The Lower City

“Left! Left!”

“I’m trying!”

“Harder or you’re going to hit!”

Miria gritted her teeth and yanked on the gryphon’s reins. The recalcitrant animal squawked and finally banked left, the pale stone of Shattrath’s central structure passing inches below its claws. “If we crash into something, you will not enjoy it either,” she informed the creature. It clacked its beak at her.

“You’re doing fine!” Lanaara shouted. She sat astride her own gryphon, perched on a crumbling piece of wall. Madhav flew in Miria’s wake, ready to swoop down and grab her if she lost her seat on the gryphon.

“Don’t lie to me, I’m terrible at this!” Miria shouted back.

“She is being honest - gryphons are hard creatures to manage,” Madhav said. He pulled alongside her. Unlike Lanaara’s gryphon - a snowy white creature with burnished blue and gold armor - Madhav’s gryphon was a skeletal, undead thing with glowing blue eyes. The musty smell of old bones and a whiff of rot carried over the breeze to her, and Miria sneezed. At least she could blame that much on the gryphon she rode.

“I think I’ve had enough of him for one day,” Miria said, nudging the gryphon with her knees. It dove for the ground with more speed than was strictly necessary, throwing her forward in the saddle as it landed. She dismounted quickly, glaring at it.

One of the nearby draenei who belonged to the Sha’tari Skyguard came forward to collect the animal. Most of them rode nether rays, native to their planet, but they kept gryphons around for aspiring riders like Miria to train on. “If you think a gryphon is difficult, don’t try getting up on one of the rays,” the draenei said. “They are much more tempermental.”

“I do not think that is possible,” Miria said sourly.

The draenei shook his head with an indulgent smile. “Our training gryphons are cranky,” he said. “They are ridden by too many who do not understand how to sit on a gryphon, and they are tired of having broken feathers and sore wings. You fly well - I believe you’re ready for a mount of your own.”

Miria’s jaw fell open. She had only been flying for a few days on the training gryphon. “Already?”

“Did I not tell you that you would learn quickly? You are a hunter, used to managing beasts. You do not take any nonsense from them.”

Naru came up as if on cue, snuffling her mistress to make sure Miria was all in one piece after her flight. Miria scratched her ears. “I suppose that is true. Naru can be stubborn, I am used to dealing with her.”

Madhav landed nearby, dismounting. His gryphon disappeared in the customary puff of smoke all mounts left behind when they vanished to... wherever they went when they were not being used. “What does happen to our mounts when we are not using them?” she asked.

The Skyguard draenei shrugged. “Our nether rays remain with us at all times,” he said. “For the rest, you would have to ask a mage. It is something about time warp and a pocket reality, but the last time they tried to explain it to me I am afraid my eyes glazed over.”

Miria grinned. “I know how you feel. They start getting esoteric and at a certain point I can’t follow them anymore.”

Lanaara joined them now. “So,” she said. “Let’s go visit the gryphon breeder.”

They thanked the Skyguard for their impeccable teaching and paid their fee - Miria swallowed at how deeply her flying lessons hurt her purse.

“Have you explored much of Azeroth?” Lanaara said as they strode away. Despite that the aerie was well across the city, they chose to walk. Madhav brought up their rear as Lanaara and Miria walked together. Miria felt like she was flying already, light on her hooves. Shattrath felt like home.

Thinking about Azeroth, though, gave her an unexpected pang of nostalgia. “I’ve traveled most of the kaldorei lands in northern Kalimdor, then sailed to Stormwind. From there I moved north to Ironforge, then further north through the Highlands.” She made a face. “Then we kept going into the Plaguelands.”

Lanaara nodded gravely. “So you see what we fight in Northrend.”

“It’s a thousand times worse up there,” Madhav said from behind him, his echoing voice a deep rumble. “The Scourge are too numerous and there are too few of us.”

“Which is why every one of us who can should be there now,” Lanaara retorted.

Miria fell back, wanting to see the death knight’s face as he spoke. It was carefully blank, but the hard clench of his jaw betrayed something else. She thought again of her promise to Treize, to stay away from the front lines. Madhav glanced down at her and said, “Orders bedamned.”

Lanaara spun around to glare at him. “Our people only have one home,” she snapped. “That home is Azeroth. We must protect it.”

“What are you talking about?” Miria cried, waving her hands at their surroundings. “Look how much we have rebuilt here!”

“Miria,” Lanaara said sadly, “Draenor is in its death throes. All that’s left of it is a chipped hunk of land floating in the nether - one that might shake itself apart at any moment. It’s no kind of home for our children.”

Miria’s shoulders slumped and she looked down at her hooves, feeling a lump rise in her throat. She knew the paladin was right because she’d seen it for herself. Shattrath made it easy to deny, but Draenor was broken beyond true repair.

“Think about the forests of Ashenvale, or about Stormwind’s walls rising around you. Those are all in danger.”

“Stop recruiting,” Madhav snapped. “You should be ashamed of yourself. The Scourge is not like the Legion - they are only driven by hunger for flesh and the will of Arthas, the latter of which I am intimately familiar, in case you had forgotten.” Miria was close enough to him that she heard his armor creak as he tensed. When she looked up, there was more tightness around his jaw. Miria was surprised she couldn’t hear his teeth grind together.

“Perhaps you do not care about your orders or your loyalty to the Ebon Blade, but I cannot ignore a summons to the front,” Lanaara said. She scowled at him. “The Aldor hardly need me here any longer - incidents like the one with that warlock notwithstanding, the Shattered Sun Offensive handily brokered peace between our peoples.”

“You need not try to drag others with you,” Madhav said.

“I meant it when I said we need all the help we can get,” Lanaara said. “I am sure Miria is perfectly capable of taking care of herself.”

Madhav halted suddenly, drawing himself up as tall as he would stand with his hand on his runeblade. He seethed silently, glaring chilly blue at Lanaara. The paladin didn’t seem concerned, but Miria saw her hand edge toward her own weapon slowly. The two stared at each other for a long moment, tension stringing out. Finally, he spoke, biting out each word in his echoing voice. “So was I.”

Lanaara looked away. Miria swallowed. “That’s where...?”

“I have the war in Northrend to thank for this,” he said, waving his hand at himself. “If the Scourge want that continent, they can have it. The living do not belong there.” He uncurled his fingers from the hilt of his blade - it looked like it cost him physical effort. He looked down at Miria. “Do not go to Northrend. Stay in Azeroth, fight in the Plaguelands if you must, but do not go to the front lines. There is only death there.”

He turned and walked away from them - his steps led in the direction of the tavern. “Azeroth will not long be safe!” Lanaara called after him, and Miria saw she was shaking his head. “He was a brave Vindicator once,” she said sadly.

“The war took more than his life from him,” Miria said. “You shouldn’t press him.”

Lanaara shrugged. “I have seen wars take many things from many people,” she said. “I am tired of watching our people flee instead of standing to fight. We have nowhere else to go - we defend this world, or we have nothing.” She clapped Miria on the shoulder. “Do not concern yourself with Madhav - he has many things to be bitter about. We are here, see?”

They had indeed come to the aerie. Miria directed Naru to stay outside and entered, hearing the soft rustling of feathers and the scratch of sharpening claws. A member of the Skyguard kept the aerie, and led them among her stock of gryphons. Miria may not have been an expert in gryphons in particular, but she knew animals. She inspected the gryphons with a critical eye, running her hands over leonine flanks and strong, avian necks to feel for strength.

She finally settled on a creature with a spark of cleverness in her gold eyes. The eagle foreparts were black, the lion hindparts a dark reddish brown. “This one,” she said with confidence.

“You have a good eye,” The aerie keeper said, and reached into a leather pouch on the door of the gryphon’s stall. In it was a scroll that glittered with magic. She handed the scroll to Miria, who smiled broadly as she pressed her thumb into its wax seal. The scroll burst into gold light in her hands, and the gryphon she’d chosen vanished in a puff of smoke. She was bound to Miria now, available for summon whenever the hunter needed her.

The rest of Miria’s purse went into the aerie keeper’s hands, and she left feeling satisfied but a bit depressed. “How am I do go campaigning in Northrend if I have no more reward money?”

Lanaara brightened. “You’ve decided to go?”

Miria thought of her promise to Treize one more time, but it was no more safe on Draenor than it was on Azeroth. She thought of Madhav’s stern warning and the anger snapping out of his cold blue eyes. She nodded. “I know it’s dangerous, but you’re right - our people need a place where we can live, not just survive.” She smiled crookedly at the paladin. “I’m tired of running, too.”

Lanaara laughed at her. “Tired of running! You’ve barely been doing it for a century. Try a few thousand years and then tell me that.” She shook her head. “I’ve been ordered to report as soon as I can - there’s a portal in the city’s center.”

“Slow down,” Miria said. “I didn’t say I wanted to leave right away. I must write to my father, in case he felt like looking for me here. I need my armor seen to - there’s no telling what Kaster might have done to it while I was unconscious.”

“How did you even begin traveling with him?” Lanaara asked, disbelieving.

Miria told her as they walked, first to the armorers where she had a blacksmith inspect her mail. To her surprise, it had not suffered any ill effects in Kaster’s laboratory. She supposed he had only been interested in her, so it did make sense. They went then to the bank below the Aldor Rise, where Miria found to her dismay that she had neglected to put any funds away for an emergency.

“It’s no trouble,” Lanaara said. “I will be happy to pay for what you might need.”

“Then let’s stop by the tavern,” Miria said. “There may be someone who needs a favor - I can make a little extra coin before we go.”

Lanaara made a face. “You just want to go after Madhav.”

“I am concerned about him,” Miria said. “He seems not to have any friends. What will he do when you and I are both gone from the city?”

“You only met him a few days ago,” Lanaara said. “I have known him for a long time, he will be fine.”

“Fine, as in he will sit in the tavern for the rest of his existence trying unsuccessfully to drown in beer,” Miria said. “It is no way for anyone to be.”

Lanaara did not answer her, which was just as well, because they stepped into the tavern a moment later. Miria wasted no time crossing to the bar and taking a seat next to Madhav. Lanaara hesitated only a moment before following her.

Madhav looked up as they sat down, frowning. “I do not wish to speak to you, Lanaara,” he said.

“She was not the one who wanted to come here,” Miria said. “I wanted to tell you that we are leaving for Northrend in the morning.”

The wooden mug in his hand creaked under the force of his grip. His face stayed impassive, but Miria could tell that he was angry. “You are a fool,” he said. “A young fool - they say the Light protects fools. I hope it is true.”

“You could come protect me yourself,” Miria said.

Madhav’s grip relaxed suddenly and he blinked startled. “I could what?”

“You could come with us, and watch my back. That way you would know I haven’t come to harm.”

“Miria,” Lanaara said, her voice amused.

“Why should I do that?” Madhav asked.

“I’ll give you thirty percent of my profits,” Miria said. “Adventuring is quite the money maker - and there are sure to be plenty of people who require specialized assistance on the war front.”

“You think I would return to that place for gold?” Madhav’s brow wrinkled, the tentacles on his chin quivering. He looked like he did not know what to make of Miria.

“Not just for gold,” Miria said. “Gold, and defense of our home.”

Madhav snorted, turning back to his beer. “You have listened to too much of Lanaara’s recruting speech.”

“She is right,” Miria said quietly. “We cannot stay here. Azeroth is the only place left to us. Will you sit idly by while our people lose another home?”

Silence settled over the death knight. Miria waited, not wanting to push any harder. She wanted him to come with them, not only because she didn’t think it was right to leave him here with no one interested in his welfare, but because she wanted his sword at her back. She had seen what a death knight could do in combat - and he knew the Scourge. It would give them an advantage.

Madhav leaned around Miria to glare at Lanaara. “This is a dirty trick, sending the child to convince me to fight.”

“I am not a child!” Miria protested hotly.

“It was her idea,” Lanaara said.

Madhav looked between the two of them and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, downing the rest of his beer. “If only because I do not want to see the two of you dead, I will come. Do not expect me to be cheerful about it.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to be cheerful about anything,” Lanaara said, rising from the bar. “We leave in the morning. Meet us by the portal to Ironforge - dawn. Do not be late.”
“It is not as if I will oversleep,” Madhav grumbled, and banged his tankard on the bar, signaling the barkeep for another. “Northrend. Wretched place. You will see when you get there.”

The Scryers Tier

Consciousness came to Miria slowly, like syrup filling up her veins. The first thing she was aware of was the pounding in her head - a deep throbbing that went from the base of her horns all the way down the back of her neck. There was light wherever she was, and it didn’t help her headache. The inside of her mouth felt slimy, and she was willing to bet her breath was horrendous. She groaned and attempted to rub her head. She couldn’t move her arm. She cracked her eyes open, trying to keep the searing light out of them, and rolled her head to one side.

She was strapped down to a table of some kind, thick leather restraints holding her legs and arms immobile. Someone had removed her gauntlets and pauldrons, but thankfully the rest of her armor hadn’t been touched. Miria took a deep breath and gritted her teeth against the pain in her head, trying to work one of her wrists out of its restraint. While she did that, she took the opportunity to look around the room.

The light she’d noticed before she opened her eyes came from a small fireplace on the opposite end of the room. Most of the walls were covered with bookshelves, which carried an assortment of scrolls, books and tablets. Miria’s head hurt too badly to try and translate the titles - they were in Common, and while she spoke passable Common, reading it was far too much for her at the moment. There was a small table pushed against the wall. On its surface were carefully corked flasks, neatly labeled.

“Do you know how annoying it is to spend weeks tracking an experiment you are sure will run to a spectacular conclusion, only to have one’s hard work reversed by a chiming lightshow?” It was Kaster’s voice.

Miria jerked her head back, trying to see him. “What have you done with me?” she demanded.

He walked around the side of the table, coming into her vision and taking a seat next to the table full of vials. He began to re-arrange them as he spoke. “When I first met you, I couldn’t help but think you must be young for one of your kind,” he said. “A seasoned fighter would have taken the time to put her gear on, and wake her beast, before engaging. A seasoned fighter of the Alliance wouldn’t have flinched when confronted with someone of my disciplines. The draenei in the fort talked about you when you went out, did you know?”

“No,” Miria said, startled into answering.

Kaster nodded. “The commanders would talk about how sad the war made them, that draenei as young as you were sent out into the world to fight. That intrigued me. I never particularly thought about relative youth - Hesthea, come here.”

The last part of the sentence confused Miria until Kaster’s succubus crossed into her vision, her wings rustling as she walked, hips swinging, to the table. The eredar leaned over her master’s shoulders, winking at Miria with a sly smile. “Hesthea here tells me she has more centuries to her name than fingers to count them on,” Kaster continued. “How old did you say you were?” Hesthea said something in demonic, and Kaster said, “Ah yes - sixty seven thousand three hundred eight.”

Miria stared into the succubus’s glowing eyes. “That would mean you remember - you-”

“Hesthea calls Argus her homeworld. She was born there. You, though - you call Draenor your homeworld. That means you can’t be much older than twenty five thousand, but even then, most of the draenei commanders are that old, so your youth wouldn’t be remarkable to them. The way they made it sound, you were barely an adult.” The succubus chuckled and said something else in demonic. Kaster grinned at her, the same grin he had given Miria after blowing hydra heads up in Zangarmarsh.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Miria snarled. “I’m well old enough to take care of myself.”

“So I see,” Kaster said dryly, and Miria looked away, feeling her cheeks flush dark blue in fury. “I’ve been a warlock all my life, Miria. I’ve summoned and spoken with Hesthea for most of that time - and I admit I’ve always been curious about your people’s long, joint history.”

“The eredar are not our people any longer!” Miria said, turning her head back to glare at him and struggling against the restraints. “They chose power and corruption over their freedom and look at how it’s twisted them!”

Hesthea laughed, shaking her head at the draenei. Kaster’s grin didn’t leave his face. “Hesthea has said that the draenei were too weak to understand what Sargeras was offering them - but then, she serves me now, not Sargeras.” He leaned back and held the succubus’s eyes until the demon looked away, a sour look on her face. For a moment, Miria thought this must be what people felt like when they encountered Naru - supposedly a wild, dangerous beast tamed by her willpower. More than one person had told her she was asking for trouble, wandering around with wild animals. Hadn’t she told Kaster the same thing about the demons?

“You are the first draenei I’ve encountered that I can read - most of them are so infernally old they’ve learned to hide their feelings behind impassivity, or religious dedication - enough stoicism to make me vomit. You, though - you were agitated, depressed, on the verge of hopelessness. Your home planet is not a pretty sight. I have been here since the campaign was in full swing, and I’ve seen draenei fall to the broken sickness. But always wondered - what truly separated the draenei from the eredar?”

He rose from his chair, shrugging Hesthea off his shoulders as he came to stand beside the table, looking down at Miria. “I challenged myself, with you. I told myself to be subtle, to simply watch the land and the plight of your people work on your spirit until the anger started to overtake the friendliness, until survival started to replace honor - I admit I pushed, a little.”

“You were trying to make me - you were trying to see if I would become eredar?” Miria could hardly believe the words coming from her lips. “You can’t... Sargeras was a powerful entity - a god! You can’t hope to be able to do what he did merely through manipulation and-” she snapped her mouth shut, suddenly acutely aware of her position and the many flasks on that table.

“So now you see where you are,” Kaster said, smirking down at her. “Thanks to your cursed Naaru, all my work on your emotional state was handily eroded in five minutes. My indirect approach failed, but fortunately, I’m an alchemist. I can move on to the direct approach.” He gestured to Hesthea, and the succubus ran her finger over the labels on the vials until she found one that suited her. Kaster took it from her, uncorking it.

A vile smell permeated the room, the stench of swamp gas and old blood. Miria gave all her restraints a mighty wrench at once, straining against the leather, her teeth clenched. “Hesthea,” Kaster said, and Miria felt the demon’s hands close on either side of her head.

“No!” she screamed, thrashing as hard as she could. One of her fangs closed on the side of her tongue, filling her mouth with the tasted of blood. The succubus’s nails dug into her cheeks and the demon hissed something at her - the language was similar enough to her own that she understood the command to hold still. She answered with a stream of shouted curses.

“That won’t do,” Kaster said sourly, putting the vial aside. “We’ll have to gag her or someone will hear.” That made Miria scream louder in hopes that someone - anyone - would hear her before she was forced to drink whatever was in that vial. “Hesthea, shut her up!”

The succubus rolled her eyes and tried to clamp a hand over Miria’s mouth. Miria sank her fangs into the first finger to come close, glaring up at the demon and refusing to let go. Hesthea cursed at her and freed the whip from her belt. She cracked it in the air above the table and a wave of pink magic settled over Miria’s body. Unnatural warmth spread through her from horns to hooves, the hair on her scalp prickling. She opened her mouth and let go of Hesthea’s hand entirely against her will. No matter how hard she tried to force herself, she couldn’t keep screaming.

“Much better,” Kaster said, coming back to the table with the vial again in his hand. Hesthea examined her long black nails. “Now hold still, it was hard enough to find the components for this the first time. I do hope you live through it.”

A guttural roar broke the succubus’s hold on her just as Kaster tipped the potion - she clamped her mouth shut and jerked her head to the side, screaming through her teeth as it splashed against her cheek and ear - it burned like salt in an open wound. Hot breath washed across her face and she heard Kaster yell, then a thump and the sound of breaking glass. She thrashed her head side to side, trying to wipe the potion off her face so she could open her eyes.

“What in the name of the Light is going on here? Get her unstrapped from that table! You - restrain that beast!”

Miria was spitting and flailing as hands fell to her restraints. Someone wiped her face with a soft towel and she opened her eyes, clutching at the person’s gauntlets as they helped her to sit up.

The death knight from the bar - Madhav - had her by the shoulders. His mouth was tight in concern, his grip a little too tight. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I didn’t drink any of it,” Miria said in a rush. “I didn’t drink any of it.”

“You can thank your beast for that,” the death knight said. “It might be best to call her off.”

Miria looked over and found two draenei guards attempting to wrestle her bear off Kaster. The succubus seemed to have vanished into the other room or the twisting nether - Miria couldn’t see her at all.

“I ought to let her kill him,” she said, and Naru snarled in agreement, trying to shake the guards off her with renewed fury.

“If it comes to that, I shall take his life,” Madhav said, his hand closing on the hilt of his runeblade and a dark, cold smile stealing over his face. It vanished as soon as she saw it but it still made her shiver.

“Naru,” she said, calling the bear to her.

“What is the meaning of this?!” a new voice cried, and Miria squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her head start to pound again. Three blood elves had squeezed into the room’s small space. They all stood with weapons drawn, and suddenly everyone’s weapon was in hand. “You are not permitted on the Scryer’s Tier!”

“Oh?” A paladin wearing the tabard of the Hand of Argus stepped in front of the rest, hefting a large mace with the Light shining from it. “You are not permitted to kidnap draenei citizens!”

The blood elf leader cast an eye around the room, taking in the scene. His eyes found Kaster against a smashed bookshelf, standing still and tense, and he glared. “Kaster-clan-Raven,” he said. “Have we not already had a discussion about the appropriate way to conduct experiments within the city?”

Kaster cleared his throat, his eyes darting back and forth. Every eye in the room was on him, and Naru growled. “She was a volunteer?”

“I most certainly was not!” Miria shouted, jumping to her hooves. Madhav grabbed her shoulder like he was afraid she’d fling herself at the warlock.

“She hardly looks like a volunteer to me,” the blood elf said snidely. “Pack your laboratory - I want you out of our section of the city in three hours. You have made it highly politically inconvenient for us.”

“Politically inconvenient?” the paladin said like she couldn’t believe it. “He was trying to poison her!”

The blood elf raised his eyebrow. “He is a member of our order and he answers to our laws within the walls of the city - or should I need to remind you of our treaty again?” He turned back to Kaster. “You see what you’ve done here?”

The warlock shrugged, his face unreadable. Miria couldn’t help herself - she broke out of Madhav’s hold and shoved past the paladin, grabbing him by the front of his robes. “Where is the rest of my armor you treacherous piece of larva?”

Kaster didn’t even look worried. “At the foot of the specimen table if you’d care to look - ow!” she shook him, smashing his head into the bookcase. The paladin grabbed her wrists and pulled her away.

“I’d much rather let you shoot him,” she said, “but as they so handily phrased it, that would be politically inconvenient.”

Miria found her gear exactly where Kaster said it would be. When she struggled with the buckles, Madhav brushed her hands away and cinched them tight.

“You were leaving?” the blood elf said. None of them had lowered their weapons.

“Right now,” the paladin said stiffly, gesturing to the guards. They fell in behind her, and Madhav practically dragged Miria out of the room and away from Kaster.

“I am glad we found you,” he said. “When I did not see you about in the morning I wondered. When word reached me there was a bear menacing the elevator to the Scryer’s Tier, I gathered help.”

Miria shuddered. She didn’t want to think about what might have happened if they hadn’t come when they did.

“I was just glad to see you off your barstool, my friend,” the paladin said, and Madhav looked away from her. She sighed. “I am Lanaara of the Hand of Argus,” she said to Miria. Her skin was very pale, almost white in color. Her horns stood out from the sides of her head before curving down, unlike Miria’s which swept back from her brow and curved along her temples. “Madhav fetched me on the Aldor Rise and told me you’d left the bar with a shady character. He said you were traveling with him, but that he didn’t look trustworthy.”

“He isn’t,” Miria said firmly. “I’m sorry I ever thought he was.”

“Why were you travling with a warlock of all people?” Lanaara asked, wrinkling her nose. “That’s hardly proper company for someone of your-”

“If you say someone of my age, so help me I will push you off the elevator,” Miria said. Lanaara stared at her, suprised, and she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Everyone I have met has commented on how young I am - you don’t think I know it?” She shrugged. “You fight for our people, can’t I?”

Lanaara exhanged a look with Madhav, smiling wryly. “I won’t mention it again,” she said. “I am glad to meet you - I’m glad to meet anyone that can make this one come out of his shell.” She clapped the death knight on the back. “If you really want to fight for our people’s survival, though, you should be in Northrend.”

“Lanaara,” Madhav rumbled, a warning note in his echoing voice.

“You have orders the same as I do,” Lanaara said. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you staring at them as you drink.”

“They will not send someone to drag me to the front when they are required to come all the way here first,” Madhav said, waving it off.

Miria couldn’t help but think about the promise she’d made to Treize, that she would stay away from Northrend and the war with the Scourge. She stepped off the elevator with her hand on Naru’s broad head. Nether rays went soaring over their heads as they walked toward the center of the city, and she saw gryphons in the air all around them. She quickened her pace a little, pulling out in front of Madhav and Lanaara. Now that she was rid of that annoying warlock, she could do what she’d wanted to do since she walked through the Dark Portal. “I don’t know about going to war,” she said, “but before I make a decision, I need to know how to fly.”

Ebon Watch

Laiza Rottedsprocket galloped away from Light’s Breach, her ghoul running along beside her. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but she was glad to put both Necrothirst and his pet worgen at her back. The former sometimes looked at her like he wanted to kick her out of the saddle for the amusement, and the latter’s fangs were around neck height when they rode together. It was enough to make a girl plain unsettled.

It wasn’t that she preferred being alone - just the opposite. When the assignment had come up, Laiza had jumped at it, hearing that she’d be with a squad. For the past few months since she’d been raised, she had mostly been sent on solo missions. She cleared scourge away from the Argent Dawn’s watchtowers in the plaguelands, bore messages back and forth between Acherus and Stormwind - all manner of tediously dull tasks that took her out into the wilds with nothing but her Deathcharger and her ghoul, neither of which could really be called company. Granted, Necrothirst and Kyladriss couldn’t be counted as company either, but the others were well enough. Like all Knights of the Ebon Blade, they carried their past heavily on their shoulders. Laiza made it a point not to ask, and neither did they. It was a good arrangement - one that was tacitly understood by all death knights.

The other thing this assignment brought was a change of scenery. For the last year of her life and the few months of her undeath, Laiza spent most of her time among the crusaders of the Eastern Plaguelands. Before her death and reanimation it hadn’t been much of a problem - she was an engineer, and every war effort needed more people who knew their way around siege engines. Aside from that, her previous specialty as an arcane mage made her incredibly handy in a pinch, when the forward line was under fire and their forces needed to be evacuated quickly. Now, though, that land held nothing but bitterness and unhappy memories. Zul’Drak was unpleasant, but at least it was unfamiliar.

Lazia crested a small hill and immediately drew her Deathcharger’s reins short, causing the undead animal to rear at the sudden command to halt. She sidled into a stand of bushes at the foot of a twisted, dead tree. Above her, barely visible through the thorny tree branches, floated a necropolis.

The gnome ground her teeth and opened her traveler’s map, spreading it out as well as she could across the saddlehorn and her mount’s neck. What she saw made her swallow. Light’s Breach wasn’t only within spitting distance of Drak’Tharon Keep, now in enemy hands. It was also a stone’s throw from the necropolis hovering above her. It was placed directly between Light’s Breach and the Ebon Watch - purposefully, unless Laiza missed her guess. It would be like Arthas to place things like that, cutting off his enemies from each other.

“Well here’s a wonderful pickle,” Laiza muttered to herself. She couldn’t swing south - that would bring her far too close to Drak’Tharon, and she definitely didn’t want to run into any scourged troll berserkers - not on her own. The map made it look like there was a low wall bordering this field to the north, meaning that if Laiza took that road she would have to hope nothing spotted her and fenced her in.

She edged her mount forward. Her ghoul, a mess of oddly-angled joints and rotting flesh, staggered to its feet to follow. Ahead of her through the trees, Laiza could see that the necropolis was not the only line of defense there. Scourge swarmed across the ground, and just ahead she could see that the soil had taken on the sickly orange tinge that meant Plague had been dumped there. “Straight through’s not an option either then. No wonder they haven’t heard from Ebon Watch.”

Her ghoul grunted like he agreed, but when she looked down she found that the useless sack of meat was chewing on its own foot. She kicked it, but misjudged the force of her kick enough that it sent the ghoul’s head rolling clear of its shoulders. “Wonderful,” she said, and waved her sword. The ghoul collapsed into an inanimate pile of bones. She’d summon another one later if she needed it. Sometimes she thought they were more trouble than they were worth.

Laiza turned her mount north. If she were in command of that necropolis, she would order scouts to patrol the lands around it, especially where a messenger might cross from the crusaders to the Ebon Watch. Wary of those patrols, Laiza didn’t dare gallop. Instead she nudged her mount into a quick walk, moving not in a straight line, but from tree to tree. As long as she could stay hidden from the Scourge forces of the necropolis, she should be okay.

She passed signs of the war on her way to the wall. Bodies, presumably purified by the Light and unable to be raised, littered the ground. Bones and bits of ragged flesh, what remained when a Scourge soldier was slain, were far more numerous than the whole bodies of the Crusaders. Every now and again Laiza passed a Scourge catapult, broken and abandoned. The catapults showed signs of holy fire on their carriages.

A broken stone structure stuck out of the ground ahead of her. Despite the way the map made it look, it wasn’t a wall in the traditional sense. The sides were sloped enough that a sure-footed mount could climb them, and it was wide and flat on top, paved with stones. Laiza would lay money down that this had been a major thoroughfare for the Drakkari before they fell to the Lich King’s might.

The gnome hid in the shadow of another thorny tree, watching the surface of the road. Did she dare try for it? Most of the Scourge were mindless, and wouldn’t know a road from any other path on the ground. They knew only hunger, cold and pain. Still, they’d said Drak’Tharon was producing death knights, and they would know to watch the road.

“Better safe than dead. Again,” Laiza said, only a little bitterness making its way into her tone. She did not climb the wall to chance the road, but rather rode parallel to it, keeping to the shadows of the trees and picking her way carefully over the broken, rocky ground.

She had not gone ten feet when she felt a vibration come up through her Deathcharger’s hooves. Another followed, in a rhythm very like footsteps. Laiza backed her mount into a bush, ignoring its snort of protest. An enormous shadow glided over her just before the source came into view.

It was a flesh giant, larger than any Laiza had ever seen raised. She would barely clear its big toe, and Necrothirst would be lucky to come up to its ankle. Its footfalls shook the earth enough to disturb her mount, who shook its head and stamped. Laiza stroked its neck, trying to keep it from making noise. Her skin prickled as the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Massive bolts were driven through its shoulders and knees, likely to hold the thing together, and it had a metal jaw. “Sweet Light above us,” Laiza whispered to herself. The thing didn’t even glance down. It could have crushed her with one boot if it chose. “I’m lucky I decided not to take the road.”

Laiza waited until the flesh giant passed, until she could no longer feel the vibrations of its footfalls. No wonder she hadn’t seen any riders on the road. Why use riders to patrol when you had that? She shuddered despite herself, resuming her course at a quicker pace. She wanted to get to the Ebon Watch before that thing turned around.

The trees gave way to an expanse of hilly ground leading up to the foot of the mountains that separated Zul’Drak from Dragonblight to the south and Crystalsong Forest to the west. On the other side of the open ground, Laiza could see a small camp with a fire burning. Tattered banners with the sigil of the Ebon Blade flapped in the breeze.

Lumbering troll corpses jerked across the open ground aimlessly. They would have been raised by Plague quickly after their deaths, en masse. Death knights took time and concentration to raise properly, to bind their former intelligence, skill and will into the body. These were merely zombies.

Laiza shifted in her saddle, trying to think quickly. Now that she was waiting for it, she felt the faint vibration of the giant’s footfalls returning. “Aw, damn,” she muttered, and pointed her runeblade at the dirt.

A tattered, fleshless ghoul climbed out of the earth and scrambled to follow her as she broke into a gallop. The zombies weren’t aware enough to swarm her, but when she passed close enough to one its head jerked around and it began shambling in her wake. Laiza rode straight for the camp at a hard gallop, leaned low over her Deathcharger.

A tall, willowy figure stood abruptly from where she was crouched. She pulled a large axe off her back and stood at the ready to receive Laiza’s pursuers. Another death knight jumped to his feet near the back of the camp, running to the gap in their fence, unsheathing his sword as he went.

Laiza dismissed her mount, skidding into camp with the forward momentum. She turned, bringing her sword to bear, and pointed it at the ground in front of her. An unholy rune went chasing down the blade and a circle of red corruption boiled up from the earth.

The zombies staggered into it, their glassy eyes fixed in Laiza’s direction. “Sorry about the company,” she said to the two death knights on either side of her. “There didn’t look to be a clear path anywhere.”

One of the zombies, festering with the shadow disease from Laiza’s circle of death and decay, reached out to claw her. She knocked its flailing arms aside and chopped, runes and shadow magic flickering over her blade. The sword cut deep into the zombie’s chest, and Laiza used it to hold the thing at a distance while she sent more runes flowing down her sword. More disease crawled over the zombie, and she made a shoving gesture with one hand. Streams of shadow leapt out of the impaled zombie and streaked toward the others, infecting them as well.

“Come from the Argent Stand?” that was from the human death knight to her right. He had summoned a bone shield and was cleaving the undead into multiple pieces with a grim smile.

“Light’s Breach,” Laiza said. “I’m fresh out of Ebon Hold.”

“Just what we need,” the sin’dorei next to her said sourly, her lip curling. “More fresh corpses for the battlefield.” Her axe flickered with frost runes - one of the few frost death knights Laiza had seen who weilded a two-handed weapon. She froze the enemy and shattered them with the edge of her blade.

“I’m just a scout,” Laiza said. “There are six of us all told - well, five and a feral worgen.”

“Feral worgen?” the human asked. “A worgen death knight?”

“I was as surprised as you are,” Laiza said with a shrug. “I’ve never heard of it before. We practically have to keep her chained up, except our commander’s managed to make her obey him somehow.” The last of the zombies fell to Laiza’s ghoul, who immediately began devouring the corpses. Laiza returned her runeblade to her back. “Anyway, I’ve been sent to check in. Light’s Breach wants to know how you’re set for personnel.”

“It’s just us,” the human said. “For now, at least. I heard Highlord Mograine was sending us a small squad - that wouldn’t be you?”

Laiza shook her head. “Our orders are to facilitate communication between the Sunreavers and the Silver Covenant. Our commander speaks Zandali.”

His jaw clenched. “Of course. Of course you aren’t our reinforcements.” He shook his head. “Stefan Vadu. This charmer is Bloodrose Datura.”

The blood elf glared at them and returned to her side of the camp, sitting down in front of a tent. She began to sharpen her runeaxe. Laiza rolled her eyes, reminded of Necrothirst. Not that she wasn’t bitter about her own undeath, but she didn’t see the point of wasting energy being angry about it all the time.

“So my report will be yes, you do need reinforcements. Should I have Light’s Breach send-”

“No Crusaders!” Bloodrose hissed, leaping to her feet with her axe brandished. “Self-righteous, brainwashing cretins.”

“Oookay then, no Crusaders,” Laiza said, turning back to Stefan. “I suppose you’ll just have to wait for whoever Highlord Mograine sends.”

“That would be wise,” Bloodrose said. Stefan shook his head at Laiza, indicating that the subject was closed. The blood elf turned stiffly away from them and leaned forward, glaring fiercely into the distance. “It would seem your commander keeps you on a short leash.”

“What’s that?” Laiza said, climbing up on a nearby supply box. She jumped up and down, trying to see whatever Bloodrose saw on the horizon.

Stefan squinted in the same direction. “Yes, that’s the signal fire from the Argent Stand,” he said. “You’ll have to go. We can’t answer the signal fire, and it’s more than likely for you anyway.” He escorted her out of the fence line, glancing back at the blood elf. “Make a truthful report. Commander Falstaav will send reinforcements, whether she likes it or not. We’re dangerously close to losing this camp.”

Laiza summoned her Deathcharger, scowling. “If I wanted to run all over scourge-infested wilderness I would have signed up for that,” she complained. “I was supposed to be with a squad, not scouting.”

Stefan smiled humorlessly. “What else are gnomes good for?” he asked, and smacked her Deathcharger’s rump.

The animal leapt forward with a shuddering neigh of equine fury, and Laiza was forced to wrestle for control, cursing blackly. The zombies still hadn’t adjusted their shambling patterns to protect the hole she’d carved in their ranks, so at least she made the road easily. Argent Stand was past Light’s Breach in the direction she’d already come, meaning she’d have to skirt the road and that unnerving flesh giant’s patrol path. Again.

“If I wasn’t sure before that the Light hated me, I surely am now,” Laiza grumbled, and nudged her mount on. Whatever Necrothirst wanted, she hoped it was important.

The Argent Stand

Clouds hung low and oppressive on the horizon as the death knights passed out of Grizzly Hills and into Zul’Drak. They rode single file with Necrothirst taking point and Tamasi bringing up the rear. Kyladriss wandered in and out of the column of riding knights on all fours, her hackles bristling at anyone who so much as glanced at her.

It was not difficult to keep her controlled as long as there were no enemies in sight. Just the day before, she had spotted a pair of renegade worgen from the pack that had been hers for mere days. Before anyone could stop her, she sprinted for the treeline. Thankfully she was too occupied with killing the worgen to go to ground again, and Necrothirst easily caught up with her. Now if she stopped to sniff something on the side of the trail, Necrothirst called her back before she could get very far.

Saelessa still moved stiffly, but she was better than she had been in the battle. She was getting used to the injury. If Necrothirst had anything to say about it, she wouldn’t have that injury much longer. As much as it pained him to have to look after a kaldorei, he needed her in peak condition. This was a war front, not Azerothian wilderness.

The snow on the ground gave way to packed earth and short, scrubby bits of grass. To their right as they rode were rows of what had probably been crops at one time. Necrothirst could smell troll voodoo from his saddle. Elementals, barely bound by their troll masters, wandered around the crops. They didn’t have the clear blue color healthy elementals would - rather they were dark blue or green, a symptom of scourge taint. If Zul’Drak had ever been a beautiful place, it was a long time before the Lich King arrived.

They rode toward Light’s Breach, the Argent Crusade’s forward base in Zul’Drak. It was a modest camp, surrounded on three sides by a crumbling wall. A defensible position. The Scourge would only be able to overrun the crusaders here if they brought vastly superior numbers.

Vastly superior numbers was what Necrothirst and his knights were there to prevent. There was nothing better than a death knight for thinning out one’s enemy’s numbers - except six death knights. Kyladriss, with her recklessness and lack of fear, probably counted as two death knights.

Crusaders stared at them or backed away as they rode into camp. Kyladriss appeared to be the source of their consternation, and the worgen knew it. She bared her teeth and growled, hunching in on herself and sidling up to Necrothirst’s mount.

The Deathcharger vanished in a puff of smoke as Necrothirst dismissed it, walking toward the paladin who appeared to be in charge. “Necrothirst of the Ebon Blade, reporting. Thassarian sent us as reinforcements.” He reached into one of his bags and produced his written orders, handing them to the paladin.

The human read over the orders quickly, folding them up and returning them. “We’re glad to have you,” he said, although he didn’t sound very sincere. “Drak’Tharon Keep has fallen to the Lich King, and his forces are well entrenched in its walls. They launch raids on our position regularly.”

Epyon sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth, frowning. “We could do without that fortress being in enemy hands,” he said. “Perhaps it would be best if we cleared it out?”

“We’ve tried,” the paladin said dryly. “Not just the Crusade, either. The Ebon Blade sent a handful of their own in there and none of them came back out. Arthas is using it as a new Acherus of sorts, raising troll death knights and sending them after us.”

“Wonderful,” Epyon muttered, gazing at the shadowy figure of the keep on the horizon. “Just what we need.”

The paladin cracked a wary smile. Necrothirst resolved to have Epyon interact with the crusaders for him. He did not deal well with their holy attitude and disdain for the Ebon Blade. “Where are we most needed?” he asked.

The paladin shrugged. “We have enough manpower to hold our position for some time, unless Arthas decides to raise more bezerkers. The Ebon Watch to our east is short-handed since those knights disappeared in the keep, perhaps they will have orders for you. We report in at the Argent Stand. Commander Falstaav is in charge of the forces in Zul’Drak.”

Necrothirst turned that over in his head for a moment. Thassarian had sent him here specifically to assist with communication between the horde faction of the crusade, the Sunreavers, and the alliance faction, the Silver Covenant - but he had also been ordered to assist in the war effort wherever possible. If they were short-handed at the Ebon Watch, it was his duty to send reinforcements.

“Laiza, go check in with the Ebon Watch and report back to me at the Argent Stand.” Laiza nodded and nudged her mount into a gallop, leaving the small camp. Necrothirst turned his attention back to the paladin. “I will take the rest of my forces and report to the commander. It is possible one of us will end up stationed here with you, to protect against the Drak’Tharon threat.”

The paladin nodded, although he didn’t look particularly happy about it. “Go with the Light - er,” the paladin cut himself off, uncomfortable. Necrothirst heard a soft snicker from behind him but didn’t turn to find out which of his knights was taking amusment in the paladin’s floundering. “Er, uh... be safe?”

Kyladriss growled softly at him and Necrothirst elbowed her. She was standing so close that if she had body heat, he would have felt it through his armor. She glared evilly at the paladin and everyone else in camp.

I should get her out of here before she decides that crusaders annoy her, Necrothirst thought, and mounted his Deathcharger again. He signaled the knights to move out, and they rode on.

“Drak’Tharon in Arthas’s hands,” Epyon said, riding beside Necrothirst. He shook his head. “I had hoped for better news when we finally got here.”

“It is not as bad as it could be,” Necrothirst said. “He appears to be using it not as a staging area for an invasion, but as a base to produce more troops. Both are bad, but if he were building an invasion force, Light’s Breach wouldn’t still be there.”

“Necrothirst,” Tamasi said, and he glanced over his shoulder at her. She gestured at Kyladriss when the worgen’s back was turned. “There bound to be quite a lot of people at the Argent Stand. How do you suppose...?”

“If things get out of hand, we can take her,” Necrothirst said. “I believe she respects me.”

Kyladriss looked up at him, then back at Tamasi, narrowing her eyes at the draenei. Necrothirst kicked her pauldron from the saddle, drawing her attention back to him. “You, behave yourself,” he said. “I will not hesitate to lock you up again if you prove to be a nuisance.” The worgen held his gaze for longer than she had since the boat ride to Northrend, but in the end she looked away.

“It is fascinating how similar her behavior is to a wolf, even now,” Saelessa said. “The worgen we locked away long ago had not even a semblance of sanity. You can see that she at least thinks, and possibly reasons.”

Kyladriss growled viciously at the night elf, baring her teeth again. She barked something unintelligible and then went back to sniffing the ground around the hooves of Necrothirst’s mount. “I believe that is her way of saying that she does not appreciate being spoken about like she is a mindless beast,” he said.

Saelessa shook her head. “Of all the people who would develop a soft spot for that creature-”

“I value her as an asset of war,” Necrothirst snapped, his eyes narrowing at the implication that he had a soft spot for anything. Kyladriss let out her barking laugh and skipped away from the kick he aimed at her. “And if she is not careful, her hide will end up on the wall in Acherus.”

The worgen’s laugh subsided into a growling chuckle, and Kyladriss stayed out of range of his boots for the remainder of the ride.

The Argent Stand was a converted troll temple. It was open on the sides - not the most defensible building Necrothirst had ever seen - but it was crawling with crusaders. Arthas would have to be supremely stupid to send a force here.

As they got closer, Necrothirst could see that the crusaders here were being harried by the Scourge. Batlike gargoyles circled overhead, occasionally swooping in low to try and grab an unwary crusader off the ground. Most of the crusaders appeared to be alert, able to fight off the gargoyle before they were grabbed, but Necrothirst could see the sad, broken figures of some who had permanently lost their battle with the Lich King.

When they got close enough, they were greeted with a shout from the dwarven scout standing watch, who immediately rode out to meet them. “State your business!”

“We are of the Ebon Blade,” Necrothirst said, once again producing his orders. The scout looked them over as quickly as the paladin had. Thassarian gave concise orders. “We have come to reinforce your efforts - and I am here as a translator.”

“Aye, so it says,” the dwarf said, sticking Necrothirst’s orders into her belt. “Ye speak Zandali?”

“Fluently.” The other knights rode up to flank him, and Necrothirst saw Tamasi raise a curious eyebrow at him. It was rare to find a night elf who spoke the language of their anceint enemy.

“Good,” the dwarf said. “Th’ troll priests from th’ Sunreavers speak Common passable well, but th’ Zul’Drak natives...” she shook her head. “Can’t understand three words out of ‘em. When they do speak Common, their accent’s so thick ye could slice it with a knife. Follow me.”

Necrothirst followed, shaking his head. He didn’t find the Zandali accent hard to understand at all - it wasn’t that difficult.

The Argent Stand was far busier than the much smaller outpost of Light’s Breach. In the center of the temple, a large space had been cleared. A table stood there covered in maps, some of Northrend as a whole and some of Zul’Drak specifically. A large draenei with glowing purple shoulder armor was hunched over the table. The plates on his forehead and his short horns gave the impression that he had a permanent scowl fixed on his face.

“Commander Falstaav,” the dwarf said, and the draenei looked up. For a moment, Necrothirst could see something that looked very like despair in the back of the man’s eyes. This was someone who had been on the front lines too long, with nobody available to take his place. He needed a rest and he wasn’t going to get one.

“I am Necrothirst of the Ebon Blade,” he said, stepping up to the table. “These are my knights - Tamasi, Saelessa, Epyon and Kyladriss. The sixth member of our company, Lazia, is reporting to Ebon Watch.”

“I would say welcome, but the sentiment would not be genuine,” the draenei said. “It lifts my spirit to see reinforcements.” The scout handed him Necrothirst’s orders, and Falstaav looked over them with more scrutiny than any of the rest had paid them. “You speak Zandali.”

“I do.”

“Excellent. There is a troll shaman here who has been trying to communicate something of urgency, but I’m afraid the Sunreaver portion of my forces have been out on patrol for three days, and no-one has been available to listen. He is getting quite agitated. Perhaps you could see what he wants?”

Necrothirst nodded. “I require a priest to see to Saelessa. She was injured in a... worgen incident.” Falstaav’s gaze sharpened on Kyladriss, who bared her teeth at him. Necrothirst grabbed her by the nape of the neck and shook her. “Not this one, although it would be wise to put word out to your men that she is not to be approached under any circumstances.”

Falstaav shook his head. “I will tell them. The medical tents are set up on the north side of the fortress. They will see to your knight.”

Necrothirst nodded to Saelessa, and she separated from the group. “The rest of my knights?”

Falstaav pointed out at the walled-in, stone-paved area where the congregation would have gathered when this structure was still a temple. “The gargoyles are killing my men two and three at a time. I would appreciate if you would slaughter them with extreme prejudice.”

“Leave it to us,” Tamasi said with a broad grin. Epyon followed her out into the courtyard without waiting to be told, but Necrothirst had to give Kyladriss some encouragement with his boot. It didn’t take much. Once she noticed that Tamasi and Epyon were killing things, she pulled her runeblade off her back and charged into the action with a howl.

“Now for the troll,” Falstaav said. “Hexxer Ubungo, he is called. Over there.”

Necrothirst followed Falstaav’s pointing finger to the troll crouched over a fire, tension in the lines of his shoulders. Necrothirst walked down the temple’s steps to him, his stride loose and easy, trying to appear non-threatening. When he spoke, he spoke Zandali.

“Spirits be with you.”

The troll looked up from his fire, his eyes narrow. “What you think you doin’, your accent is terrible, mon.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken Zandali,” Necrothirst said shortly. “The commander tells me you have a problem.”

“How you be speakin’ my tongue, mon? Last I remember, de kaldorei took a lot of pride in slaughterin’ us on sight.”

“I lived among the Shadowtooth trolls in the days following Kalimdor’s shattering. They named me Kazral.”

“Fitting name for a death knight,” Ubungo said, grinning around his mouthful of tusks. Kazral translated almost directly to Necrothirst. “So! I find de only night elf in de whole of Azeroth who knows his roots.” The troll laughed heartily, slapping his knee at his own joke.

Necrothirst pressed his lips together, scowling. The Shadowtooth trolls had also found endless amusement in the fact that he’d sought refuge with their kind instead of his own, following the days of the War of the Ancients. “Falstaav tells me you have been trying to tell him something for days. If the trouble is truly important, speak.”

“Ubungo not be de only one in trouble, all us be in trouble. De Lich King be raising death knight trolls, but he also have another plan. De spirits here be very powerful, very old. If de Lich King could bring dem under his control, have all dat power at his fingertips...” Ubungo shrugged. “Well, I’d be callin’ dat a bad thing, mon.”

“Arthas is trying to bend the loa to his will?”

“Na, mon. De loa too powerful for him to control while dey still be living. De Lich King, he be killin’ de spirits, and raisin’ dem from de dead.”

Necrothirst felt a prickle travel up his spine. He was a death knight, and he did not scare easily, but the thought of creatures as powerful as troll loa turned into undead shells, controlled by Arthas’s will... “This is more than a problem,” he said. “This could turn the tide of the war.”

“It not like Ubungo not been tryin’ to tell dat useless goat for de past tree days,” the shaman said sourly. “Ubungo speaks good Common, it not my fault nobody understand me.”

“What can we do to stop them?”

Ubungo’s shoulders went tense again, his brow furrowed, and he frowned. “Dere be only one way to make sure de loa never fall into de Lich King’s hands,” he said. “His followers, dey need to kill de loa in a very specific ritual to raise dem right. Loa be dyin’ and rebirthin’ all de time. Dey have to chain de spirit de moment de body dies.” He looked up, meeting Necrothirt’s eyes. “Kazral, mon, de only way to stop him is to kill de loa before he can.”

Necrothirst smiled slowly, a dark expression without humor. Zin’Shalla hummed at his back. “Then I will gather my knights, and we will go kill some spirits.”

The troll pinned him with another sharp gaze, looking him over. “You stand like a troll, mon,” he said. “De Shadowtooth, dey trained you to fight.”

“I learned much from them,” Necrothirst said.

“Good,” Ubungo said. “You be needin’ it.”