled contents of an expensive backpack.

Leaning over, Autumnwolf pulled back the hood of one, revealing a male troll who was sleeping soundly. A large bump was forming on the side of his head.

The other figure, a male orc, was slumped against the wall. His cloak had shifted in his fall, pulling the hood away from his face.

“Do you recognize either of them?” Autumnwolf asked.

Grimvalt shook his head. “No. You?”

“No.”

They turned their attention to the articles scattered on the ground. A few uninteresting items were laying about, as well as a rolled up parchment and a black card bearing the symbol of a snake coiled around a sword. Grimvalt reached for the card and flipped it over. The back of the card was blank. As he stood, light slipped over the edge of the staircase and reflected off of the paper. Movement caught his eye. Under the dim light, a small, golden symbol materialized slowly in the center.

Autumnwolf couldn’t help but notice his surprise.

“An emblem of a fallen trollish dynasty,” she said, reaching for the card. “I am not sure why I know of it. The troll kingdoms that once dominated the world are long forgotten.”

She flipped it over, then shrugged unknowingly at the sword and snake. As she turned it back over, her eyebrows lifted in surprise. The golden emblem had disappeared, but when she moved it back into the light, the symbol flickered slowly on the page until it was whole again.

Taking the card back from her, Grimvalt stared hard at the symbol, then brushed his thumb over it. The emblem sparkled at his touch.

Autumnwolf shrugged again and returned her attention to the contents on the floor.

“Here is the summons they spoke of,” she said, holding a piece of paper. “Perhaps we should take it.”

Grimvalt looked up.

“Yeah,” he said, and slipped the strange card into his pocket.

He looked around. They had spent too much time chasing after these two strangers and would need to get back up to Airsk and Matelda. His eyes drifted down to the two unconscious figures on the floor, their expensive cloaks sitting askew. He had an idea.

Autumnwolf was securing the summons in her bag when she turned around and noticed Grimvalt rolling the orc’s cloak into a ball. When he reached for the backpack laying nearby, he felt her disapproving eyes upon him.

Guilty, he looked up.

“There’s no time to get supplies now,” he explained. “As it is, we’re going to starve to death and half of us will freeze from the high altitudes. We have no other choice.”

Autumnwolf’s lips pursed together tightly in thought. By her expression, it was clear she would do nothing to stop him, although she didn’t exactly endorse his behavior, either. They didn’t have time to argue.

Grabbing the backpack, he was surprised by the weight.

“Whoa,” he mumbled as he looked inside. “Someone was planning on a long trip.”

He didn’t bother looking up at Autumnwolf, who continued to watch him in silence. Somehow he couldn’t help but feel as if he had to keep making excuses for his actions.

“This is more than enough for the entire group,” he said without looking up. “We’re lucky. Fortunate.”

She didn’t respond or make a move to help, so he stopped trying to convince her.

The troll’s cloak came off and was rolled up, then two large, expensive bags were sifted through. He left the money but took all of the water and non-perishable food. In a small, leather wallet, he found another black card bearing the sword and snake symbol with the golden troll emblem on the back. Grimvalt pocketed that with the one he had taken earlier. They now had everything they needed for long travel.

The sound of footsteps running was heard on the far end of the bridge, and it came to a scuffling, skidding stop.

Both of them whirled around toward the noise and looked up. Three heads popped up above the bridge wall and one of them pointed in their direction.

Even in the dim light, it was hard not to recognize their faces: They were the same three who had attacked them at the sage’s house.

Turning, they fled back into the alley that had brought them there. Cloaked figures dashed out of the way, unwilling to get involved. It was actually a relief. Abandoning the pretense of staying silent, they pounded down the road until they met up with the swift-moving crowd.

This time, they didn’t let the natural flow of traffic carry them through. Pushing their way forward, Autumnwolf and Grimvalt moved into any available space available to them and tried to cut lengthwise through the bodies to get ahead.

“Turn off,” Grimvalt called up to Autumnwolf.

She glanced back over her shoulder. Grimvalt was pointing to a side street that lead back to the center of the city.

Angry cries of the crowd caused them both to look back. The three strangers who had attacked them earlier were forcing their way through, violently shoving pedestrians aside to catch up.

Turning back, Grimvalt and Autumwolf renewed their efforts to get to the other side and ducked into the street. It was not nearly as crowded as the one they had come from, and bolted down the road. At the end, they found themselves merging into yet another dense, fast moving crowd.

A sharp, angry shout drew their attention back. Their pursuers were half way down the street, running towards them.

Jumping into the crowd, they forced their way through much less politely than they had previously. Before they could make it through and into the next street, angry shouts reached their ears again – their pursuers were entering the crowd right behind them.

The next street was a direct access route into the center of Undercity and was even more crowded than the road they had come from. A long line was winding through the bank, circled tightly around the narrow ledge of the bank, and continued up the stairs. It was barely moving.

Grimvalt didn’t have time for courtesy and pushed his way through. Irritable murmurs were heard around them, but he didn’t stop. Autumnwolf followed in his wake, apologizing to those they passed.

They were almost to the stairs leading up to the bank when Autumnwolf looked back.

“There is a problem,” she said.

He turned. Two of their pursuers had entered the crowd behind them and were forcing their way toward them. At first, Grimvalt thought they had lost the third, until Autumnwolf pointed.

Off to the side, the rogue who had tried taking the relic was speaking with a small group of guards, and he was pointing in their direction. When the guards left had their station, the rogue smiled at them and saluted. It was hard to see what was happening from the floor, but they could tell the crowd was trying to move out of the way for the advancing guards.

“Get moving,” Grimvalt said, and renewed his forceful advance.

At the stairs leading up to the bank, they discovered a new problem. Everyone had become immobilized because pedestrians were using it to make their way up and down, and larger races were monopolizing the staircase completely. There was no room to move.

Angry shouts called out to them, saying they needed to wait their turn, but Grimvalt ignored it and forced his way up.

Half way up the stairs, he looked back. The guards were advancing quickly. Grimvalt glanced up.

Airsk, Matelda, and Raeln were standing directly above him. The group had made it had made it to the Bat Handler, but there was clearly an argument going on. The line behind them was growing restless.

A shout brought his attention back to the bank ledge.

“Hey!”

A large orc in old, worn armor was confronting him, standing a little too close for his liking. Grimvalt thought his breath smelled like a sewer.

“I’m talking to you!” The orc shouted, reaching out and pulling Grimvalt’s hood back.

A thick, green finger jabbed his chest.

“Stop pushing and wait your turn like everyone else,” the orc yelled.

Murmurs of agreement flickered through the crowd.

“I’m sorry,” Grimvalt offered, ducking into a free space near the bank teller window. “I’m in a hurry.”

The orc grabbed his armor, but didn’t pull him back.

“We’re all in a hurry,” the orc said, tightening his grip.

Suddenly, Autumnwolf was standing between them, holding them apart at arm’s length. Grimvalt’s back was up against the bank, and the orc was teetering on the ledge. A few individuals squeezed out of the way to make room in case the confrontation became violent.

The orc decided she was someone new to shout at.

“Hey,” the orc said. “You’re gonna have to wai–”

His voice trailed away and over the side of the bank as Autumnwolf suddenly disappeared and a large, furry bear with an ample backside appeared. Turning sharply, her haunches knocked three more individuals off, and a fourth was sent into the crowd. Bodies began to fall off of the bank ledge and up the staircase in a rippling effect, giving them an escape route. With a flash of white ethereal mist, she was herself again.

They dashed up the stairs to their waiting party. At the top, they found out what the argument was about. The Bat Handler was running out of bats, and was calling for a temporary halt on travel. A small cluster of bats were perched nearby, stinking up the top floor.

“What are those for?” Airsk was demanding.

“Emergencies only!” The Bat Handler hissed. His upper lip curled.

“We really should get going,” Autumnwolf said, looking back toward the bank.

Airsk and Grimvalt followed her gaze to the guards who were emerging at the top of the stairs.

“All right,” The Bat Handler complained. “I can afford to give you four, but no more – one of you will have to stay.”

Before anyone could protest, Grimvalt agreed.

“Fine,” he said, looking around for an exit. “I’ll stay.”

The cloaks that were wrapped around his boots were untied and given out, as well as the two cloaks and supplies taken from their earlier chase. While everyone waited, four bats were brought off their perches and their leashes were handed out, although no one made a move to get on them. The group was looking at Grimvalt.

“Maybe you can fit on a bat with Matelda,” Airsk suggested.

The Bat Handler overheard the idea and spat out a short, pointed lecture, canceling that idea. He had obviously given the same speech countless times before.

Grimvalt started looking around, trying to figure out how to escape Undercity. Despite the guards nearing, everyone was mounting slowly.

“Go,” Grimvalt insisted.

At their reluctance, the Bat Handler was growing impatient and started fresh with a new lecture, until something in the air caused him to look up.

“Stand back,” he hissed.

The group maneuvered away from where the Handler was standing, giving room for a bat carrying a tauren to land.

Grimvalt smiled broadly and took the reigns from the surprised tauren.

“How convenient,” Grimvalt said. “I’ll take this one.”

They were in the air before anyone could stop them.

Karakul stepped through the hidden doorway, wiping sweat and soot from his face. The back of his hand left a red smear across his forehead.

“Well,” he shouted, “you were followed.”

Barathron grabbed onto a post as a violent tremor rippled across the floor, nearly rocking him off of his feet.

“We’ve already figured that out,” the troll shot back.

Shrugging, the innkeeper ran to the opposite side of the room and started knocking on the wall.

“Whoever trailed you probably didn’t see where you disappeared to,” he said, “so they’re trying to flush you out.”

Knocking continued until he found what he was looking for. With one hand, Karakul pressed against a spot half way up the wall, revealing a square panel that depressed beneath his touch. Springing back, it swung open on small, brass hinges. Harnesses hung neatly inside the compartment and a red button protruded from the wall.

Shouts of panic were heard below as the building lurched again. By now the floor was so hot they could feel it through their shoes.

Harnesses were quickly handed out and secured on almost every person, then Karakul pressed the red button. To his immediate right, a section of the wall slid open, revealing a cylinder vestibule with no floor. A cable ran from the top, through the center of the space, and disappeared into darkness below.

“Genius,” Caulbraen said, nodding his admiration.

“My inn is well-built orc construction, made to last through any battle and almost any disaster!” Karakul said, smiling proudly. “Most of our huts are supported by large stanchions and I had one hollowed out for such an emergency. It will take you to a tunnel below ground. Once you reach the bottom, unhook yourself as fast as you can and make way for the next person.”

With a graceful step off of the side, Caulbraen disappeared into the darkness. Iraas and Barathron followed after him.

The next passenger was not so easily convinced. Her harness was on, but not by choice.

“Touch me again, and I will turn you into a steaming pile of sludge!” Arachne shouted indignantly.

Flames erupted through the floor nearby, throwing splinters of wood into the air. Zug grabbed the warlock and wrestled her to the mouth of the opening.

“You’re going!” He told her.

Karakul grabbed the hook at Arachne’s waist and secured it to the cable. The look of promised violence on her face was one he would not soon forget. Shivering, he helped Zug pull her to the edge of the drop off.

“Unhand me!” She screamed.

Her feet stepped back perilously close to the ledge and she swayed dangerously over the chute. Before falling, she whirled around to face the opening. Arms outstretched in an attempt to regain balance and her body bent slightly at the waist, leaning over the hole. Reaching out, she grabbed the cable before falling in and exhaled her relief. Zug was still within reach and she grabbed onto him with one hand, trying to pull herself back.

“Let go!” Zug shouted.

Grappling with him, she struggled to get away from the chute. He grabbed onto a nearby post, in case the crazed warlock managed to pull them both in together.

With a loud groan, the building shuddered and threw Zug forward. The momentum and weight of his body knocked Arachne back again toward the chute and she grabbed for him, clutching desperately at his armor.

Regaining his balance, he straightened, inadvertently pulling her up with him. He looked at her closely. Beads of perspiration had formed on her upper lip and her eyes were filled with panic and desperation. He had never seen her like this before; it was completely uncharacteristic. In this moment of peril there was only one way out, yet she clearly wanted nothing to do with the dark and narrow passage.

Grabbing her, he pulled her upright until she was eye level. Mouth agape, she stared back.

“Are you claustrophobic?” Zug asked.

A shriek of rage and denial was lost in another explosion below, and her struggle renewed. This time, Karakul jumped in and helped drag her back to the ledge.

Before they could push her in, she whirled around, only to find herself teetering over the edge. An uncharacteristic squeak was barely heard over the calamity as she looked down into the blackness. Bending slightly at the waist, her bottom stuck out behind her for balance while her hands reached out for the cable…

Zug saw his opportunity and took it. A swift kick sent the warlock tumbling headlong into the shaft. Obscenities and curses echoed back at them as she was unceremoniously whisked away to safety.

“You’re welcome!” Zug shouted down after her.

Another explosion shook the building, this one louder and nearer than the others. The two orc wasted no time and snapped their harnesses to the cable.

Crossing his hands over his chest, Zug stepped off of the floor and into the shaft. Soon after, he could hear Karakul sliding down after him, then another loud crash as the floor they had been standing on dropped out.

Light slipped away behind him as his body shot downward. Right before he started to worry that he had gone too far into the ground, the tunnel widened and inclined. It slowed his momentum a little, but not enough that he was able to stop himself.

A speck of light appeared in the distance, growing larger every second. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could identify that he was nearing the end of the tunnel, but he hadn’t slowed down enough to ensure a safe stop.

Zug reached for one of his axes and slammed it against the wall, but it sprang back at him instantly. Both stone and earth were too hard to dig into. The axe returned to his belt.

The mouth of the tunnel was near. Bracing himself for a hard impact, he curled into a loose ball and covered his head.

A loud click above him drew his eyes up, just as his harness and cable passed through strange contraption attached to the top of the tunnel. There wasn’t enough time to consider it as he flew past. The tunnel banked upward dramatically and abruptly ended, sending him out like a gunshot.

As he flew through the air, he realized what the contraption was for. A net had been triggered by his arrival and was stretching itself upward to stop his fall.

When he landed, the fabric stretched slightly and bounced back. His harness was still connected to the cable and he dangled in the air, looking down upon his companions.

They were looking back at him. Iraas held up a flameless lantern that cast a cheerful glow about the cavern, illuminating the beautiful stone and expansive ceiling. Karakul had obviously put a great deal of thought into this getaway.

Noises in the tunnel reminded him that the innkeeper was not far behind. Grabbing at the latch on his belt, Zug unhooked himself and dropped. The net was angled in such a way to catch him as he fell, and he rolled to the edge and bounced to his feet.

Before he was even on the ground, Karakul shot out of the tunnel and sailed through the air. Practiced movement had him out of the harness and on the ground in a second, and he landed on his feet next to Zug.

Despite the destruction of his beloved establishment, he looked rather pleased with himself.

“What do you think?” Karakul asked.

“I think,” Iraas said, raising his eyebrows, “you have used that for recreation on more than one occasion.”

The innkeeper’s gruff laughter echoed through the cave. With the lantern in hand, the warlock led the way out.

Everything hurt, but she was too afraid to stop running. Using her staff to support her injured body, Emberchill moved as quickly as she could manage along the river’s edge.

She had no idea what had happened to Thundrax or the Black Rider who had followed them. After being knocked off of Thundrax’s wolf mount, she had grabbed up her staff and called down a meteor from the sky.

The magical blast had destroyed the bridge and the enormous wolf who assaulted them, sending water, wood, and carnage into the air in a fiery storm. Although she had been unable to see through the explosion, she knew the Rider’s horse had also been killed when its piercing screams were suddenly silenced. The fate of the Black Rider was unknown, but she had a feeling that the mysterious being’s will to survive was as strong as her own.

Knowing the magical boulder would dissipate soon, she didn’t wait to see what happened next. Thundrax was too weak to fight, she was badly injured, and their last mount had just been killed. It was up to her to get them both to safety.

But when she looked around, she realized she was alone. The contents from one of Thundrax’s bags were strewn out on the ground, trailing from the road to the river, but of the hunter himself she saw no sign.

An inhuman scream from the other side of the flames sent her running from the scene. Before she was even conscious of her own actions, her staff was in her hand and she was casting a protective shield. Without even giving herself a chance to catch her breath, she whispered another spell. White particles and a flash of light marked the place where she once was and, in the blink of an eye, appeared downstream. Whatever else she did, she did it running.

The river soon branched off into different directions and branched again. Still, there was no sign of Thundrax. Doubling back the way she came was dangerous, especially if the Black Rider was still chasing her but she did it anyway, checking different paths of the complex maze that flowed through the region.

Her search continued until she had lost all track of time. Shadows were growing, her body was almost too stiff to move, and one of her shoes had been lost in a bog. She was starting to feel very alone. Help would be needed if she was going to find the hunter.

She was also wondering what had happened to Arcadi and Sabe. After leading two Black Riders and a wolf away, she hadn’t seen them. If her friends had survived the attack, they would be sure to meet within the safety of Stonard’s walls. Hoping they were safe, she turned south.

That was when she noticed the warm, orange glow in the sky. A sense of unease filled her as she headed toward it.

By leaving the road, Arcadi and Sabe had put a little more distance between themselves and the Black Riders, but not enough to shake them off of their trail. Sabe’s wolf carried her over the terrain easily on padded feet, but Arcadi’s horse was struggling with the mud. This proved true for the Riders’ horses as well, but the advantage was useless if Arcadi was in danger of falling.

Bent over the neck of his mount, Arcadi looked back. A blood-chilling howl called out to him, much closer than they would have liked. Grabbing up the slack in the reigns, the priest headed for more solid ground near the mountains, then turned due east.

Immediately, Sabe knew what he intended. Angry and indignant, she shouted at him to turn away, but her calls went unheeded. She knew they would but she had to do what she could. Faced with danger, a Forsaken priest would go to any great lengths for the survival of their companions, no matter how immoral the act may seem. Her logical brain acknowledged it was their only chance of survival, but her orcish heritage revolted at the dishonorable act.

Small huts could barely be seen through the thick vegetation and a narrow path appeared in the grass.

She was still screaming at him to stop, but he never slowed. Instead, he merely glanced back over his shoulder to make sure she was still following.

“There is no honor in this!” Sabe shouted.

She did not wish this kind of death upon anyone, not even the Draenei her people once tried to exterminate.

Swerving sharply, Arcadi steered his horse into the small town. Small, misshapen Draenei rose up from bonfires and emerged in doorways, watching the haphazard passage of a Forsaken man with silent curiosity.

The peace disintegrated with Sabe’s arrival.

Brandishing weapons and screaming their hate, every Draenei followed in her wake. Hugging her wolf’s neck, she pressed herself as flat as she could to avoid the darts and arrows. Thankfully, the beast she rode was used to such things, dodging and swerving erratically to keep them from becoming an easy target.

They knew the Black Riders had entered the camp by the screams. Attention was diverted away from Sabe as every Draenei grabbed up a weapon and went running – some carrying children to safety, many rushing to defend.

A horse’s scream of pain rang out above the other shouts causing Sabe and Arcadi to look back. Both of the Riders were now on foot, wading through the throng with their swords. Their monstrous wolf companion had a Draenei in its jaw, shaking the body until it was limp. Tossing the corpse aside, it swiped at another figure in the crowd and grabbed it up in its hungry mouth.

Ahead, Arcadi was shouting to his horse, urging it on. More comfortable on solid ground, the animal leapt a stack of crates and turned sharply behind a cluster of huts.

Sabe’s stomach lurched as her wolf jumped after them, wondering at what they had done. Their escape might have been viewed as a wise choice to some, but to her own kind, it might be considered an act of cowardice. Surely she had brought dishonor to her clan.

Burying her face into her wolf’s neck, she closed her eyes, the sounds of the Draenei filling her ears as they died.

Muffled sounds of calamity floated down the tunnel to them. Quickening their pace, they half-walked, half-ran to the end, and found the exit blocked. A red button, similar to one they had seen upstairs, had been conveniently placed on the side of the tunnel.

“Better stow that lantern,” Karakul said, “and stand back.”

After pressing the button, he retreated away from the wall. A whirring noise was heard inside of the walls, followed by a series of clicks.

“It’s louder in here than it is outside,” Karakul assured them.

The whirring ended in what sounded like a large latch unfastening and, instead of what they expected to be an impressive finale, came the sound of a long and slow fizzle.

Contempt had taken up so much room in Arachne’s voice that there was very little room for the sarcasm that accompanied it.

“Perhaps we should push?” She snapped.

An answer did not come immediately and it was too dark to tell if he was giving her any sort of look, but the clicking started again, saving them from further conversation. A circular door fell forward slightly and rolled to one side. The clicking stopped.

Gathering her robe up, Arachne shoved everyone out of her way and rushed outside. Dim light that fell into the tunnel illuminated the smug look on the innkeeper’s face as the warlock stormed past.

Outside, they found themselves nestled up against the mountains in the back of the post, conveniently close to the west gate. A variety of plant life was growing there, concealing them from view as everyone filed out. As they snuck between the buildings, they kept to the shadows until they could get a better view of what was happening in Stonard’s courtyard. Two narrow buildings placed close together with a tangle of plant life between them became the perfect vantage point.

Pandemonium had overtaken the Post. Fire was spreading from the inn, and patrons were still being rescued from inside. Any available body not focused on the rescue attempt was trying, in vain, to stop the fire from spreading further. Mages in the courtyard were adding their own spells to the calamity, and there appeared to be some confusion as to why their ice spells weren’t melting and putting out the flames.

“Chemical fire,” Karakul said. “Someone must have poured immolation oil over a couple of kegs I had up against a wall. A tauren stumbled into it and caught on fire – I can only assume it was a potion. He was so drunk he couldn’t think of what to do and panicked, setting everything near ablaze. Someone broke a chair over the drunk’s head to knock him out, only you can’t knock out a tauren with a chair! Instead, he just fell back into the kegs.”

“Boom,” Iraas said, his hair looking similar to an explosion itself.

“Yeah. The oil, the fire, and the alcohol went off like a bomb.” The innkeeper’s voice was a lament, confessing his true sorrow. “That was good ale. I was going to drink that.”

By now, the efforts in the courtyard had turned to the overflowing chimera nests situated next to the inn. Too many animals had been stranded at the post, more than the Flight Master could move on his own. Chimera and bats screamed in terror, pulling against their leashes to break free. Some had already managed to chew through their tethers and escape into the air. Every available body was now helping, struggling to get the animals across the courtyard to safety. Every druid and hunter in the vicinity were concentrating their efforts on getting the animals calmed and relocated, not necessarily in that order.

Almost everyone in the post was moving quickly and with purpose to help.

Zug tapped Caulbraen’s shoulder and pointed. The rogue nodded back; he had seen them, too. Four figures were standing motionless around the courtyard, watching the scene casually. Their lack of movement drew attention to them, something they seemed to be trying to avoid.

They were signaling to each other. Most of the interest seemed to center around the inn and everyone running out of it, although they did often cast searching glances at the crowd. When the last patrons were rescued from the burning building, their signaling increased and they started to move away from their respective perches. Slowly, they moved around the perimeter of the courtyard until they were paired up with one another.

“Only four,” Zug said. “Think they’re alone?”

Caulbraen’s eyes narrowed. “Not a chance,” he said.

Signaling with one hand, Caulbraen stepped out of the shadows, his body shimmering out of sight just before the light hit him. Barathron did likewise, slipping through the group as the lines around his form wavered, and then he vanished.

The remainder of the group was content to settle back into the shadows and wait for the rogues to return. Until then, they continued to survey the panicked scene of Stonard and the strangers across the courtyard. They weren’t kept waiting long. One pair of strangers turned away and started to move to where the crowd was thickest.

“They’re looking for us,” Zug said.

The second pair of strangers noted the movement, but looked indecisive about whether or not to follow. Suddenly, they whirled around, staring intently down a dark alley.

“Oh no, what’s he doing?” Iraas asked.

It would have looked like any breeze sweeping a cloak aside, except there were two cloaks and only one was moving. A small pouch emerged from the stranger’s clothing, floated in midair for a brief second, and vanished. Gently, the cloak lowered itself. Its owner, completely unaware, gestured in the direction the other pair had gone.

Both rogues returned as the strangers disappeared into the crowd. Barathron wore his usual playful smile, while Caulbraen’s face was dark.

“Lackeys,” Caulbraen said, shaking his head. “They are looking for us and our missing party, but they have no clue why. Everything else they said was nonsense.”

Iraas lifted a questioning finger. “Nonsense like Zug, or regular nonsense?”

“Regular.”

A small pouch emerged from under Barathron’s cloak.

“Perhaps this will help,” he said.

The contents were emptied on the ground and spread out. Barathron looked disappointed, picking up a couple of gold coins. After some consideration, he took the silver, too.

“Almost not worth the effort,” the rogue mumbled, pocketing the money.

Something else caught his attention, and he crouched down and started picking through the scattered contents.

“Ah,” he said, picking up two small pieces of paper, “now we are card-carrying criminals.”

One card was handed up to Caulbraen. The other card he kept, looking down at it curiously.

Zug leaned over Caulbraen’s shoulder for a better view. “Standard identification. Haalzan Bitterspear. Troll. Seven feet, one inch tall. Doesn’t say where he’s from.”

“Nowhere,” Barathron said absently, concentrating on the square in his hands. “My people are from nowhere.”

Standing, he held up the second card.

“What do you make of this?” He asked.

Everyone gathered around and leaned in close.

The card was the size of a regular identification card, but black with a green border that was difficult to discern in the shadows. In the center, a green snake coiled around a sword.

“I’ve never seen that emblem before,” Zug said.

Caulbraen took the card and flipped it over, staring down at it with a grim expression. Turning it over again, he pursed his lips together, then slipped it into a pocket. Thoughtfulness glimmered in his eyes, but whatever he was thinking, he kept to himself. When he looked up again, the strange expression was gone and was replaced by a look that said he was back to business.

“We’ll worry about this later,” he said. “Right now, we have work to do.”

Karakul nodded. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Poking his head out of the alley, the innkeeper looked both ways. When he was satisfied that the coast was clear, he stepped into the courtyard and beckoned them to follow.

The fire was still raging, but it seemed to have stopped spreading. Most of the guards and mages were focusing on putting out the flames. Chimera and bats were still being moved and appeared to be a priority for civilians, with every hunter and druid in the post working to get them to safety.

When they arrived in the midst of the calamity, the wind rider master was struggling with a chimera. Karakul rushed over to the master’s aid and grabbed the rope.

“Karakul!” The Flight Master shouted. “You’re alive!”

“Of course I am!” He retorted. “Let’s get the rest of these beasts moved!”

Turning around, the innkeeper pointed to Caulbraen, as if they had never met.

“You there! Come help us with these beasts!”

Pulling his hood over his head, Caulbraen took the rope of a very large and frightened bat. Zug used his calming influence and moved to the next animal. Distracted by the enormity of the situation, the Master pointed to where he wanted the animals taken to and returned to his present task. Karakul kept the Master distracted while Caulbraen led the bat across the courtyard and into a grouping of shadowed trees. Everyone was too busy to notice the dark form launching into the nighttime sky.

The leashes of two chimera had been trapped under a large post that had fallen from the inn. Fire climbed up the log, growing dangerously near to the frightened animals. Screaming, the chimera struggled to get away, but could not.

“Need help?”

A Forsaken warlock with a wild mess of hair suddenly appeared with a felguard in tow. Before the master could say anything, the warlock’s demonic companion had easily lifted the fallen post and led the animals away from the fire.

“Where should I take them?” Iraas asked.

The master threw a grateful thumb over his shoulder and returned his attention back to the other animals. He never saw the warlock lead the chimera away to the copse of trees and disappear into the sky. He didn’t see the troll who took the second animal and vanished, either.

Zug didn’t bother asking if anyone needed his help. Empathy for the animals had led him to jump into the mess, doing what he could to calm them down and moved to safety. Many other druids and hunters were also doing their best, and he knew he would have to leave the rest to them. Grabbing the leashes of a chimera and a bat, he imparted some peace, and led them out into the courtyard.

As he emerged from the chaos, Arachne approached him. Her demonic companion strolled behind.

“Care for some help?” She snorted.

Her attitude didn’t bother him; he was used to it by now. Handing her the reigns to the bat, he walked off to the copse of trees everyone else had disappeared in.

As she turned to follow, a loud crash was followed by cries of help. She would have continued on her way, but an orc guard ran to her, shouting for her help. A few firefighters had become trapped in a collapsed building, and they needed muscle to get them out.

Arachne hesitated, debating whether or not she wanted to bother. The guard mistook her hesitance for fright, and gently touched her arm.

The orc found himself staring up at a very angry doomguard. Taloned hands reached down for him, muscles rippling in the firelight, and angry words reprimanded him in a dark language.

Arachne murmured softly. Immediately, the demon backed away, then ran off to where Arachne gestured with a flick of her fingers.

Thankful, and a bit confused, the orc followed the doomguard.

While Arachne waited for her minion to complete its menial task, she led the bat over to the shadowed copse of trees. In the darkness, she looked out over the devastated post disinterestedly, watching the little people run in a futile attempt to stop the disaster. At the edge of the crowd, the troll they had pick pocketed earlier emerged and walked purposefully toward the northern gate. Her eyes followed him, as a hunter would mark their prey.

In the back of her mind, the connection she had with her demonic minion was severed and she knew the doomguard was free of enslavement. Angry and evil and bent on destruction, she could hear it wreaking havoc wherever she had sent it to help the trapped firefighters.

She shrugged indifferently. Pulling on the bat’s leash, she followed the troll from a distance.

Her body was so stiff from injury the only way she was able to move forward was by use of her blinking spell, and even that was becoming difficult. The last hour of her journey had been the longest and most painful of her life. Before her stood the north gate of Stonard, and through the open door she could see the raging fire that had replaced the inn where they had been scheduled to meet.

Leaning heavily upon her staff, Emberchill took a deep breath and concentrated. A flash of light replaced where her body had been and she reappeared in the shadows outside, biting her lip nervously.

A thousand possibilities raced through her head, most of them unpleasant. Her options were now very limited, and she had little hope of finding anyone. To make matters worse, she could not physically move any farther, and needed help. If she rested a little, she could open a portal to one of the mage guilds, but that would mean leaving Arcadi and Sabe behind, and would eliminate the possibility of ever finding Thundrax. Her best option was to enter Stonard and try to locate her companions.

Facing the open gate, she focused her attention to the doorway. Concentration was much harder as her physical pain increased, and for the first time since she had been an apprentice, she had to speak the simple incantation. Even this required effort. The first word was easy, but it became more difficult with every word. After the third phrase, she paused, closing her eyes tightly. She took a deep breath.

“Going somewhere?”

Both eyes snapped open, trying to focus on the outline of four individuals who had surrounded her. Fire behind them shadowed their faces and their cloaks concealed their forms, but she could tell the speaker had a trollish accent.

“Yes,” she told them, trying to sound much stronger than she felt. “I have business in Stonard.”

The sound of swords being pulled from their scabbards was easily discernible to her ears and she tightened her grip on her staff.

The troll spoke again.

“Not today.”

Neither of them were good at directions; it was why they had been traveling with Thundrax in the first place. Luckily, they didn’t need much help to find Stonard. The fire had burned so brightly in the night sky that the glow was easily seen all the way from the Sunken Temple’s watery grave. Fearing something had happened to their friends, they continued on at a steady pace until they reached Stonard.

“Wait,” Sabe said, pulling up on the reigns.

Reluctantly, Arcadi stopped his horse and turned around.

“What?”

She shook her head, looking at the flames that rolled up into the sky. They were trying to get a view from the eastern side of the post, which was blocked by fortified military structures. The majority of the fire appeared to be coming from the west. It was hard to see anything from where they were standing.

“We need a better look before we go in,” she said.

The priest followed her gaze upward.

“You think this fire has something to do with us?”

She laughed nervously. “Of course not. Half of the post is on fire. I mean, what are the odds?”

“Yeah.”

They looked at each other.

The fire towered above, casting eerie, moving shadows beyond the fence that surrounded Stonard. Even while riding their mounts, they found it easy to keep to the darkness, and picked their way slowly to the north gate.

What they found outside was not easily seen in the darkness, but stopped them in their tracks. Emberchill was standing under the trees, surrounded by four cloaked figures. Weapons had been drawn and there was conversation, but it was too soft to hear over the chaos inside the post.

“She looks terrible,” Sabe breathed.

Arcadi nodded slowly, looking around. “Where’s Thundrax?” He asked.

The hunter was nowhere to be seen.

Outnumbered and in no condition to fight, the four figures closed in swiftly and relieved Emberchill of her weapon. Without her staff to lean on, the mage crumpled to the ground.

Arcadi looked as if he was going to charge forward on his horse, but Sabe reached out and grabbed back on his reigns. Exhausted and outnumbered, they would stand little chance against these four rested fighters.

While the mage was bound, mounts were brought out from inside the post. Emberchill was laid over the back of a horse like a sack, and the four riders took the road, heading west.

Arcadi and Sabe sat back in the shadows, giving the riders a bit of a lead, then emerged slowly in front of the gate. In the firelight, their mounts looked a little refreshed from the short break they had been given.

“Ready?” Arcadi asked, gathering up the reigns.

Already knowing her answer, he didn’t wait for the reply. They both kicked their mounts into a steady pace and headed after Emberchill.

From inside Stonard’s walls, Arachne stood in the shadow of a building, watching the scene unfold with mild interest. As Sabe and Arcadi disappeared from view, five individuals appeared out of the shadows, leading mounts to the road. While she watched, the absurdly enormous bat in her company started to fidget impatiently, but froze beneath her penetrating gaze. Looking back to the gate, the five figures had mounted swiftly and were turning in the direction Arcadi and Sabe had gone.

There was no trace of Thundrax, and she decided she would look for him later if she had time. Besides, Caulbraen had not specified if she had to locate anyone while they were still living, so there was no sense of urgency. To locate bodies – this was her task.

An irritatingly soothing voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Do you need help with that bat?”

Turning, she found herself looking up at a tauren who was leading three chimera away to safety. Arachne always had a hard time figuring out their gender. They all looked alike to her.

“Would you like me to take her?” The tauren asked.

Arachne held up the leash, then nodded as one would dismiss a servant. Turning back toward the gate, she pulled her hood up over her head until her face was hidden. From somewhere under her cloak, her wand emerged.

Apparently the tauren hadn’t left yet.

“It was very kind of you help move the animals to safety,” the tauren said. “Would you believe a warlock sent their minion to help a very dangerous situation, then let it run free? Many were badly injured.”

The tauren never saw the insidious smile that spread across Arachne’s face.

“How depraved!” The warlock answered, and strode out of the gate, into the night.

“You’ve got until the count of three to tell us who you are,” Grimvalt said quietly.

The mist around the elf glowed softly when she spoke and rippled like a cloud when she moved. A trail of the magical essence led back to the phallus, which was still standing in the center of the broken aquarium. A sad piece of seaweed had gotten tangled up around it.

“And then what?” the elf asked Grimvalt with an amused smile. “You will attack me?” Her head shook slightly, sending faint ripples of mist away from her head. “I think you should reconsider that plan. The individuals who have been watching this house will come through that door in a moment and then you will have your hands full.”

Before anyone could ask how she knew about that, Raeln rounded on the group angrily from where he had trotted off to search through the wreckage that had once been his living room.

“I think we’ve forgotten the primary concern here, people!”

“Former people!” Matelda protested.

In unison, the group turned to him with an exasperated look. No one was really certain what could be more important than a strange elf appearing out of a phallus.

“What is it now?” Autumnwolf demanded.

Glaring at her, Raeln stomped back over to where they had gathered and held up his detached limb. The movement whipped the wrist upward and the hand went with it. All fingers curled up into the palm, save for the middle one, which stood erect and at indignant attention. Before anyone could determine whether or not that was intentional, the sage shook the arm again until it was limp and inoffensively posed.

“Give me that,” Grimvalt said, snatching the arm away.

Whirling back around, he pointed to the elf again, gesturing with the extra appendage he held. Raeln’s hand conveniently did the pointing for him; the index finger extended toward the elf accusingly.

“Who are you?” He said. His voice was low, but the threat was clear.

Silence prevailed over the tense moment, save for a few exotic fish flopping about on the floor.

“My name is Delinia. I’ve already said this.”

He didn’t flinch. “No,” he said calmly.

Each word was carefully enunciated as if it were its own sentence. As he spoke, his sword came effortlessly from the scabbard.

“Who are you?” He repeated.

Their eyes locked.

Graceful eyebrows raised in response, sending a faint puff of white above the elf’s head where it hovered like an angelic crown. Her eyes flickered to Grimvalt’s sword, then back. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the faces of his companions looking at him curiously.

“I’m not going to ask again,” he said.

“Uh, Grimvalt?” Airsk whispered.

The warrior held up Raeln’s hand for silence. Five fingers snapped to attention, holding the appropriate pose.

“One,” he said.

He blocked out the faces of his companions, though they were still staring at him for some odd reason. It didn’t stop Airsk from still trying to get his attention.

“Grimvalt?”

He was barely listening.

“Two.”

The amusement she wore on her face angered him even more. His resolve hardened, his jaw tightened, and his hand restored his grip on his sword.

His hand was wet, and a little slimy.

“Grimvalt!”

Startled, he looked over at the object in his hand. Where a sturdy, metal blade should have been was a large fish that he was grasping just above its tail fin. One round eye stared back at him in confusion while the mouth opened and closed repeatedly.

He caught himself before stepping back in surprise. Both eyes narrowed and shifted back to the elf.

“Put that down,” Delinia said. It sounded more like a suggestion than a command.

He did. No sooner had his arm dropped down to his side had the fish become his sword again.

Airsk was staring at the sword, eyebrows raised. Grimvalt knew what the orc wanted, but didn’t want to make it appear as if he was also just as curious. With the appropriate sigh of aggravation, he raised the sword again, watched it morph back into a fish, then lowered it, turning it back into his beloved weapon. Airsk wore a look that said he couldn’t help but wonder how the fish felt about all this.

“Nice,” Grimvalt said. “Do you make balloon animals, too?”

Delinia’s eyes narrowed.

“Enough!” Matelda snapped, and pointed at Raeln’s deflated sleeve. “And put his arm back on.”

The priestess then offered an apologetic smile. “My colleague,” she said, pointing at Raeln, “was deciphering the markings on your vessel, when he mentioned you may be linked to the Titans.”

Matelda paused and smiled again, her bloodless lips stretching wide and curling slightly at the ends. If her mouth hadn’t resembled a black hole, it might have been pretty.

“Possibly even an item that belonged to them?” She asked. “Would you be able to tell us more, and perhaps, where we might find it?”

Airsk gave her an incredulous look. Autumnwolf rolled her eyes. Raeln threw up his one hand in disbelief and wandered off to rescue the lifeforms from his demolished aquarium.

“Smooth,” Airsk said. “I’m sure she isn’t just going to come out and tell you.”

“Actually, I am.”

Stunned silence returned to the group.

“You are?” Airsk asked.

The elf nodded solemnly. “Once every ten thousand years, I can disclose all ” however,” she said, lifting one cautionary finger, “I can only tell you once. After that, ten thousand years must pass before I may speak it again.”

“You will just tell us?” Autumnwolf asked suspiciously. “As simple as that?” Her face grew more incredulous with every word. “You do not even need to check our references?”

“No. Whoever is able to determine the inscription,” she said, pointing back over her shoulder at the phallus, “and can summon me within the allotted time, has proven themselves.”

From the far side of the room, Raeln stood upright, thoughtfully cupping a fish in his hand. Caution was in his eyes.

For the first time since they had arrived, Autumnwolf agreed with the sage.

“I am concerned with the implications of having this kind of information.” She said. “Even if power is intended for good, evil has a way of manipulating many things for its own twisted purpose.”

“She’s right,” Grimvalt said. “Depending on what this thing is, we could be killed just for knowing about it.”

Matelda shook her head. “It really wouldn’t matter,” she said, “because if we have it, we would have the power to kill those who would want to kill us! We would obliterate them with the powerful magics!”

For some reason, she sounded as if her reasoning was completely sane. The expressions returned to her reflected the opposite to be true.

“We do not even know what we are being offered,” Autumnwolf argued. “This is a decision we need to take time to consider. If a godly item is what we will obtain, we should weigh the consequences it will have on the balance of the world.”

Raeln nodded. “Delinia, you said there is an allotted time when you can be summoned. How long is this period?” He asked.

“One-hundred years.”

The sage cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. “I had hoped for more, given the gravity of the situation,” he said, “but I suppose it will suffice.”

Looking relieved, Autumnwolf ignored Matelda’s scornful glare and nodded her agreement.

“It is settled, then,” the druid said.

“Well, wait a minute,” Airsk said slowly. “The period of summoning is one-hundred years.”

“Yes,” Raeln said.

“But it’s the total period of summoning,” Airsk said slowly, looking to Delinia for confirmation. “So we’re already somewhere inside that one-hundred year window.”

“No,” Raeln corrected, then stopped suddenly as the mistake was realized. He blinked. “Yes!”

Everyone looked to Delinia.

“So,” Airsk asked, “how much time do we have left?”

A single eyebrow lifted at them.

“Twenty-two minutes.”

The room exploded in a flurry of movement. Furniture was toppled over in the frenzy and bodies were running around the living room, rummaging through bookcases and piles of broken decor littered across the floor. Delinia remained still, watching the chaos around her.

“Find some paper!”

“Wait! Is this information we really wish to know?”

“We no longer have the time to debate it.”

“Ow! Who tripped me?”

“There’s no one anywhere near you.”

“It was definitely a boot. Confess!”

“For the record, I do not think I agree with this.”

“Paper! I found paper!”

Snatching the parchment away from Matelda, Raeln thrust it into Airsk’s hands, along with a thin, silver stick. Everyone gathered around Delinia expectantly.

“This requires two hands,” the sage said to Airsk. “Support the paper from underneath with one and set the stylus above it. The instrument will write everything you want. Hold the end very lightly to keep it upright. Then, simply say ‘record’ and let the stylus do the work. Thusly –”

Bending over the utensil and paper, Raeln’s instruction was stern.

“Record.”

Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth to continue but no sound came out. Both eyes grew wide and his body became rigid. A strained exhale was forced out of his throat.

Though the doors and windows were tightly shut, a warm breeze blew through the room, materializing from one walled end and dissipating once it reached the other. The sweet sound of chimes filled the air.

Raeln was still hunched over the parchment, mouth open, trying to speak. Every light source in the room flickered and dimmed. Sound emerged from his throat, barely above a whisper.

“As many as the riders of undeath are they.
As many as the death cauldrons to the east are they.
And of the death cauldrons to the west, so are they the same.
The seasons do equal, as do the sacred elements of name.
The earth has been drawn into the deep,
It is not content and will lie dormant with the queen.
On the edge of the breaking, amidst the ruins of defeat,
Take the matter in one hand, with the other, call to thee.
To the outlaws of the sea on the Father’s shore,
Testing the power of what they do not know.
This one rules that which they ride upon,
Before the rogue can defraud, he must know the name to call on.
Long life has it given him, only pain he has given you,
Peace on the bank of a bloody river, in his heart he is waiting for you.
Flowing down from the womb of your curse sits his lavish home,
Vengeance and peace are what you seek, then you will take his stone.
Ask! Seek! Knock! Reth! Reth! Reth!
Three there that you will see, only one that is not death.
Sixty-six ascending of twenty-nine grade,
In the center of the circle, place your hands and say the name.
Once you have these, to the god land you will go,
Journey to the center, above the fiery throne.
Place these into the vessel and the portal will appear,
Return to the original state the gods intended here.”

The lights returned and a few seconds of strained silence prevailed. At last, Raeln’s body relaxed and he straightened, breathing in deep sigh of relief. He looked up at Delinia expectantly.

“Exactly,” she said, nodding only once.

Airsk took a moment to admire the beautiful penmanship of the stylus and turned the parchment over, ready to capture the information. He looked up at her, waiting for the message she was restricted to telling them a single time. As the silence continued, the realization slowly swept over him: She had just done so.

“Wait a minute,” Airsk started to say.

The same thought had started to occur to everyone else as well. Matelda’s eyes went wide and her face flushed a deep violet.

“You!” Matelda screamed, shaking her fist angrily at Raeln. The rest of her tirade was indiscernible, unbridled fury.

“Me?” Raeln shouted back. “She did not have to agree!”

Angry shouts erupted among the group from everyone, except Autumnwolf, who stared longingly at the sage’s remaining limbs. Noting the villainous expression on the druid’s face, Raeln stepped behind Grimvalt, putting the warrior between himself and everyone else.

The volume continued to rise as everyone struggled to be heard above one another. Passersby on the street outside were slowing to check out the scene as violent shouts poured out of the house, increasing in volume by the second. So loud was their arguing, they never even heard the rush of footsteps on the outside stair. The conversation was brought to an abrupt halt when the door was reduced to splinters that shot across the room.

Two cloaked figures leapt through the broken doorway. A gnarled hand emerged from under dark robes and extended five fingers toward them.

“Get down!” Grimvalt shouted, dragging the one-armed sage with him.

Bright light exploded in the room as white missiles shot out from the intruder’s hand toward them. The group jumped, ducked and hit the ground, trying to avoid the spell. One missile impacted the wall behind them, forming a crater in the rock wall. The other missiles halted in midair before assaulting Delinia, and faded away before her.

“If I may,” the elf called out, “I –”

Her comment, whatever it may have been, was lost on the group when a massive figure appeared in the doorway. Oversized, muscular arms and a spiked back took out whatever was left of the door as it entered.

“Felguard!” Autumnwolf shouted.

Another barrage of arcane missiles shot across the room toward Matelda, who ducked under a table. White projectiles glanced off of the top and sprayed stone fragments across the room. Wand in hand, the priestess scrambled to the end of her temporary protection and dove behind the couch.

“Too pathetic to fight your own battles?” The felguard asked as it passed the two cloaked figures.

Reaching for his weapons, Grimvalt realized he was still holding the extra arm. He threw it at Raeln, grabbed both swords from their scabbards, and jumped up from the floor.

The felguard was hastily making its way to the couch, but Grimvalt stepped in front of it, trying to stop it. His swords blocked the felguard’s attack effectively, but the demon ignored him and kept moving toward Matelda. From behind, he drove his swords down and across the back of the demon’s legs. The attack did little visible damage, but the felguard’s movement slowed dramatically, as if it was wading through tar. Whirling, the demon bore into him with otherworldly strength. Grimvalt’s swords blocked again, but the force of the attack sent him back, tripping over destroyed pieces of the living room. Before he hit the ground, he regained his balance and charged, giving Matelda time to jump out from the couch and scurry away behind an overturned chair.

The warrior took up an easy fighting stance and settled in for a long fight. The attacks that followed were methodical and calculated. In the end, the winner of a fight with a felguard is determined by endurance.

“Excuse me,” Delinia called out. More missiles stopped in front of her and dissipated into nothingness, save for one, which she sent back with an irritated flick of her finger.

No one saw it.

Raeln was on his feet, detached arm in his hand, his wand carried by the rogue limb. Running along the walls, he skirted around the room swiftly and ducked behind the chair with Matelda.

A stump appeared in the center of the room. Runes engraved in the center flashed slowly and a bead of light circled around it, swirling slowly from the bottom to the top. Two long rods extended from the top of the totem like lightning rods.

Airsk was running toward the two intruders at the door. Palms down, his hands lifted as he called to the spirits of the earth, drawing the elements to him. When they reached his chest, he extended his hands to them, palms out. An unseen force left him, and slammed into one of the cloaked figures. The spell the intruder was calling out suddenly stopped. Airsk smiled grimly, knowing they would be unable to speak for the next few seconds. It was more than enough. In a life or death situation, a few seconds was almost a lifetime. At the very least, it was long enough for a great cat to materialize out of thin air behind the silenced mage and knock him unconscious with an enormous paw.

The other intruder was not so hampered by Airsk’s spell and whirled on the cat, calling out a spell. A shadowy orb appeared in the palm of the caster’s hand, but flew backward over their shoulder and impacted against the totem. The magic of the spell coursed over the totem from the tip of the rods, down to the base, and vanished with the totem.

A massive paw stretched out, swiping at the intruder who turned and fled into the center of the room. With both hands raised, they cried out in a loud voice, calling out to demonic spirits. The house convulsed. Above them, a shadow portal as infinite as the twisting nether opened in the ceiling. The room suddenly felt very hot. A torrent of fire fell out of the ceiling and into the room, setting everything ablaze.

Fur smoldering and growling angrily, Autumnwolf was upon the caster, rearing up on hind legs to attack with both paws. Claws raked through cloth and flesh, but the caster gritted their teeth and continued their spell, burning all.

Airsk was jumping over piles of broken furnishings to get to them when he heard Matelda’s cries for help. He could barely see through the rain of fire but followed her voice. By the time he was out from under the portal he was badly burned, but soon saw the cause of her distress: A rogue had stealthed in during the commotion and was trying to steal the phallus. Matelda was in the midst of a tug-of-war while trying to position the rogue for the sage’s spells.

“Excuse me. I can help,” Delinia shouted.

Everyone was too busy to stop and ask her about it. Sighing, she plopped down into an invisible chair and watched the fight continue before her.

Nearby, Raeln was desperately trying to control his detached limb, which was enjoying the power of the wand.

“No, you stupid thing! Sheep!” He shouted.

A ball of ice left the wand tip and lobbed itself in the general direction of the struggle. The rogue saw it coming and stepped aside deftly, allowing the spell to slam into a bookshelf.

Matelda could tell she was losing the fight. The rogue, much stronger than she was, let go with one hand and reached under their cloak. A long, curved dagger emerged and sliced out at her, cutting through her flesh and gracing across bone. Pain coursed through her. She knew she couldn’t win this way and her spells would do no good. Giving the phallus one last desperate pull, she stared down at her opponent with a look that said she would never surrender, that her hands would never willingly give this phallus up as long as she lived.

Then she let go.

The rogue didn’t expect it and stumbled back. Jumping forward, the priestess grabbed for her belt and drew out her wand. As the rogue was springing deftly back to their feet, Matelda reached out and jabbed her wand into the rogue’s eye.

Howling in pain, the rogue stumbled back again. Airsk reached them at that moment, his axe in his hands. His weapon came up above the fallen rogue, and he stopped. Inside the city proper, they would face severe punishment for what would be viewed as murder.

Turning his axe upside down, he slammed the handle against the rogue’s head. Both eyes rolled back and their body crumpled to the floor. With a cry of exultation, Matelda grabbed up the phallus.

He didn’t have time to check for vitals. Nearby, Grimvalt was starting to become tired; something the felguard did not have to worry about. Running to the warrior’s aid, he called out for another totem and moved behind the demon. Together, they cut down the felguard until he fell at their feet.

The brief struggle was over. A cloaked figure was crumpled on the floor where Autumnwolf had rendered them unconscious. The druid was herself again, looking out the window.

“A crowd has gathered outside,” she said, “and guards are arriving.”

Grimvalt finished cleaning his weapons and returned them to their respective scabbards. “We need to leave now,” he said, “or we’ll be arrested.”

Everyone looked to Delinia, glowing with a soft aura in her invisible chair. They had no idea how they were going to move her through the city unnoticed.

“You can summon me again if you need me,” she said.

“How?” Airsk asked.

“In the same way you did the first time, of course,” she said, and winked out of sight.

“Wait!” Airsk called after her, but the elf was already gone.

White mist hung in midair, briefly holding the outline of where she had been, then dissolved.

The murmur of the curious crowd outside was getting louder and they could hear shouts from the guards, demanding they lay down their weapons and come out of the house.

Raeln led them down the hallway and into a tiny kitchen. A small door at the end was ajar.

“Do you always leave your door open?” Autumnwolf asked.

The sage frowned. “No. How odd.”

Outside, everything behind the line of shabby housing was dark and damp. Running water was heard up ahead and dark water splashed around their feet with every step.

“The sewers are not far,” Raeln said as he led them away. “We can climb out there and you can take the zeppelin to where you need to go. I still have information on who to speak with if you are still interested in deciphering the markings on the phallus,” he said.

Though soft and soothing, the next voice spoken sent a shiver down the sage’s spine.

“You are coming with us,” Autumnwolf said. “Unless you wish to argue about it again?”

In the darkness, Raeln’s shadowy form was barely seen, looking in dismay at the limb he held. His mouth opened in protest, but he changed his mind, closed it, and said no more until they reached the sewers.

Water rushed by their feet a little more swiftly as the street declined. Light was even more scarce as well. Scents of waste and toxins began to thicken in the air, burning their noses. Finally, Raeln stopped before a metal ladder that led upward into the darkness.

“This will take us outside, and then you ” I mean, we can take the zeppelin south if that is what you ” I mean, we, wish to do.”

Grimvalt went first, followed by Matelda. Autumnwolf went after Raeln so she could keep an eye on him. Airsk followed them at the rear.

After the scent of the sewers, everyone was pleased to be out in the crisp, cool air. A light rain was falling, and anyone who wanted the putrid smell out of their clothes, fur or hair removed their cloaks.

The zeppelin tower was a short walk, but before they climbed the hill to it they could see a huge crowd had gathered around it. A smaller group was filtering out of the tower steps and making their way toward Undercity.

“Unbelievable!” A female of the Forsaken was saying as she stormed out of the tower.

Two trolls and a blood elf followed in her wake, looking equally furious.

“We would have been better off riding a bat all of the way,” the blood elf snarled. “Perhaps that is what we should do, if they are at least still being useful.”

Grimvalt frowned and made his way into the crowd. Five minutes later he returned, shaking his head.

“Apparently, travel is coming to a complete halt in the southern half of the continent,” he said. “Travelers are getting all the way down to Stranglethorn Vale and finding there is no means of transportation getting out. Guards aren’t even letting anyone leave the post on mounts, no matter what the size of the group is. Something about random killings, but no one is really sure what’s happening. Bats are still moving that way for now, but that may end soon if the animals stop returning.”

“Bats then,” Autumnwolf agreed, “and quickly. We will need supplies. Blankets, too, if it will be a long flight.”

Raeln cleared his throat. “I think, in this case, it might be easier for you if I stayed here. Take these directions,” he said, producing a piece of paper from under his robe.

Under Autumnwolf’s angry glare, it was promptly returned to the pocket it came from. Defeated, the sage sulked away, down the hill toward Undercity.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Airsk asked, following him. “I don’t think you ever said.”

The sage had a hard time hiding his unease.

“Stonard, in Swamp of Sorrows.”

“That’s a long flight,” Airsk mumbled unhappily.

“Stonard?” Grimvalt’s jaw tightened. “Where exactly is this ‘contact’ of yours who can tell us about the markings?”

They were all starting to get the idea that this may be the real reason the sage did not wish to accompany them.

Raeln swallowed nervously. “Oh, nowhere. You know,” he said, his words now just a mumble. “A little place. The Sunken Temple.”

Autumnwolf snorted angrily, snatched the detached appendage from the sage and tossed it into the bushes. Her tail snapped in the air as she stomped down the hill.

“It’s going to be a long flight,” Airsk said.

Sabe nodded unhappily. They should have reached the Swamp of Sorrows by now, but for reasons unknown they were still wandering around Duskwood forest. Any attempts to question their guide on such lack of progress was answered with short, angry remarks about remaining silent and the occasional assurance that they would be out of the trees by the next day.

But the days dragged on and Thundrax slept less. When he closed his eyes for at least ten minutes it was considered a good day. His cognizance and ability to reason had deteriorated and no one was quite sure how to deal with it.

After a quick discussion among the coherent members of the party, Emberchill took the lead in distracting him. Her soft voice floated back, barely above a whisper. At the end of their small caravan, Arcadi and Sabe quietly planned an intervention.

“I agree, something is definitely wrong,” Sabe murmured, leaning over in her saddle so the priest could hear her.

Arcadi nodded back. “He’s leading us around like we’re trying to shake something off our trail, but if that’s the case, he isn’t talking about it. In fact, he isn’t talking at all.”

“That’s not true,” Sabe corrected. “This morning I asked him if he wanted breakfast, and he grunted.”

“I wouldn’t classify that as talking.”

The orc waved his comment away.

“If someone is following us,” she whispered back, “then it would make sense to try and lose them before we make it to Deadwind Pass. There’s not much maneuvering in the area and we’d be too easily trapped.”

“Yeah, but it would help if we knew what it was,” Arcadi grumbled. “Why doesn’t he just tell us?”

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

“Right. On the count of three, let’s just get him.”

Sabe made a face. “That’s the best you’ve got?” She asked. “Just get him?”

“You have a problem with the ‘gettim’ plan?”

“No,” she said, “it’s just that he’s our friend. I thought we might want to go with something a little more special than the standard ‘gettim’ plan.”

Their scheming ended up being unnecessary. Too many days of hard travel without sleep had finally caught up with the hunter. Silently, his body slumped in the saddle and slipped sideways.

Emberchill dug her heels into her horse and charged forward until she was alongside Thundrax’s mount. Both hands reached out and grabbed his armor, struggling to pull him upright. Sabe reached the other side just in time.

“I’ve got him,” she said, catching him as he fell.

Sabe pulled his helmet off. His breathing was shallow and his skin was pale.

“Let’s get him down on the ground,” Arcadi said, climbing off of his horse.

Emberchill joined them, looking worried.

Together, they lifted him out of the saddle and set him on the ground. Once settled, they realized they were too close to the road and were going to have to find a better place to camp. The hunter was picked up again and moved a few yards away to a bed of dry leaves under a cluster of trees. Every cloak was piled on top of him.

Before setting up camp, they scooped up more leaves to pad Thundrax’s makeshift bed with. Arcadi turned away, his thin body hunched over the ground, sweeping whatever he could find under the hunter’s head. Suddenly he stopped. An armful of leaves fluttered out of his grasp as he stared at what he had so unexpectedly uncovered.

“I think I know out what’s been following us,” he said quietly.

With a soft swoosh, Emberchill’s body disappeared, then winked back into sight at Arcadi’s side. Curiously, she bent over the patch of dirt he was staring at. Her body stiffened.

“What is it?” Sabe asked.

Her back was turned to them and she was busy pulling on the leash of Thundrax’s pet lizard.

All of the mounts had become strangely restless since Thundrax had been sleeping and she had spent quite a bit of energy trying to tie them up. Now that they had been settled, her new mission was to force Thundrax’s pet lizard into compliance. Apparently the reptile had not been informed that it was supposed to be tethered with the mounts and not laying across its master. The silent tug of war continued for another minute then gave up and let the lizard do whatever it wanted. Before she stomped off to join Emberchill and Arcadi, it stuck its tongue out at her defiantly.

Muttering under her breath, she arrived at the patch of ground that had aroused so much interest from her companions. Even in the dark she didn’t even need to crouch down to see what they were looking at. The paw print was bigger than her head.

She called her wolf over to her. It wandered over amicably, stretching almost to the end of its leash. Nearly as tall as she was, it stretched its neck out, nuzzled her shoulder, then looked deeply into her eyes.

It could smell the packet of jerky in her pocket.

She pulled lightly on the wolf’s harness until the animal was standing over the imprint. Bending down, she picked up one front paw and placed it into the center. The war wolf’s paw was an exact match, except that the print was twice the size.

“Never seen a wolf that big,” Sabe said, whistling incredulously.

Emberchill nodded. “Of course you have not,” she murmured, staring at the ground. “If you had, you would not be here to speak of it.”

Sabe’s wolf was still sniffing nearby pockets in search of available food when it stuck its nose to the ground. With a frightened snort, it reared and backed up, struggling to break away. An unexpected growl rolled from its throat.

The sound of the wolf panicking set the other animals in motion. Every mount pulled on its tether, trying to get as much distance as possible between it and Sabe’s mount. Whatever had upset the wolf had communicated to the other animals.

Not far from where the terror-stricken wolf was backing up to, Thundrax’s lizard hissed loudly, its tail whipping through the air, trying to protect its master from being trampled. Arcadi pulled back on the wolf’s harness while Sabe ran around to its backside, struggling to keep it from backing over their slumbering friend.

Emberchill’s staff appeared in her hand, glowing in the shadows like a living thing. It waved above her head in a small circle as she stepped into the center of the calamity. Her voice was heard, crying out above the noise but they couldn’t understand what she was saying. A light flashed from the top of her staff and shards of ice shot up out of the ground, encasing every foot, hoof, pad, and paw in large, immovable blocks. Everything was trapped.

The cold was almost unbearable; even the skeletal mounts shuddered. Pain shot up their legs, distracting some animals and further panicking others, but at least their mounts could no longer run away. Confused and afraid, the war wolf turned its head around and tried to nip Sabe’s arm. It struggled in its icy bondage once more, then threw back its massive head and howled in distress. The noise had long surpassed a dangerous volume for a small Horde party traveling through Alliance lands.

A sound like the shattering of glass echoed into the forest as one of the skeletal mounts managed to get a hoof free and was now stomping down on the other blocks of ice that held it to the ground. The second horse started screaming at it, begging for release, its ears flattened back against its ghostly head.

The hoof was slamming repeatedly against the ice and Emberchill’s staff came up again when all animals froze in unison and every ear perked up. Although the animals’ eyes were still wide and showed signs of fright, their bodies relaxed visibly and became eerily silent.

Emberchill waved away the ice. Instead of melting around their feet in a messy pool, it sank back into the ground, leaving no trace. The gnawing cold that pained their limbs was replaced by a strange warmth. Feeling returned to their limbs.

Arcadi and Sabe raised eyebrows at each other, then looked over at Emberchill. She was looking behind them.

On the ground, under a pile of cloaks and a lizard, Thundrax’s eyes were open and he was looking at the imprint not far from where he lay.

“What’s going on?” Sabe demanded.

The shadows of the trees enunciated the dark circles under his eyes. “We need to leave now,” he said.

“You should have been honest with us from the start,” the orc retorted. “What’s following us?”

Crickets resumed their chirping, and all was calm for a moment. Thundrax rolled over on his side and rubbed his eyes.

Emberchill answered for him, her voice barely above a whisper. “We are being hunted by the hounds of the Black Riders.”

Sabe blinked at Emberchill, then back down at Thundrax.

“Black Riders,” she repeated, looking for clarification. “Of Deadwind Pass?”

Pushing himself up from the ground, Thundrax sat upright. His head bobbed to one side.

“The Riders themselves are not far behind,” he said. “They have been tracking us since we left the Stranglethorn Bridge. I was trying to put a little more distance between us so we could escape to Beggar’s Haunt until this happened.” He looked up at them again. “We need to leave now.”

A nervous whinny was followed by the sound of hooves stomping the ground, and the rest of the animals followed suit, pulling on their tethers.

It took Thundrax a moment to quiet them, then he was overcome by a lung-crushing yawn. Now that the animals were finally aware of their pursuers it was going to be much more difficult to keep them calm.

“Lay down,” Emberchill commanded. “You may get up when we are finished here.”

He complied. Now that everyone knew his secret, he wasn’t going to win many more arguments. While everyone packed up the camp with new conviction, he rested.

“Truth be told,” Sabe called out as she untied his wolf from the tree, “I’m impressed you got us this far.”

The orc led his nervous mount over to where he lay. With a grin, she offered him a hand.

A small smile played at the corner of his mouth and he accepted her offer.

“Thanks,” he said, and pulled himself up.

“Well,” Arcadi said, grabbing his cloak out of the pile, “you aren’t in any condition to ride and I don’t have any spells that can cure exhaustion, but I can make a mean pot of coffee.”

Interest flickered among the group. They all could use a good cup of Arcadi’s strong brew.

Sabe raised an eyebrow. “Feralas Blend?

“Of course.”

“We would need hot water and there’s no time to build a fire,” Thundrax told him.

The priest nodded back. “True. Unless…” He looked at Emberchill.

Seeing where the priest was headed with this idea, Thundrax and Sabe shook their heads.

“She can summon a little firebolt,” he said, pointing at Emberchill. “A small one.”

The mage bristled. “Small? I guarantee it will be Armageddon or nothing at all!”

Again, the orcs shook their heads at him.

“Well,” Arcadi reasoned, “after the racket we were making earlier, they already know where we are.”

They all looked at one another. The night was about to become a little warmer and much, much brighter.

Twenty minutes later they were speeding away from the charred copse as fast as they could without spilling coffee. Although Emberchill had quickly neutralized the fire with an ice storm, the area they were fleeing glowed like burning coal. With luck, they would make it to the safety of Beggar’s Haunt by the next evening.

In the morning, Thundrax was groggy, irritable and said very little, but the group was much more understanding about his attitude. At one point, Arcadi suggested tying Thundrax into his saddle, but it was met with little enthusiasm from the hunter. For the rest of the day they rode in silence, conserving any energy that remained.

Morale improved when they reached Beggar’s Haunt a couple of hours sooner than expected. The mounts were all tired and Thundrax looked ready to drop.

“We will go in and ask for temporary shelter,” Emberchill said. “The Apothecary here is not usually favorable toward orc however, in our company, he will most likely allow you entrance. We will return in a moment.”

Turning their mounts down a narrow, winding path that led away from the main road, Emberchill and Arcadi trotted off and disappeared around the bend.

With two less animals to worry about, Thundrax slouched a little in the saddle. Another long, deep yawn couldn’t be hidden behind his hand. Without turning his head, his eyes flickered in Sabe’s direction. When she shook her head at him, he scowled.

“You can sleep when we get inside,” she said.

“What about you?”

She shrugged, looking around undecidedly. “I don’t know. I’m not so sure we’ll be safe in there.”

“There are a lot of enchantments around the tower that keep it hidden,” he said. “Most of the Alliance has no idea it exists, even so close to one of their towns.”

His words were slurring slightly and his eyes were fighting sleep. Sabe doubted he would even remember the conversation.

“So much is unknown about the Black Riders. I think it would have to be a pretty strong enchantment to keep it hidden from them,” she began, but Thundrax turned with an irritated look that silenced her.

“It’s hidden,” he snapped.

They looked at each other in silence. He had no idea what he was even saying anymore, and they both knew it.

Sighing, he frowned and opened his mouth to apologize, but the sound of galloping horses drew their attention away. From the narrow path, Arcadi and Emberchill came speeding around the corner. Alarm was on both of their faces.

They reigned in their mounts and Thundrax immediately set to work at calming the skeletal beasts.

“It’s deserted,” Arcadi blurted out. “There’s no sign of anyone.”

Emberchill nodded, breathing heavily from the excitement and not because she required the oxygen. “It looks as if it were ransacked, but there is no way to know if this was the case or if they left in a hurry.”

“Probably a little of both,” Arcadi said.

“Anything we can swipe for ourselves?” Sabe asked. “Potions, herbs, or food?”

Emberchill and Arcadi shook their heads.

“We looked, but didn’t see anything worth taking,” Arcadi said, “and it didn’t feel safe so we decided not to stick around.”

Sensing the collective indecision, the mounts shifted uncomfortably beneath them. Thundrax was in no condition to ride, but they couldn’t stay.

“Perhaps if we spend one more day in the forest,” Emberchill suggested.

As the words left her lips, a long, unnatural howl carried on the wind, cementing their decision to press on. Silently, they turned their mounts to the east and entered the bleak scape of Deadwind Pass.

Vultures welcomed them into the area and followed them, circling overhead, touching down on tops of bleached crags that towered high above, barricading both sides of the path. As the hours passed, more gathered and followed them unfailingly, unflagging in their vigil for a meal.

A narrow bridge had forced them to dismount and lead their mounts across. Other than the sound of the horses’ hooves, the area was eerily silent. Emberchill was looking curiously at the sky.

“The vultures,” she murmured, “they are leaving.”

Everyone’s gaze turned skyward.

The great beasts hung in midair, gliding in quiet stillness, considering something ahead in the distance. With a rush of dark wings, they turned as one and fled back in the direction they had come. All that remained was a single vulture, sitting atop a dead, gnarled tree. Cocking its head to one side, it screamed once and sidled down the branch, talons clicking faintly as it moved toward the trunk where it could stay hidden.

The animals were suddenly very restless.

Thundrax helped Emberchill up onto her mount. The urgency in his voice held an edge of panic.

“Everyone up,” he said. “Hurry.”

Arcadi swung up onto his skeletal horse and turned back in the direction of the bridge.

“Wait!” Emberchill hissed. “We cannot go back or we will meet the Riders who pursued us through Duskwood!”

His mount stamped impatiently as it was turned back toward the unseen danger ahead.

“There’s nothing ahead,” Arcadi snapped. “If we take the path north, we’ll end up down below, trapped in the ravine. There’s nothing up ahead except for the exit, and it looks like there’s something nasty between us and it. All that’s left is an abandoned camp up the road, and that’s a dead end. What do you think we should do, run in there and hide behind a rock until the danger rides on by?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, his expression changed and his eyebrows lifted. Similar expressions flickered around the group.

“Well I don’t have any better ideas,” Thundrax growled, and kicked his mount into a full gallop.

All animals felt the urgency and apprehension of their two-legged companions and sped down the road. Within minutes, they saw the bend of the main road turning south and started to look for the path leading to the abandoned camp.

They almost missed it. Ghostly trees clustered near the entrance, nearly blocking it from view. One by one they filed in.

Thundrax leapt off of his mount, ran to the main road and set to work on obscuring their tracks. Sabe wasn’t far behind. Under the branches of a tree, she stopped and held out one hand, palm facing the ground.

She whispered something indiscernible and backed up, retreating to where she had left her wolf waiting. Dry earth gathered and swirled over the place where she had held her hand, whirling silently like a small tornado and gathering more to it until it appeared solid.

Then it was. A small bead of light swirled around the base once, spiraled upward and dissipated at the top. Runes flashed faintly from the center, then the totem appeared to be nothing more than a stump, similar to the trees it was nestled under.

Sabe was half way back to the camp by the time it had finished its rapid cycle, joining the rest of her companions who were sitting on anxious mounts, hiding behind rocks. A tattered tent had been erected, but it wasn’t theirs. Whoever had been there before had mysteriously left it, along with a few other belongings, behind.

Emberchill nodded to her from the other side of the camp when she arrived. Thundrax did not acknowledge her arrival; he was busy calming her mount. Evening shadows enunciated the dark circles under his eyes.

Beneath her, she could feel her wolf relax and she held him at a slow walk to where Arcadi was waiting. Perched atop his warhorse, he held his reigns in one hand and his staff in the other. She slid off her wolf and looked up. The priest reaffirmed his grip on his staff and nodded back, ready.

Stretching her hand out again, palm down, she whispered the word that would join her to the totem at the end of the path. Suddenly she felt as if she had been sucked upward and placed in a vacuum. She could see her own body and her companions below but was unable to access any senses other than sight. Until she was rejoined in her body, her companions would be her only protection.

A golden string was above her body and trailed away to where her totem was waiting. Without warning, her spirit was yanked away along the golden line. The ground blurred beneath her and the rushing scenes did not slow as the totem neared. Toward the end, she was thrust downward and had the sensation of falling. Then all around her was black and she knew she had stopped. No matter how many times she had done this before, she always found it a little disorienting. Seconds later, light flooded her vision. When her eyes adjusted, she looked.

Movement in the sky caught her attention before anything else, and she saw the vulture that had stayed with them earlier. Its scraggly body perched on top of a tall tree and swung its bulbous head around, watching the road with beady, red eyes. The head turned in the direction of her totem and it stared unblinkingly. With horror, she realized it was looking at her inside the totem.

When its head snapped up and away, it drew her gaze. The road turned south and she was unable to see whatever the vulture was staring at from its perch above. While she looked, she realized the bird was now looking back down the road in the direction they had come. She couldn’t hear or see whatever made the bird hide itself in a crevice, but it wedged itself in as far as it could until all that was visible were the tips of its toes nervously gripping the rock.

They came at once from opposite ends, tall figures hidden under dark cloaks and bent over the necks of onyx steeds. The wolves that accompanied them ran alongside with their noses low to the ground. She couldn’t hear the sounds the wolves made, but their lips curled back over yellowed teeth in a snarl. Foam and saliva flew from their mouths as they ran, spattering in the air, dissolving into their unkempt fur.

One Dark Rider and one wolf had scared the vultures away. As they rode past her, hooves and paws kicked up a cloud of dirt in their wake. Both halted abruptly when they joined those who had followed them for many days through Duskwood; two Dark Riders and one wolf. Both wolves stuck their noses to the ground and they searched the area for traces of their prey, seemingly confused by Thundrax’s work.

The three Riders sat still on their horses, their faces hidden in deep hoods and shadows, watching the wolves try to pick up the trail that had been suddenly lost.

One of the wolves turned toward her suddenly and began moving in the direction of their hidden path. Nose to the ground, it wandered a few feet away, then stopped. Its massive head lifted, looked in her direction and tilted to the side.

The wolf took a few steps toward the hidden path. Watching the wolves carefully, the Riders also turned their mounts in her direction. The second wolf joined, considering the trees and stump that obscured their hiding place. She wondered if they could see her inside the totem as the vulture could. One of the wolves crouched near the ground and took a step near. Lips curled back and its throat vibrated with a growl she could not hear. Her heart was pounding so hard she could distantly feel her physical reaction to fear.

Movement on the edge of her periphery caught her eye, and the wolves turned toward it. Both jaws started to snap violently.

The vulture that had attempted to hide itself had poked its head out of its hiding place and reaffirmed its grip on the sharp rocks. Realizing it had been spotted, the great bird opened its mouth in a silent scream and pushed off into the air, flying as fast as possible in the direction of Duskwood Forest.

Whirling around in the direction the bird had gone, the Riders and their wolves followed, pounding down the road, away from their hiding place. After they disappeared around a corner, she continued to wait until the dust cloud had settled. In the growing night it was harder to see, but she waited until there was no movement.

Her mind flooded with fear. She had no idea why they decided to follow the vulture, but knew better than to sit there and contemplate the miracle.

She released the totem.

When she returned, her body was trembling so violently that she fell against the stone they had been hiding behind. The rock felt cool against her cheek and she pressed her palms against it. When she opened her eyes, Arcadi was staring down at her, looking very concerned.

“Are you all right?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she said, trying hard to control her breathing. “If we’re going to leave, we need to do it now.”

He nodded and reached down, trying to help pull her up onto her wolf. It made her attempt to mount a bit more clumsy than she was used to, but she was grateful for the help anyway. On the way out, she explained what she had seen. No one else had an explanation for the Riders’ sudden departure, but it was agreed they needed to leave.

At the entrance to the main road, Thundrax jumped off of his mount, poked his head out from behind the trees and checked both directions. A silent gesture with his hand indicated they were safe. Everyone filed out. Reigns in hand, Thundrax led both of his animals out behind them. Quiet sighs of relief accompanied the group as they turned down the road that would lead them out.

Before stepping into the stirrup, Thundrax bent down and removed the leash from his lizard. It looked up at him and licked the air in thanks, its tail swishing in the air.

A faint click behind them caused everyone, including the animals, to turn. The lizard released a malicious hiss. Ears flatted against the heads of every mount. Night was upon them, and the tall rocks that lined both sides of the road allowed very little of the moon’s light to reveal whatever had made the sound.

When their eyes adjusted, they could see it moving in the darkness. The vulture’s eyes almost glowed in the shadow it was sitting in. As it waddled up onto the highest peak of the rock, its talons clicked faintly. New movement drew their attention back down to the road, where the shadows of two large wolves moved toward them.

The vulture had been a ruse to lure them out into the open.

Both wolves charged forward, teeth snapping. Behind them, the shadows of the three Dark Riders could barely be seen but the hooves of their dark steeds were clearly heard, clattering against the stone.

Emberchill’s horse reared, nearly throwing her off. With the exception of the lizard, the animals started to panic. They wanted to run, but Thundrax wasn’t mounted and they couldn’t leave him behind. Instead of climbing up on his wolf’s back, he was reaching into one of his saddle bags.

“What are you doing?” Arcadi shouted at him.

The hunter shook his head. He wasn’t thinking. Exhaustion had brought him to the brink of collapse and he had nothing left to rely on but instinct.

A metal crescent was pulled from his bag, and he threw it toward the approaching wolves. It arced in the air and came down gracefully, skidding to a halt behind the wolves. When the crescent stopped, it snapped open. Metal teeth gleamed momentarily, then the trap faded into its surroundings.

One of the wolves dug its front legs into the ground and tried to back up, into the oncoming Riders. Confusion reigned over the dark horses for a brief moment while the Riders struggled to regain control. The second wolf dodged out of the way, drove all of its strength into its hind legs, and jumped.

Thundrax jumped onto the back of his mount in a singular movement when the leaping wolf arrived in the middle of their group. Everyone whirled their animals in an attempt to break away, but the enormous wolf moved much more quickly than expected. Its jaw opened, yellow teeth flashing dimly in the light and an eager growl was heard from its throat.

Emberchill’s horse reared, screaming in pain, and started to buck wildly. Unable to hold on, the mage was thrown through the air, back into the direction of the oncoming Riders. Her body fell to the ground and rolled to the edge of the path. The Riders saw her on the road, her staff not far from where she lay. Swords were drawn from under their cloaks. The wolves saw her and turned back, muscles bulging as they sprinted toward her.

Thundrax was half way to her, his mount running hard to get between her and the Riders. His lizard wasn’t far behind.

Emberchill’s head lifted. Eyes narrowed at the rush of enemies and she reached out with one hand, grasping her staff. With a flash of light, her body disappeared. Wolves and Riders whirled around, slightly disoriented from the spell’s bright light.

She reappeared on the other side of the road, hunched over slightly, one arm protecting her ribs.

Thundrax used the opportunity to set off his waiting trap. As he passed one of the wolves, one boot came out of the stirrup and kicked out hard. The wolf stumbled and whimpered. When it saw the hunter dashing away on the back of his mount, it snarled and leapt after him. In the middle of the road, a metal click was heard.

The trap snapped open, garnering a change of priority by all three Riders and their wolves. Glittering frost spilled out from the trap like a blanket of living crystals in all directions, coating the ground. Their horses’ legs pulled hard against the magical frost while screaming in frustration at their impeded movements. The lizard took the opportunity to wade into the confusion, teeth snapping angrily at any limb it could reach.

One of the wolves started to move toward Emberchill. She climbed up a little higher on the rock to keep out of its range, grabbed up her staff and raised it into the air.

Arcadi and Sabe were on the ground, running toward her. From the far side of the fray, Thundrax was turning his mount around. They all saw the danger.

Urging his mount, Thundrax pressed down over its neck and dug his heels in. At the edge of the trap, it jumped, easily clearing the trap. Before the mage could finish her spell, the hunter’s hands reached out and grabbed her as he passed, pulling her across the back of his mount. The lizard followed faithfully, the small pads of its feet allowing it to climb sideways along the rock wall after its master.

When they landed safely on the ground, Thundrax pulled up on the reigns. All three Riders were breaking free of the trap and now heading toward Arcadi and Sabe.

The priest grabbed up his staff. The stone set at the top of his weapon started to glow.

“Go!” He shouted back to the hunter then turned to Sabe. “You too,” he said.

“Nope,” she answered, reaching for her weapons.

Shaking his head, his staff came up high above his head. “Stubborn orc,” he mumbled, and stepped toward the Riders.

Sabe didn’t recognize the words he was shouting. It wasn’t a spell she had heard him cast before. At the end of his chant, the night seemed to be drawn to the priest’s body like a dark aura and there was no sound, almost similar to the vacuum she had experienced inside of her totem.

Without warning, the darkness around the priest exploded. Fireworks shot out from all around his body, lighting up the night. Screams from the enemy echoed across the rock.

Stumbling back, Sabe blinked hard, trying to see. Wickedly bright light continued to explode around the priest who refused to stop his spell. Reaching out blindly, she grabbed him and pulled him away.

Their mounts had stayed behind. Thundrax was waiting just beyond them, keeping them calm. His arms were around Emberchill’s waist, and she was holding the reigns to his mount. He didn’t look as if he was going to last much longer.

Their mounts needed little encouragement and bolted away from the scene, heading south toward the road leading out of the Pass. Arcadi’s spell had bought them enough time to get a head start, although a few minutes later, the growls of the Riders’ wolves carried down to them. At the sound, their mounts surged forward, ears flattened against their heads.

Minutes seemed like hours and the mounts were getting tired. Foam formed on the edges of their mouths and their movements were becoming jumbled and uneven. Thundrax could control them no longer.

A piercing howl was heard, causing everyone to look back. The Riders had caught up with them and were bearing down quickly, galloping toward them.

Up ahead the road split, and one path was leading away. As they neared, the pungent smell of the swamp stung their nostrils.

Urging their mounts onto the path, they rounded the corner at full speed. Arcadi’s horse slipped on the rock but was able to regain its balance and charged forward. The road began a steep decline into the Swamp.

Thundrax looked back. The Riders were so close he could hear their cloaks flapping in the wind. Their grotesque wolves sprinted alongside, gaining on the group.

At the bottom of the hill, the road became an uneven dirt path that broke off into two different directions. Arcadi and Sabe turned their mounts down one, leading two of the Riders and a wolf away.

Emberchill took the other, steering toward an old, wooden bridge over a river, but it was too late. The Rider and its wolf had finally gotten just within reach of them. Snarling, the wolf dug its teeth into the animal they rode.

Whimpering, the mount stumbled and fell, throwing its passengers free. Thundrax hit the ground and rolled, sliding down the embankment into the river.

The water was warm. Dimly, he saw Emberchill standing above him, staff raised high in the air and she was shouting something, but the water in his ears muffled the sound. He was sinking.

Teeth clamped down on his wrist and tugged, pulling him away from the shore. He couldn’t struggle. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Water rushed past his body as he was pulled downstream, but there was nothing he could do.

Darkness took him.

Caulbraen nodded to his War Leader. He was right. Even if they had been traveling on foot from Grom’Gol, Thundrax would have gotten them here days ago. Something was wrong.

A panel in the wall opened, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. It wasn’t the companions they had hoped for but it was almost as good. Two large pitchers of beer sauntered in, carried by a very sturdy looking orc.

“Zug!” The orc’s voice called out the greeting like a boom, his grin as big as his forearm.

Returning a lazy smile, their War Leader left Caulbraen and crossed the room to where the beer was being set down. Both orc clasped a meaty hand on each other’s shoulder in greeting.

“Karakul!  How’ve you been?” Zug said. A thick thumb gestured over his shoulder at the panel that was sliding shut. “Anyone else know we’re here?”

“Of course not,” the orc replied, offended at the question. “Unless someone followed you here, you’re always safe in my Inn.” Then, “I understand you’ve got a ‘Wild Mongoose Out of Bounds.’”

Reaching for a mug, Zug helped himself to a dark ale that should have been served with a Free Action Potion.

“Roger that,” he said, nodding back at the Innkeeper.

Caulbraen turned away as they launched into an exchange of indecipherable jargon. The two had served together in Dur’duh Elite, a special tactics unit reporting directly to Thrall. Thrall’s Generals considered them to be an experiment in covert operations, although officially, they didn’t exist. Whatever the unit did was classified and Zug never mentioned the details. He probably couldn’t.

After their military term, Zug and Karakul both decided to retire and take up slower paced lives. Zug joined Caulbraen’s organization, a modest outfit of unknown Bounty Hunters.

Caulbraen had always found it odd that Zug was so insistent on joining them. Their group was completely unknown and they were content to keep it that way. Lack of fame and fortune usually turned potential members away, but Caulbraen preferred the anonymity. How Zug had found out about them or even how to contact them was enough to impress the rogue leader. Still, Zug insisted he join, claiming he was looking forward to some quiet.

Once the crew had accepted him fully into the group, it was just a matter of breaking some of the orc’s old military habits. Everyone made fun of him. Secretly Caulbraen also thought it was funny, but felt it was his duty to at least try and maintain a professional atmosphere.

Karakul, on the other hand, opened a tavern in Stonard. The depressed, dark swamp was hardly known as a vacationing spot, but as a travel hub it saw a lot of activity. The constant stream of travelers made it a perfect location for their meetings. No one questioned their comings and goings within a matter of hours; everyone else who traveled through followed the same routine. Best of all, because of Karakul’s connections, they were treated to the best selection of ale on the Eastern Continent.

The privacy in the inn was unbeatable. Patrons were none the wiser about the secret passages and rooms concealed in the building, such as the room circular room Caulbraen and four of his officers were waiting in. Other than the secret door in the wall, he was unaware of any other exit. Once he had overheard Karakul saying there were actually three ways in and out of the room, but other than blasting a hole in the wall and braving a jump from the fourth story, he couldn’t think of another way.

Caulbraen supposed that after a long life of covert military action, anyone was bound to be a little paranoid. Like Zug, the Innkeeper remained cloak-and-dagger about everything.

As the alien conversation came to a close, Karakul returned to the panel he had entered through and pulled back on one of the torches attached to the wall. With a click, it tilted downward and the wall slid open.

Sometimes the Innkeeper stayed longer but today he was far too busy. Travel in the south had come to a complete halt, and more people were staying over in the small post than expected. The voices of the throng of patrons in the tavern below floated up to them, and it sounded as if more were coming in by the minute. From the windowless room, Caulbraen could only guess at the size of the crowd by the level of noise.

By the time the door shut, most of the beer was gone and conversations were dwindling. The room seemed very empty due to their missing friends. He wondered if he should address that first.

His face must have read a sense of urgency because everyone was now looking at him expectantly over emptied mugs. Whether they wanted him to start the meeting or get more beer was debatable, but when he pulled back his hood and stepped into the center of the room, everyone knew it was time for business.

“I apologize for bringing you all here on such short notice and with little explanation,” he said, “and I appreciate everyone getting here as quickly as possible, especially with travel being so difficult.”

A hand shot up. Caulbraen stopped and nodded at the one it was attached to. The troll looked more than a little concerned.

“Yes, Barathron?”

The troll nodded back, gesturing around the room with a look that indicated he was about to point out the obvious in case Caulbraen wasn’t going to mention it.

“We’re missing some people,” he said.

The others scattered throughout the room all had similar expressions, as if this was the only important thing on their agenda anymore. Caulbraen wished it were true. Under normal circumstances they would drop everything and go in search for their missing friends, but they couldn’t afford it now.

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “Emberchill, Thundrax, Arcadi, and Sabe were traveling together from Grom’Gol and should have been here a few days ago. I want to find them as much as the rest of you.”

From the darkest corner in the room, another hand lifted, slow and deliberate. As the arm raised the silken sleeve fell back, revealing long gloves with demonic symbols embroidered entirely down its length until they disappeared again under where the sleeve was gathering.

“Yes, Arachne?” He sighed.

An exaggerated hood hid most of her face, save for thin, dark lips and a sharp chin covered in sallow skin.

“I could not care less if they are lost,” she said simply.

Caulbraen frowned. “Yes,” he said. “We know.”

He turned away and continued.

“By now, I’m sure you all have realized communications within the organization have been turned off,” he said. For the amount of pacing he was doing, his movement was surprisingly silent. “I don’t know who is doing it or how it’s being done, but our channels have been compromised.”

Murmurs and whispers flickered around the circle. Caulbraen came to a stop in the center of the room and held up one hand to quiet them.

“Someone’s listening in,” he said, “and that’s why conversations are getting garbled during communication – when we were trying to fix the broken filters, it conflicted with whatever is being used to monitor us. I would reopen communications to contact our missing group but it would risk exposing them.”

Barathron leaned back against the wall and raised an interested eyebrow. “The question is: Who is spying on us?”

“And why?” Zug added from the opposite side of the room.

Barathron shrugged. “Maybe someone thinks we know something,” he said.

“About what?” Zug asked. His tone expressed more interest than doubt.

“No clue,” Barathron replied. “Maybe we don’t realize that we know something.”

“That’s a stretch.”

“Not really. It’s also possible one of us has discovered something valuable and hasn’t told the rest of us yet.”

“Something worth fighting over?”

“Warring amongst the Horde is strictly forbidden, Zug.”

“Officially forbidden, but more common than you think.”

Sitting between them was a warlock who tried to follow the conversation as if he were engrossed in a game of table tennis. Every time his head jerked back to the other direction, his hair stuck out a little more until he looked thoroughly electrocuted. Raising one finger to interject, he didn’t wait for a pause in the conversation to be heard.

“Who?”

Turning to the warlock, Caulbraen quickly regained control of the conversation.

“I don’t know who, but I have a feeling we aren’t the only ones being spied on,” he said. “Right before I called everyone here, I received a summons.

The last word was said with a considerable amount of disdain.

Coughing slightly to stifle a laugh, Barathron asked, “From whom?”

Even Arachne gave a soft snort of derision from her darkened corner. No other group had ever called upon them for anything. For the most part they had managed to stay under everyone else’s radar. It was exactly the way they preferred things. More work could get done without having to worry about competition and interference from other groups.

“Prynex, a leader of another organization,” Caulbraen said, producing a very formal looking scroll from one of his many pockets.

“Competitors?” Barathron asked.

“More like a crime boss,” Zug said.

Caulbraen nodded. “They do bounty hunting from time to time, but only high profile marks. Most of their money comes from a very elaborate smuggling scheme. Rumor has it he is supplying the Alliance, too.”

“With what?” Barathron asked.

“With whatever they want,” Zug said, shrugging. “And it isn’t just a rumor; it’s true. Obviously, I can’t tell you how I know.”

Unrolling the scroll, Caulbraen read the invitation over again. “This note is asking for a lot of organizations to represent themselves, and none of them are direct competitors. Everyone else on the list runs large organizations and they only take high profile jobs. I would be inclined to believe that this invitation is some sort of mistake, but…”

His voice drifted off. They all knew better than to assume anything and let their guard down.

“But that kind of thinking will only get us killed,” Zug finished for him.

“Agreed,” Caulbraen said. “In the meantime, I’ve been doing some investigation of Prynex’s activities, and a lot of his recent business has been tangled up with a group of pirates on the southern shores of Durotar. Barathron, I want you to find out what you can and report back.”

Barathron nodded, twirling a dagger in one hand.

“And take Iraas with you,” Caulbraen added, pointing to the warlock with the wild, tangled hair.

The warlock sat up in excited attention. As if on cue, a loud clatter was heard down below the inn as if something large had just broken, something other than Barathron’s will to live.

“Iraas?” Barathron echoed.

Caulbraen nodded, and continued delegating assignments. “Zug will accompany me to the meeting. Arachne, you will go in search of our missing group.”

This made even less sense to the troll, who had no issue expressing it clearly on his face. Verbalizing the thought seemed only for added effect.

“We have hunters in our organization,” Barathron said slowly, “who can track the group faster.”

Caulbraen said nothing, but his usual patience and calm composure was deteriorating. Even Barathron realized this, but was more concerned about sending someone with less apathy.

“Rhuinn?” Barathron asked.

“On a job four days out of Sun Rock. She would never make it in time.”

“Drizztina?”

“Injured during her last assignment and is resting in Silvermoon City.”

He ran through the entire list. Every name he called out was unreachable or would never be able to make it here fast enough. Defeated, he slumped against the wall and looked over at his new partner. Iraas smiled wide and gave him the thumbs up.

“This is not my day,” Barathron groaned under his breath.

Caulbraen turned back around to face him.

“What?”

“I said I simply cannot wait.”

Before he could continue, another loud crash was heard down below followed by the sound of someone running hard and fast on the stairs toward their room. Everyone reached for their weapons.

The door slid open silently and Karakul stumbled through. Blood streamed from his forehead. In one hand he held a small axe with a bright, red smear across the blade. His second hand was empty but his knuckles were bruised and bloody. Behind him, the stairway he had come through danced with a warm, orange glow.

The inn was on fire.