Shattrath City

“So many! I did not expect you to take my instructions so seriously.”

Ysiel Windsinger and two other druids watched as Miria and Kaster rolled out the hydra skins they’d collected. For three days, Miria avoided the southeast road, wandering back and forth across the marsh. She took her aggression out on the overpopulating wildlife. Mercifully, Kaster seemed content to let her shoot things. He was unusually silent.

Miria was also quiet. She could tell Naru was worried - the bear stuck close to her, where before she would wander off into the marsh until Miria called her. She tried to care, but found that she couldn’t summon the energy. Finding out the truth about her father drained her. She felt disconnected from the world, wrapped in thick wool. She gazed fixedly at the southeast while Ysiel counted out their gold into a fat purse.

Kaster rode up beside her on his felsteed, nudging her with his elbow. Miria flinched away, glaring fiercely at him, and he put up his hands in a conciliatory gesture - one that was completely ruined by the smirk plastered across his face. “So, hunter... where now?”

The refuge was at a crossroads. The road south led straight to Shattrath, and the road east back to Hellfire Peninsula, to the Dark Portal and beyond back to Azeroth. Miria felt a powerful compulsion to ride east and keep riding until she was safely in the land she’d spent her adult years exploring.

Naru nudged her hoof, snorting. She walked a few paces down the southern road and then sat down, turning to look at Miria over her shoulder. Miria sighed heavily and goaded her mount forward, taking the southern road. She had said she would visit Shattrath before she left, and she meant it - if only to give herself one final reason never to return to her birthplace.

She could hear the druids calling farewells behind her, but did not turn around. She did not want to speak to anyone, much less people full of so much hope for the land. She couldn’t see what they were so hopeful about. She remembered the marsh as it had been before the naga came, before the world shattered. It once was a thriving forest, smelling of moss and clean water. Now it smelled of rot and stagnation. The land of her birth was dead, and all the Cenarion Circle’s efforts to revive it were in vain.

“Not exactly the family reunion you were hoping for,” Kaster said. “I tried to warn you.”

“It would not have mattered if you told me they had sworn allegiance to Kil’Jaeden himself,” Miria said. “I still would have gone to see him. Were you raised by wolves?”

“No,” Kaster said, grinning. “Felhounds.”

Miria scowled, hunching her shoulders as they rode on. She had never met someone who was so... cheerfully unpleasant. It was like Kaster took delight in her every failing, like he was following her specifically to make her angry.

The road south was quiet. The druids went to great pains to make sure their refuge was safe, and that the road between it and Shattrath could boast the same. The last time Miria had traveled this road, it was silently, in the cover of darkness, stealing away from Shattrath in the dead of night to escape the oncoming siege.

“Treize, Miria - stay very quiet. We must get to Zangarmarsh undetected.”

Miria shook her head, throwing her mother’s voice out of her memory. That night, full of fear and uncertainty, had been the last time she saw many of her friends alive. Too many stayed behind in Shattrath - mostly fighters, but they’d also made a difficult decision to leave some noncombatants behind. The orcs would never have fallen for Shattrath’s sacrifice if there had been no women... or children. Her people had suffered so much, and those left behind had suffered most of all. Didn’t the Light care that the draenei’s numbers dwindled with each new disaster? Didn’t the Naaru care?

The spiky, shadowed trees of Terokkar Forest began rearing their heads on the horizon. They were drawing closer.

“What do you suppose we’ll find?” Kaster asked. “Ruins? Orcs? Ruins crawling with orcs. Ogres, too - the orcs love allying with ogres. Ooh, I bet there will be naga-”

It was the final straw. Miria whipped her bow off her back, turning in the saddle to point it at Kaster. Arcane energy hummed around her fingers as she drew the string back to her ear. Her eyes narrowed and her upper lip curled in contempt. “Be silent,” she hissed. Naru growled at the warlock.

Dark, shadowed energy began to gather around Kaster’s hands, and his felhound snapped back at Naru with equal ferocity. “If you want to fight, bring it on,” he said, grinning recklessly. He knew as well as she did that she needed more range to line up a proper shot. He had no such constraints.

They faced each other for a long moment, their pets circling each other, their mounts stamping nervously under their riders’ tension. Miria’s grip tightened on her bow. “You think I won’t?”

“I think you might,” Kaster said. “I just don’t think you’ll win. You’ve seen me in battle.”

Miria shuddered, thinking back to the image of the fel orc running in mortal terror while Kaster wrenched his very soul away. “You’ve seen me as well.” She was gratified to see a wary light come into his eyes, although the grin he sported didn’t fade.

“You won’t accomplish anything by shooting me,” Kaster said.

“It will make me feel better,” Miria said, through gritted teeth.

“Will it?” Kaster said mildly, hands still wreathed in purple shadow magic.

“Damn you,” Miria whispered, slowly allowing her bowstring to go slack. The energy dissipated from Kaster’s hands as fast as it had gathered, and the arcane hum disappeared from her bow. “When someone finally gets sick enough of you to end your wretched life, I hope you twist in the foulest, most demon-infested corner of the Nether.”

“Not very draenei of you, to curse your enemies,” Kaster said loftily, and spurred his felsteed into a trot.

Miria seethed, pushing her elekk to the same pace. Even threats didn’t faze him. What kind of man was this, to go through life purposely antagonizing others and laughing at them when they took offense? It wasn’t a human thing; she’d met plenty of kind, trustworthy humans. Perhaps it was a warlock thing. She didn’t exactly go out of her way to seek their company.

Shattrath’s tan stone walls were starting to become visible between the trees, and every couple seconds Miria glimpsed a shining column of light piercing the clouds. They’d passed out of Zangarmarsh and into the forest proper, and as they cleared a small copse of trees, they stood atop a rise with the glory of the city spreading out below them.

The outer walls, hastily erected before the siege, still showed signs of heavy damage. The rise they stood on overlooked a long bridge, guarded on either side by mounted Vindicators. Despite the state of the walls, what Miria could see of Shattrath’s central structure was either undamaged or rebuilt. The light she’d caught through the trees shone like a beacon from the middle of the city.

Miria swallowed hard, feeling her face get hot and her eyes start to gather moisture. This... this was the city she remembered.

“Are you done having your emotional moment?” Kaster asked.

Miria glared at him and rode forward, passing between the guards on either side of the bridge. “Welcome to Shattrath, sister,” one of them said as she passed. “May the Light embrace you.”

From her vantage point on the bridge, Miria could see most of the city. The stone floors, once inscribed with exquisite detail, were the biggest casualty of the siege. They were broken in large stone chunks, and in many places the stone had been torn up entirely. In its place was packed earth and green grass. Miria took a deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes to let the scents surround her. It smelled like living things, warm earth, and an eclectic mix of food. It was a living, breathing city, not like the run-down waystations they’d traveled through.

Miria dismounted her elekk when they came to the central structure, walking toward it like she was in some kind of trance. The light spilling out from its archways was almost tangible, like a gentle breeze running over her skin. She could hear chiming that was painfully familiar even before she passed through the doorway and saw what was drawing her to this place.

The Naaru in the center of the city chimed in its slow, musical language, like it was speaking specifically to her. She stumbled down the ramp in a daze, completely forgetting that Kaster was still there on her heels. He was saying something, but the chiming drowned him out. Naru nudged her hand, concerned, but Miria ignored her, pulled toward the Naaru in the center of the city like she was led by a string.

Its light washed over her, settling around her shoulders like a comforting cloak. In its steady stream of music, Miria felt the gravity of its ancient mind, its steady compassion. She knelt before it, bowing her head and letting it soothe her tumultuous soul. The tears that had threatened since she found her father finally broke loose, and she sobbed wretchedly, her arms wrapped around herself. Nobody made a move to pull her away from the dais, despite the bustle of activity that continued around her.

“Why did this happen to us?” she asked it, looking up to its shining form.

The Naaru chimed. Rather than speaking in words, it sent her a pulse of sorrow - it felt the plight of her people, perhaps not as keenly as she did, but the Naaru knew their grief. Then it sent her a wave of pure hope, delight at how much they’d rebuilt in so short a time. Miria realized now that what she’d seen across the continent was only possible because of all the effort spent rebuilding this city. With a stable base of operations, now they could branch out to places like Zangarmarsh and Nagrand, to reclaim their homeland.

“I am sorry I doubted,” Miria said, straightening from her kneeling position. Naru leaned against her leg and she gave the bear’s ears a firm scratch. She was smiling. The Naaru chimed at her one last time, a feeling of almost fatherly affection suffusing her. She thought it might be laughing at the notion that it would hold her grief against her.

“Are you done?”

Miria turned to find Kaster lurking outside of the Naaru’s aura, his arms crossed in clear discomfort. She scrubbed the remainder of the tears from her cheeks, but found that she didn’t care that Kaster had seen her emotional moment. “You should speak with him,” she said, still smiling. “It might do you good.”

“No, thank you,” Kaster said sourly. “I know what he would say to me.”

Miria shrugged. “They are Naaru, they are above the petty prejudices we hold against each other. You may be surprised.”

“Doubtful.”

“Suit yourself. I feel the need for a drink, care to join me?” She walked past him, Naru following at her heels, her head held high. She felt better than she had in weeks. The pervading sense of sorrow and dread that had taken hold of her spirit was lessened, and she felt uplifted. She wanted to get back out into the world, to start helping people again.

She made for the lower city at a trot, her hooves echoing on Shattrath’s stone. She didn’t know precisely where the tavern was, but that wasn’t going to stop her - any adventurer who couldn’t find a tavern was a poor adventurer.

The sight that met her eyes took her aback for a moment. Not only were there draenei in this tavern, smiling and laughing and generally having a great time, there were also elves. Not the night elves that had supported their people and sponsored them into the Alliance, but blood elves. The same elves that sabotaged the Exodar, forcing their people to crash-land on Azeroth.

Kaster ran into her back, knocking her forward a little. “What are you standing there for - oh. I see you’ve noticed the Scryers.”

“There are blood elves in my city,” Miria said flatly.

“The Scryers broke away from Kael’thas Sunstrider as he descended into madness,” Kaster said. “They’re all over the place in Shadowmoon Valley - and they’re quite serious about cleaning up their prince’s mess.”

“I thought you’d never been to Shattrath before,” Miria accused.

“I haven’t,” Kaster said. “I have been to Shadowmoon, and I’ve had dealings with the Scryers. They’re quite the scholars, you know. They told me they have a library here - I expect I’ll be spending my hours there, if you’re going to run around having religious experiences with floating windchimes.”

Miria ignored the jibe, cautiously entering the tavern. None of the Scryers seemed to notice her presence. Comfortingly, she noted that the draenei seemed to be giving their blood elf allies a wide berth. She felt justified doing the same.

To her relief, Kaster split off from her to join a table of blood elves. She did not particularly want to explain the warlock following her around like a lost puppy to any of her people she met. They would probably ask her why she had bothered saving his life. It was little comfort that she wondered the same thing, herself.

She took a seat at the bar. “Draenic Pale, please,” she said to the barmaid, and took a large swallow out of the tankard when it was delivered. It had a much lighter flavor than the dwarven spirits she’d been drinking on Azeroth. It tasted like coming home.

Sitting at the corner of the bar, his shoulders hunched and a full tankard of ale cradled between his hands, was another draenei. “Arkanon Poros, my friend,” Miria said to him cheerfully. “Why do you drink alone?”

The draenei jerked, startled, and looked up at her. “They will not have me,” he rasped, and Miria sat straight up at the echo in his voice. He was a death knight - a draenei death knight. She had never seen one.

“A shame,” she said. “I fought beside a Knight of the Ebon Blade not too long ago - he was a skilled warrior and a useful companion in battle. I would think we would need all the help we could get, here.”

The knight’s mouth twisted and he looked down into his tankard. “I don’t deserve their company - after all, if the Light forsook me, why shouldn’t they?”

Miria was reminded powerfully of the Broken, of their bitterness at the way the rest of the draenei treated you. She scooted her barstool closer to the death knight and laid a hand on his arm. “You are no less one of our people now than you were in life,” she said.

The draenei glanced sideways at her warily. “I thank you for saying so,” he said.

Miria raised her tankard to him. “To rebuilding,” she said. “Our home and our people.”

The death knight stared at her raised tankard for long enough that Miria was sure she’d made a misstep trying to extend a friendly hand. Then, slowly, like he had forgotten how, he raised his own tankard and knocked it against hers. Miria drained it quickly and hailed the bartender for another. She felt like celebrating. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Madhav,” the death knight said slowly. “I... why do you drink with me? You are young and full of life. You should be making friends.”

“I am making friends,” Miria said, her cheerful smile never leaving her face. “I am Miria, and my sometimes traveling companion over there is Kaster - if you are lucky, you will get out of here without meeting him. He has horrendous manners.”

Madhav let out a grating chuckle and then stopped, staring at Miria like she was some kind of foreign creature. It sounded like he had not spoken or laughed in a long time. Miria wondered how long he had been sitting there in the dark corner of the bar, speaking to no-one and staring into a full tankard of ale.

Time flew by. Miria found that before long, she was not so steady on her feet. She should have known better than to try and drink with a death knight - the alcohol did not affect him nearly as quickly as it did her, and she matched pace with him. She was in the midst of a giggling fit when she tipped backward, falling off her stool.

Something soft was there to catch her. “Easy, Miria.” It was Kaster’s voice in her ear. “I think she’s had a little too much. I’ll just take her somewhere to lie down.”

Madhav, who still had not lost his bewildered look through an evening of ale and conversation, nodded. Kaster steered her out of the tavern as she stumbled over her own hooves. Naru was growling behind them. “Hush, Naru,” she said, and giggled again. “My bear hates you, you know.”

“I know,” Kaster said. “Come on, it’s not much farther.”

Miria couldn’t see straight, but she followed Kaster’s directions as he steered her through the lower city. In some foggy corner of her mind, she wondered how someone who had never been to Shattrath before knew the layout so well. Naru’s growls got louder and louder as they continued away from the populated lower city toward the Scryer’s rise - not that Miria could tell that’s where they were going.

It wasn’t until the elevator rose without Naru on it that she began to sense something might be wrong. “Naru,” she said.

“Shhh,” Kaster said soothingly, steering her off the elevator. “Not long now.”

“Not long - what?”

“Shhh,” he said again.

The next corner they turned, Miria found herself face to face with an eredar - a succubus. The succubus opened her hand and blew. A handful of red powder flew into Miria’s face - she inhaled some before she could help it and promptly felt the world spin around her. “Kaster - you-”

Kaster laughed merrily and the hairs on Miria’s neck stood up even as her vision faded to black.

Orebor Harborage

There was no direct road from Teldredor to the settlement Miria was told to seek. Their course took them across the boggy terrain just south of Blade’s Edge Mountains. The reaching spines of those mountains cast spiky patches of shade over the marsh and threw their rippling reflections into the water below.

For the first time in their journey together, Kaster neither spoke nor sang. Miria snuck glances over her shoulder at the warlock, watching him ride in the shadow of the mountains, his head thrown back and his mouth slightly open. She hid a smile behind her hand. If he knew that she was watching him gape at the mountain range like a child full of wonder, he would probably try to kill her.

He threatened as much on an almost daily basis - when she annoyed him, to try and unnerve her, and sometimes just on principle, like when he dismounted and promptly sank to mid-calf in smelly swamp mud. Even though they had only known each other for two and a half weeks, and had really only been on speaking terms for four days, Miria was starting to see that he was all threats and little actual malice. He had plenty of opportunities to ambush her on the road, or in her sleep, and yet he had not. Perhaps he truly took the notion of a life debt seriously, or perhaps his loyalty to the Alliance came into play. Miria kept a weather eye on him but no longer jumped when he summoned a demon next to her, and no longer flinched when he unleashed his fel magics.

Kaster shook himself out of his daze and Miria quickly turned to face front again. “We must be almost there,” he said. “Did you get anything out of that friend of yours besides a vague direction?”

“They are due northwest of Telredor along the border of the mountains,” Miria said. “I would say we are getting close, yes.”

Kaster huffed. “You know, we could be making decent money clearing out this swamp, but instead you’re on a wild goose chase-”

“It is not a wild goose chase,” Miria snapped. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose, forcing herself to relax. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as accepting of his eccentricities as she liked to tell herself. His persistent callousness to her situation simply set her on edge. “I do not require you to follow me, after all.”

“I require me to follow you,” Kaster said. “I owe you a debt.”

“I have already forgiven that debt several times,” Miria said.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Kaster said stubbornly. “Look, isn’t that a draenei structure?”

Miria followed his pointing finger. Just sticking out from the surrounding cliffs was the rounded plaza structure of a draenei temple. Miria felt her heart stutter against her ribs and gripped her elekk’s reins tightly. What she could see of the structure made it look like it had been through many battles - or the shattering of the world, which she supposed it had been through. This was the place where she would find her parents, but instead of filling her with hope, she merely felt a mounting sense of dread.

“Well?” Kaster said, bringing his felsteed up beside her elekk. “Are you going, or are you just going to stand there and stare at it? Or if you’ve changed your mind, we could go kill more hydras.”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Miria said, her tone bordering on exasperation. She clicked her tongue at her mount, urging it forward through the swamp. She was here. There was no sense in avoiding the truth. If nothing else, she would be able to give herself and Treize some closure.

Like Telredor and every other place Miria had been since arriving, Orebor Harborage had seen better days. Its outer walls were crumbling, and there were cracks snaking through the plaza and the steps. The temple proper appeared to be built into the mountain, and Miria was willing to lay a bet that the stone surround had saved it from being totally obliterated when the planet shattered.

She dismounted her elekk and it vanished. Naru nudged the side of her leg, sensing her unease, and Miria scratched the bear behind the ears absently. She looked over her shoulder at Kaster, who was eyeing the marsh with distaste from his saddle. “I would appreciate it if you dismissed your... minion for this,” Miria said.

Kaster raised his thick red eyebrows at her. “Afraid of being judged by the company you keep?” he asked.

Miria closed her eyes and sighed. “I am more concerned about the effect of a demon’s presence in the midst of people who have been corrupted against their will by demonic energies. Must you always be difficult?”

“It’s in my nature,” Kaster said, and made no move to dismiss the felhound at his feet.

“Have it your way, then,” Miria grumbled. He is such a child. She mounted the steps up to the temple, ignoring Kaster’s black swearing as he was forced to dismount and follow. It was then that she truly saw what war with the orcs and the shattering of Draenor had done to those left behind.

They were shorter than a draenei, stunted and hunched to an almost human height. A mass of swinging tentacles sprouted from their backs underneath their shoulders, hanging down almost to their misshapen feet. Their bodies were withered and wrinkled, their mouths full of pointed fangs. Miria halted on the top step, clenching her jaw hard. She would not weep for her people, not in front of Kaster, and not when she was sure they did not want her pity.

“Hideous, aren’t they?” Kaster whispered. He leaned in close to her, so close that when he spoke she could feel his breath. “They aren’t worth it. Save yourself the heartbreak, and let’s go somewhere else.”

Miria shoved him away violently. “How dare you,” she hissed. “These people made a great sacrifice, remaining behind to hold the line so we could escape. I owe all of them my life.”

“There are not many who remember that. There are even fewer who are willing to say it aloud,” one of the nearby Broken said. He put down a large knife he’d been using to butcher a marshfang and pulled off his apron, shambling over to the two of them. As he passed Kaster, he curled his lip back over his fangs, baring them at the warlock and the felhound. “You bring strange company here.”

“Kaster owes me his life,” Miria said. “He will not do anything untoward while he is in my custody.”

“Custody,” Kaster snorted. “I’m your traveling companion, not your prisoner.”

“Yes, and I still cannot take my eyes off you for a moment without you running off into the marsh, experimenting with fel-tainted flora and causing explosions.”

Kaster grinned shamelessly, executing a deep, mocking bow. “It’s my pleasure to keep you on your toes. Only think of how complacent you’d be without me here.”

“Hm,” the Broken grunted, turning to Miria. “The unafflicted dare not come near us,” he said. “They seem to think we are contagious.”

“Are you?” Miria asked mildly. Naru shifted at her side, pressing her large bulk against Miria’s legs.

“No,” he said. “However, if you should encounter a strange red mist wielded by the fel orcs of the area, stay well away from it if you do not wish to share our misery.”

Miria’s heart ached. She heard stories of the last siege of Shattrath, and the plight of those left behind. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with guilt that she had not remained behind with the rest of her people, even though she knew she was too young at the time. “I... I do not know what to say. I feel as if I should-”

The Broken was shaking his head. “Do not apologize for the fearful actions of those few survivors who stayed on this planet,” he said. “We are simply happy to know that our people live on and continue to prosper. What brings you to the harborage?”

“I am searching for someone,” she said. “My family did not all escape aboard the Exodar. I have been told that my parents are - that they came here.”

“You were told that your parents had lost the Light and become Broken,” he said shortly. “Yes, I see through your hesitation. It is the kind of judgment we expect.”

“No, that’s not - I merely meant, that’s the information I was given-”

The Broken smiled a wide, fang-filled smile that was probably meant to be friendly but still sent a shiver down Miria’s spine. “Do not stutter over yourself, young one, I know you were too small to remember the last battle of Shattrath City. Even now, I would say you are too young to be adventuring.”

“Our people need me,” Miria murmured, but her words lacked conviction. In the presence of this man, who had given so much and fought so hard to ensure that she survived, she felt like a child.

Kaster yawned theatrically beside her. “This is all very fascinating - draenei and their internal prejudices and all-”

“For the love of the Light, Kaster, be quiet. Nobody wants you here anyway,” Miria snapped.

Kaster put his hands in the sleeves of his robe, and the felhound at his feet pointed its eyestalks at Miria and growled. “Harsh,” he said, but he wore an approving smile. “You’re losing some of that polite polish.”

Miria made an exasperated noise in the back of her throat and turned back to the Broken. “My mother and father are supposedly among your people,” she said. “Korii and Maktu.”

“You are Maktu’s child?” the Broken asked, looking her up and down with his head tilted to the side. “Perhaps you can help him. Follow me.”

Miria swallowed around the lump in her throat as she rushed to follow the Broken’s shuffling footsteps. She felt eyes on her as she moved through the temple and glanced around. Some gazes were hostile, some puzzled, and some fixed on Kaster with a special kind of loathing. The warlock smiled and waved in return, apparently delighting in the attention.

They arrived at a small nook with an anvil set up out front. Several pieces of half-finished mail and leather gear were scattered around the anvil, and Miria could see hides stretched across racks to dry. It was all painfully familiar, reminding her of the times when they lived in the Lower City. “Maktu! You have a visitor.”

“I am closed!”

Miria’s steps halted at the sound of that voice. Even with the grating, raspy undertone, she would recognize it anywhere. “Papa,” she whispered.

“This is boring,” Kaster said, and cupped his hands around his mouth. Before Miria could stop him, he shouted, “Maktu, your daughter’s here to see you! Stop throwing a pity party and come say hello!”

There was a crashing noise from behind the heavy rug that covered the doorway. A swollen, misshapen hand pushed it aside, and a Broken stood outlined in the doorway, the tentacles on his face quivering. “Miria?”

Miria took a hesitant step forward, her hand on Naru’s head. The bear was like a weight of support beside her, and kept pace beside her. “Papa... is it really you?”

The rug came back down to cover the doorway faster than she could blink. “Go away. You do not belong here. Go back to Azeroth where you are safe.”

It felt like her hooves were rooted to the spot. She remembered the day they were separated like it was yesterday - her parents forcing her into the Exodar while she struggled against the strangers who held her, watching the grim determination on their faces as they turned to stave off the blood elf forces. Yes, back then they had been whole, but no matter what happened to them, they were still her parents.

“Well, that’s that,” Kaster said. “He doesn’t want to see you. Let’s get going - if we leave now we can clear out a few more hydras and make it halfway back to Telredor before nightfall.”

Miria ignored him, picking her way through her father’s scattered projects and hide racks to the doorway. She yanked the rug aside and entered, closing it behind her. “I will not allow you to run away from me,” she said.

“I told you to leave,” Maktu said, but he made no move to get up from the cot he sat on. His elbows rested on his knees and he cradled his head between his large, swollen hands. “Why have you returned? We put you on that ship for a reason!”

“Papa,” Miria said gently, sitting down on the cot next to him. She reached out to put her hand on his shoulder and he wrenched away violently. She put her hands in her lap. Naru shoved her head through the doorway, sniffing the bare interior of Maktu’s workshop. Aside from the cot, some spools of thread, and an awl, there was nothing else. “Where is mother?”

Her father flinched hard, and Miria immediately regretted asking. “She is not here,” he said harshly. “She could not bear- she...” he trailed off. Miria did not press him to finish the sentence and finally, after a drawn out moment of silence, he said, “Even though I cannot feel it, I pray to the Light every day that her soul has found a place of peace. She had little of that here.”

Miria felt like the ground beneath her was yawning open, like she would fall through the floor and what remained of the earth into the Twisting Nether below. “How?” she whispered.

“It is easy enough,” her father said harshly. “Due west of here, the land simply drops off into the Nether.”

“I am sorry,” Miria said. “I wish I had known - I wish you had written! Perhaps when we first left, it was not possible, but with the Alliance forces arriving-”

“What would I have told you? That your mother and I had become twisted and withered, foul things cast out by our own people? That they feared us so much we were driven into the wilderness? That we escaped the fall of Shattrath only to be corrupted by the breaking of the world? That it drove her to madness?”

“They told me you left,” Miria said through numb lips.

Her father laughed. There was no humor in it, only bitterness. Naru shuffled over to lay across Miria’s hooves, her presence a blanket of comfort. “Left? Perhaps we would have left willingly, eventually. Our conversion scared them. They thought it was only the survivors of Shattrath that would be afflicted, but now they saw people who had escaped the city before its destruction fall from the Light. Clearly there was something wrong with us.”

“I came back because Treize and I were worried about you,” Miria said. “Three years it has been since the Exodar fled, and no word. I saw him in Azeroth and he said he had been to Shattrath, but had not seen you.”

“Shattrath,” her father said bitterly. “Shattrath is as closed to us as anywhere else.”

Miria shook her head. “Do you not remember the Broken that taught Treize the ways of the shaman? He was not shunned by our people.”

“Because Velen was there to speak for him. Not all of us are former Vindicators. Some of us are simple craftsmen. I am glad to see you are alive, but you only bring yourself heartbreak here. The land is broken, as are its people. There are still vents of fel energies all across Draenor, and any one of them could have the right concoction to turn you into... this. Leave while you are still whole, my daughter, and leave me to my grief in peace. It is enough to know that you and your brother are alive.”

Miria could not think of anything to say. She sat beside her father in silence for a long while, trying to find the words to express how it pained her to see him in sorrow and bitterness. Seeing Hellfire Peninsula was bad, but that had happened long before her people fled the planet entirely. This... she had no idea how to cope with this. Her mother was dead and her father wanted nothing to do with her.

Perhaps it would have been easier if she had not come. She rose from the cot and turned to go, Naru following her meekly. Her father said nothing as she left the workshop, even as she hesitated in the doorway before letting the rug fall behind her.

“Are you done torturing yourself?” Kaster asked. “I could have told you this was a waste of time. The Broken hate everyone.”

“They have a right to,” Miria said quietly. She couldn’t even summon ire at Kaster’s relentless lack of tact. “We should leave them in peace. My people have done them enough wrong.”

“You have a good heart, Miria,” the Broken who led them there said. “I wish more of our people were like you. You must forgive Maktu. He is carrying a deep sorrow.”

“We will make for Shattrath. I want to see the city I was born in. Then I will leave this planet. May the Nether claim it,” she said bitterly, and strode away from her father’s workshop with speed. She felt the sorrow her father was carrying, for now she carried it in her heart too.

Author Brief

Dear Readers,

The in-game versions of Miria and Necrothirst are part of their guild's raiding team, and as a result must get to 90 as quickly as possible. I will be spending all my time and energy leveling and gearing for when the raids drop next Tuesday. Adventurers for Hire is going on a short two-week break until everything is settled. Kyladriss and Kaster must get to 90 eventually, but they are the second priority and I will be able to level them around my writing schedule.

Since the story takes place late in the Wrath of the Lich King expansion, there will be no mention of pandaren, pandaria or monks. That will come much later, after the story moves through the death of Arthas, the Cataclysm, and the fall of Deathwing.

Thank you,
- Emma

Solstice Village

False dawn threw long shadows across Sasha’s modest camp before Laiza and Saelessa returned. Despite himself, Necrothirst started to worry when the horizon turned blush pink and there was still no sign of either death knight.

Finally, Laiza rode into camp on her Deathcharger. Necrothirst stopped pacing around the campfire and strode over to her, his jaw tight. “The worgen?”

“Saelessa is coming with her,” Laiza said. “She’ll need stitches. The beast put up one hell of a fight.”

“I thought that was what the tranquilizer was for,” Necrothirst said, eyeing Sasha sidelong.

The human glared back at him. “It works,” she said. “It’s not my fault if your knights can’t shoot.”

Laiza shrugged. “That’s what it was,” she said. “We had to get close enough to actually stick her with it, and - ah, here they are.”

Saelessa came out of the treeline slowly, the reins of her Deathcharger in her hand. Over its saddle was a thin female worgen, dark gray in color. She wore the tattered remains of a simple cotton dress. Saelessa herself moved stiffly with exaggerated care.

Epyon came forward to gather the worgen, throwing her over his shoulder with little effort. Saelessa’s mount vanished in a puff of smoke, and before she could collapse Tamasi was at her side, drawing the night elf’s arm over her shoulders. “Where are you hurt?”

“My back,” Saelessa said, her voice tight.

Tamasi looked around the camp. Epyon and Laiza stood guard over the prisoner - having two of them there was necessary, especially since Anatoly recognized his wife immediately and looked ready to pounce on Sasha at any moment. Tamasi’s eyes met Necrothirst’s and narrowed. “I require your assistance,” she said.

Necrothirst didn’t move for a moment, staring Tamasi down. The draenei didn’t give any ground. Her words in the firelight of the night rang in his ears - Saelessa was simply a sentinel.

Saelessa was sagging by the moment, and Tamasi pressed her lips together in a thin line, looking like she wanted to take Necrothirst to task but was holding it in out of respect for his station as her commander. Once again Necrothirst was impressed - this time, it was with her loyalty to her sister in death, and her equal loyalty to her commanding officer.

“Very well,” he said grudgingly, coming forward, “but only because it is you that requests it.”

Tamasi didn’t look like she cared why he’d decided to help. She helped Saelessa grab hold of Necrothirst’s arms, until the two night elves stood in what resembled an embrace - Saelessa sagged against his chest, her arms looped around his.

Necrothirst glared down at the top of her head simply out of reflex. He hadn’t been this close to one of his own kind for many long centuries and he only endured it now because, despite himself, he respected Tamasi and she had requested it of him directly.

The draenei ignored his glaring, behaving like there was nothing odd or uncomfortable about the situation. She knelt down behind Saelessa until she was eye-level with the wound and hissed through her teeth. Necrothirst craned his neck so he could see.

Three long gashes laid the flesh of Saelessa’s lower back open so deeply he could see the white flash of bone. “How did you manage to let that thing get behind you?” he asked.

“We thought she was unconscious,” Saelessa grunted. “We - ouch, Tamasi, be careful - didn’t realize the tranquilizer took a few moments to become effective. She lured us in by pretending it was an instant effect, and then as soon as I turned my back on her...”

“Stop talking,” Tamasi said. She was pushing the edges of the wounds together, trying to find the best way to stitch them back together. Unlike a wound on a mortal person, there was no blood flowing from it. Around the edges of the gashes pooled the dark, congealed substance that sat stagnant in a death knight’s veins - blood, but without a heartbeat to drive it. The flesh would not knit together on its own. Saelessa would have to change and maintain the stitching for the rest of her undeath. Tamasi sat back on her hooves and went through her packs looking for the curved bone needle and thick thread every death knight carried with them. One never knew when one would have to re-attach a limb or stitch a wound like this closed.

Saelessa tightened her hands on Necrothirst’s arms and hissed to keep from flinching when Tamasi stabbed the needle into her flesh. While the draenei worked to close the wounds, Necrothirst turned his attention to the group guarding the prisoners. “Is the female awake yet?” he asked.

“She’s coming around,” Epyon said. He stood guard over Anatoly, who crouched on his haunches glaring murder at him. Laiza and Sasha stood over Tatjana, Sasha with her rifle trained on the worgen’s head. Tatjana was indeed moving, stirring a little and sitting up slowly with the heel of her clawed hand pressed to her forehead.

“Kyladriss is our first objective,” Necrothirst said.

“Understood,” Epyon said. His sword was out of his sheath, but he held it down by his side. He was ready to react if Anatoly tried anything, but he seemed to be trying not to provoke the beast.

“Worgen,” Laiza said, and Tatjana’s eyes snapped to the gnome, narrowing in a fierce glare. Laiza was unfazed. “We’re looking for one of our order, a Knight of the Ebon Blade. She was last seen with a worgen - we assume of your pack. They moved in this direction. Have you seen her? Speak!”

Tatjana laughed, a gruff barking noise that sounded not at all human or feminine. “The Lich King will slaughter your order to the last man, and then raise you all again bound to his will. There is no escaping his grasp. The whole of the world will fall-”

“Oh shut up,” Laiza said, rolling her eyes. “Blah blah blah, nobody escapes the Lich King, all hail the frozen throne, whatever. We’ll kill Arthas on our own time. Right now we’re worried about one of our own that’s gone missing.”

For a moment, the worgen’s jaw worked silently. She stared at Laiza in disbelief and snapped her jaw shut, refusing to speak.

“Don’t be like that,” Epyon said affably. He put his sword to Anatoly’s throat. The smile he gave Tatjana might have been called benevolent if he didn’t press the edge of it into Anatoly’s neck and draw blood.

Tatjana twitched like she wanted to go for his throat, but it was Anatoly who spoke up. “They say it is a worgen death knight they seek,” he said.

“Ah,” Tatjana said, her hackles settling slowly. “Yes, I know the one. She followed one of our long patrol scouts in two nights ago. She is quite mad - but also quite powerful.”
“She came to your village?” Laiza asked.

“She took over our village,” Tatjana corrected. She shifted her gaze to Anatoly. “Bores is dead. The death knight Kyladriss leads the pack, now.”

“Bores is dead?” Anatoly repeated, dismayed. “No... he was our best warrior!”

“No worgen is a match for a trained Knight of the Ebon Blade,” Epyon said.

Tatjana bared all her teeth in a vicious smile. “She will get what is coming to her soon enough.”

Saelessa flinched hard, and Necrothirst’s attention was drawn back to the two frost knights. “Hold still,” he said. “It will be even more painful if she sets a stitch in the wrong place because you could not stop moving.”

“It is not intentional,” Saelessa grated out through her clenched teeth.

“If you females would wear breastplates that actually cover your midsection, this would not have happened,” Necrothirst said dryly.

“It is not our fault that our ebon plate is cut for the feminine figure, it’s standard issue,” Tamasi said. “I think it is ridiculous as much as the next knight, but our alternative is commission a breastplate from a blacksmith - are you flush with gold?”

Necrothirst frowned. Gold was something all death knights lacked. Those that were rich in life found that their bankers did not care a whit whether being declared legally dead meant they could no longer access their funds.

“I am almost finished,” Tamasi said, perhaps sensing that Necrothirst was growing impatient. They knew where Kyladriss was now, and he wanted to move before something happened and she slipped through their grasp again. “Only a few more stitches.”

“Hurry,” Necrothirst said. “I mislike what the worgen implies. Something is coming.”

“Do not rush me,” Tamasi said. Despite her words, she did speed up her movements. They had all heard the female say that Kyladriss would get what was coming to her soon - they needed to get to that village.

“Dispatch the prisoners and prepare to move out,” Necrothirst said.

Someone shouted a denial. Tatjana leapt up from her seat on the ground. Anatoly shoved Epyon aside with a bestial roar and picked Laiza up with one hand by the top of her skull. Sasha fired her rifle, and the shot hit Anatoly between the eyes, dropping him like a stone. Tatjana collapsed over his body, howling with grief. Laiza pushed her way out from under the worgen’s body, cursing blackly.

“You didn’t have to do that!” Sasha yelled at him. “I mean, I would’ve shot him anyway but now how am I supposed to know where my sister is?!”

“If she is alive and not worgen, she will be in the village, obviously,” Necrothirst said. Tamasi looped the thread around her finger and snapped it off. Saelessa straightened, her expression pinched and tight. Necrothirst stepped back from her as soon as she stood under her own power, feeling strange. After the first few moments, he hadn’t even noticed she was kaldorei. Seeing her face again reminded him, but he felt only a twinge of annoyance, not the deep loathing that took him over before. “Shut that beast up before she brings the whole pack down on our head,” Necrothirst said, pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind.

Laiza stabbed the worgen through the chest. Tatjana’s grieved howling turned choked and wet, then went silent as her body slumped over her mate’s. Sasha chewed her lip, her face screwed up in a combination of disgust and sympathy.

“Mount up,” Necrothirst said. “We have a knight to retrieve.”

“I want to come,” Sasha said.

“We do not have the time to wait for you,” Necrothirst said shortly, mounting his raptor. “Knights, move out!”

Sasha shouted at them as they rode away, but Necrothirst did not stop. Tatjana’s ominous words rang in his ears. He could feel in his bones that something was not right in this part of the forest. There had to be a reason for the worgen to be there - and a reason for them to be loyal to the Lich King.

He held up his fist, signaling for the death knights to stop, and dismounted his raptor, drawing his sword in the same motion. The sounds of barks and low growls filled his ears. They were on the edge of Solstice Village, and he stepped warily in case there were guards about. To his surprise, it appeared that all the worgen were gathered in the central area of the village.

“Dear Elune,” Saelessa said from beside him. “She’s gone native.”

Kyladriss stood over the crowd of worgen, an impressive figure in her Ebon Blade plate armor. She had her clawed hands laced over the pommel of her sword, which stood upright with its point buried in the dirt. Her head was held high. Other worgen approached her cautiously, with their ears back, exchanging fearful glances as they placed what appeared to be the results of the night’s hunt in front of her. The sun had cleared the tops of the trees, and it reflected off the point of her runeblade as she used it to divide the carcasses of killed prey into different piles. As they watched, she waved her blade toward one of the kill piles, allowing a group of worgen to tuck in hungrily.

“You heard the worgen - she has taken over leadership of the pack. Look, though - they are not as deeply under her control as she thinks.”

Toward the back of the pack, where Kyladriss could not see them, several worgen were gathered around some kind of magical object. None of the knights could make out what they were saying, but whatever they were doing was concluded in a flash of brilliant light that made every worgen in the village turn to look. Kyladriss snarled, waving her blade, and the worgen parted in front of her to reveal the culprits.

“Get ready,” Necrothirst said. “Whatever is going to happen, it is happening now.”

Kyladriss swung her sword over her head, but before she could decapitate the ones that provoked her ire, there was a loud, long howl from the trees. A hulking worg with what looked like a man on its back burst into the clearing, scattering worgen in all directions. The man was translucent, almost transparent - clearly not of the living, at least not any longer.

His presence had an immediate effect on Kyladriss. Necrothirst could see the bloodlust even from where they hid in the trees, and stood from his hiding place as she threw herself at the shade and his worg. His knights broke cover with him as he ran to put his back to Kyladriss’s - the pack was rushing to the shade’s aid, not hers.

“Arugal!” Kyladriss snarled viciously, doing her level best to cleave the shade in two from his crown to his soles with her runeblade. The man laughed. It would have chilled his blood if it didn’t already stand still in his veins, but he concentrated on what was in front of him. His knights formed a loose semicircle around Kyladriss, who was fighting off both the shade and the worg. “Epyon, help her!” Necrothirst commanded, not sparing time to watch and see if the order was obeyed. The pack struggled to break through the death knights’ line, but Necrothirst kept their aggression focused on him while Laiza, Saelessa and Tamasi pared down their numbers.

“We are outnumbered!” Tamasi said. “We cannot keep this up!” She fought with enough ferocity for two death knights, putting herself between Saelessa and as many of her enemies as she could. Saelessa’s strikes were sluggish and pained.

“Kill him or go, Kyladriss!” Necrothirst snapped. “We do not have time for you to play with your prey!”

He did not know whether she understood him or not. The smell of blood, disease and unwashed fur filled the air. He mindlessly parried and dodged blows, striking out with his runeblade and draining health from whoever he struck. He could withstand this for a short while longer, but the pack’s numbers were large, and even he would be overwhelmed eventually.

From behind him, he heard a cry of anguish. Kyladriss let out a vicious, growling laugh, a sound made even more unsettling by the death knight echo to her voice. Necrothirst risked a glance over his shoulder and found that she had impaled the shade on her runeblade. Her bared teeth were inches from the shade’s face as it faded away and dissipated into the morning sunlight.

The influence of Arugal’s shade was broken. The pack of worgen stopped fighting cohesively. Some broke and ran. Some threw themselves on the line of death knights and were quickly dispatched for their troubles. Most turned on each other. Any worgen who had managed to maintain a human form lost it now. It seemed that all semblance of sanity had been removed from them, and they devolved into beasts. Necrothirst kept a wary eye on the in-fighting but turned to face Kyladriss.

She stood staring at the spot where the shade had been, panting heavily, her runeblade still gripped tightly in both hands.

“Kyladriss,” Necrothirst said.

She spun to face him, ears flat, teeth bared, sword at the ready. He stood calmly, stepping up into her space until they were practically nose to nose, staring directly into her glowing blue eyes with his own. She growled. He didn’t move. She raised her sword to swing it at him, and his hand darted out and closed on her throat. He bared his own teeth, still staring into her eyes.

“Necrothirst,” Tamasi said, reminding him that they needed to go. He nodded, not breaking eye contact, indicating that he’d heard her. Kyladriss had not yet yielded to him, and he would not look away until she did. Slowly, her lips fell back down over her teeth, and she lowered her sword. Finally, she shifted her eyes to the side, laying her ears back with a soft whine.

Necrothirst released her throat. “If I have to chase you down and recover you again, I will take it as a sign that your life is too much trouble to maintain,” he told her. Kyladriss’s ears twitched a bit and she glanced at him and away quickly, as if she was saying she understood. He nodded sharply and summoned his raptor. “If we do not reach Light’s Breach by nightfall, we will be late and they will report us to our superiors. Mount up and move out.”

“Are you sure it’s wise to leave her loose?” Laiza asked, eyeing Kyladriss. Kyladriss bared her teeth at the gnome and growled. Necrothirst thumped her pauldron with his fist and she stopped. “Huh,” Laiza said. “All right then.”

“She simply needed an alpha,” Tamasi said, mounting her Deathcharger.

Necrothirst was not so sure, but for now it appeared that Kyladriss would obey his orders. He hoped it would last until Light’s Breach. It would be a shame to have to kill her after all this.

Grizzly Hills

Steam huffed from the nostrils of Necrothirst’s riding raptor, curling up into the cold evening air of Grizzly Hills. It shook its head hard, the feathers from its armor rustling together, and dug its talons into the snow.

The other four death knights rode Deathchargers, undead horses that would go forever if you bade them. No steam rose from their nostrils, nor from the faces of the knights as they rode single file through the icy foothills.

“How can you be certain she came this way?” Epyon asked from where he rode, just behind Necrothirst. “I haven’t seen any tracks.”

“There was a snowstorm last night,” Laiza said from behind him. “Any tracks there were are long gone. We saw her running in this direction, so until we find out otherwise we’ll just assume she went this way.”

“I am more interested to know what a pack of worgen is doing in Northrend,” Saelessa said. “After all the care we took to lock them away in the Dream, they should not be roaming Azeroth at all, much less this far removed from civilization-”

“Never underestimate the ingenuity and academic stupidity of mages,” Necrothirst said, interrupting her. So far he had been able to stand her presence; she rarely spoke, so he could mostly forget she was there. “They were likely summoned by some monumentally bookish idiot who simply wanted to see if he could.”

“You mean you wouldn’t want a vicious army of wolf-men who were likely to turn on you and rip you apart at a moment’s notice?” Epyon asked, his tone innocent. Laiza snickered.

“Quiet,” Necrothirst said. “If they are nearby, we do not want them to pinpoint our location because you were unable to stop talking.”

He glanced back in time to see Epyon make an exaggerated, mocking gesture. Laiza clapped her hands over her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter. Both of them sat straight up in the saddle when they noticed Necrothirst glaring at them.

After Kyladriss disappeared, they returned to Valgarde Keep and were met with profuse thanks from the fort commander. The Vrykul seige was pushed back into their village for the time being, freeing up men to take supply runs up the river. The death knights left shortly afterward to track down their wayward blood knight. Necrothirst did not want to write the report to Thassarian saying he lost her. A day’s ride took them up the river to the border of Grizzly Hills.

Necrothirst wanted to find her and recover her before they were due to report to Light’s Breach in Zul’Drak. If they were late reporting in, a message to that effect would certainly be sent back to Ebon Hold. The trouble, of course, was that they had no idea where the worgen had gone. They didn’t know whether she was still with the other, wild worgen or if she had found a village to slaughter. Normally it would be easy to find an out-of-control blood knight - one would simply follow the path of destruction. The fact that Kyladriss went to ground so thoroughly - and so quietly - made Necrothirst think that she was not as out-of-control as they supposed.

The sun slipped below the treeline, bathing Grizzly Hills in shadowy dusk. Mortal riders would need rest, but Necrothirst and his knights pressed on, riding into the descending chill without feeling it. They skirted the edge of the small mountain range on the southern end of Grizzly Hills, keeping their eyes open for signs of their wayward worgen. So far the ride was quiet, a far cry from the breakneck chase through the woods of the day before.

The night was fully on them, stars peppering the black sky above, when Laiza said, “I don’t like this.”

“I do not ask you to like it,” Necrothirst said gruffly.

“No, I mean, there’s something wrong. This is a forest, right? So we should be hearing owls or something, but I haven’t heard anything for some time.”

“With the size of the dragons on this continent, I’m not sure they even have owls,” Epyon muttered, but Laiza shook her head.

“It’s more than that. I haven’t seen any deer, or squirrels, or anything. It’s like the countryside has been hunted bare.”

Necrothirst reined in his raptor and the column of knights stopped behind him. Without the sound of their hoofs crunching in the snow, he tilted his head and listened hard. Their armor creaked as they leaned forward in their saddles, trying to hear something...

“Dismount!” Necrothirst shouted, and his raptor vanished in a puff of smoke. He whipped Zin’Shalla out of its sheath and stabbed it skyward, a shield of floating bone coming down to surround him. Behind him, he heard a corpse rising out of the ground at Laiza’s bidding. Epyon laid a circle of death and decay at their feet.

“Did you hear something?” Laiza whispered.

“Hush,” Tamasi said, drawing her twin runeblades. “We are being hunted.”

The death knights put their backs toward each other, standing in a loose circle. Now that they were listening for it, they could hear the almost silent rustling of leaves and loose rocks. Tamasi was right - they were being stalked in the darkness.

A snarl and the light of two glowing yellow eyes was the only warning they got before half a dozen worgen leapt from their places. Four came from the shadowy treeline and two more charged over the crest of a low hill. They met the group of death knights in a mass of black fur, long claws and wicked fangs.

Necrothirst struck for the nearest worgen’s heart, opening a long gash across its chest. The beast howled and retreated a bare foot before going for him again, another worgen attempting to overwhelm him from the side. He parried, keeping his sword between him and their claws. Tamasi and Saelessa were contending with a pair of female worgen behind him. To his right, Laiza and her ghoul danced around a rangy grey male. Epyon and Necrothirst stood shoulder-to-shoulder, taking on the remaining three at once.

“Don’t kill them if you can help it!” Necrothirst shouted. “See if you can force them to retreat! We can follow them back to their lair!”

“Now you tell me,” Laiza grumbled, yanking her runeblade out of the rangy worgen’s chest. Her ghoul fell upon the corpse immediately, ripping into it greedily. Necrothirst parried a blow from the worgen he’d wounded and swung his sword over his head, his teeth bared. The blow separated the worgen’s head from its shoulders, its headless corpse collapsing at Necrothirst’s feet.

One of the females barked, and the remaining four worgen broke and ran into the night. Necrothirst lifted his hand and summoned his raptor, snapping its reins. The mount took off after the worgen. Hoofbeats behind him told him that his squad followed on his heels, but Necrothirst didn’t dare take his eyes off the worgen. Night made it difficult to track the dark shapes as they flitted in and out of the trees.

He raised his gauntleted hand and gestured sharply to either side. Tamasi and Saelessa peeled off to one side, Laiza and Epyon to the other, attempting to come up beside the worgen and flank them. This would work a lot better if we had a place we were herding them to-

The sharp crack of a rifle broke through the sounds of chase, and a moment later Necrothirst’s raptor leapt over the fallen corpse of a worgen. “Filthy beasts!” someone shouted - a young, female voice. “Get back here so I can shoot you!”

Necrothirst’s raptor skidded to a halt, his death knights fanning out behind him. The source of the voice was a human girl, perhaps thirteen. She gripped a rifle in white-knuckled hands, her lip trembling as Necrothirst dismissed his raptor, his booted feet crunching in the fallen tree needles. “Stay back!” she said, leveling her rifle at him. “I know how to use this and I’m not scared to!”

“Calm down, kid,” Laiza said, dismounting her Deathcharger. “We’re with the Ebon Blade, not the Scourge.”

Tamasi nudged the fallen worgen with her hoof, turning him over. She let out a low, admiring noise when she saw the killing shot. The girl’s shot had hit him in the chest, right over the heart.

“You do know how to use that,” Epyon chuckled. “A heart shot on a moving target in the dark? Who taught you to shoot like that?”

“My father,” the girl said defiantly. Her lip still quivered, but she slowly lowered the rifle, apparently accepting that she wasn’t about to be killed and turned into a banshee.

“What are you doing in the woods by yourself at night? Northrend is a dangerous country,” Necrothirst said. He shouldered past the girl, ignoring her twitch of protest. Behind her was a watch tower that looked like it was abandoned save for her small campfire. “Where is your father?”

“He’s dead,” the girl said flatly. “The worgen killed him.”

“Ah,” Necrothirst said, regarding her with his cool blue gaze. The steel in her eyes now made perfect sense. “So you have come here to avenge him? One small girl against a pack of worgen?”

“I’m a good shot,” the girl said stubbornly. “I’ve been dealing with them as I can. I even captured one.”

“What is your name?” Saelessa asked. She sheathed her swords and came to stand next to Necrothirst. He took a step to the side and turned away from her.

“Sasha,” the girl said, not noticing or just ignoring the subtleties between the death knights. “I used to live in Solstice Village before... before everyone started changing.”

“Changing?” Saelessa asked. Necrothirst looked around the encampment. He was more than happy to let Saelessa coddle the girl if that is what she so desired.

“Into those,” Sasha said, indicating the dead worgen with her rifle. “We didn’t know, at first. People started acting kind of strange. One of them lost control in the town square and father shot it - that was when - that was when-”

The girl stopped talking, apparently unable to continue. So the worgen curse had slowly spread through the village without their knowledge, and the girl’s father was torn apart by the pack for what he thought was defending his people.

“Tragic, but in the past now,” Necrothirst said. “Take me to this prisoner.”

Saelessa speared him with a cold blue glare, but Sasha wiped her eyes and straightened, clearing her throat. “This way,” she said.

It was then that Necrothirst noticed the man sitting in the shadows beside Sasha’s campfire. Sasha approached him warily, her rifle trained on him. He ignored her, watching Necrothirst approach with apprehension in his eyes. When they stopped before him, the man bared his teeth in a bestial smile. “So you have finally accepted your fate is to join the Scourge,” he said. “Good.”

“I haven’t accepted anything,” Sasha snapped. “They’re Ebon Blade.”

“Traitors,” the man growled. “The Lich King will have you-”

Necrothirst’s blade was off his back and at the man’s throat in a heartbeat, his cold eyes holding the human’s over the length of the blade. The man growled in the back of his throat and for a moment a flickering red glow lit up his eyes. “Interesting,” Necrothirst said. “The other worgen I encountered did not seem to be able to speak. They certainly did not take human form.”

The man said nothing. Sasha glanced between him and Necrothirst and licked her lips. “His name is Anatoly,” she said. “I know him from our village. I was able to catch him with a tranquilizer dart the other day, but I haven’t been able to get him to say anything useful. Those beasts have my little sister Anya in the village still, and I need to find her-”

“If she is in the village, she is either worgen or dead,” Necrothirst said, taking his sword away from the man’s throat. “And if you captured this thing days ago, he does not know anything of use to me.”

Sasha glared at him, her grip going white on her rifle again. “She’s not dead!”

“Believe what you will,” Necrothirst said. “You, beast. You have not seen a worgen death knight?”

“Worgen death knight? I would know if any of our village was selected by the Lich King for such an honor,” the man said. “You’ve spurned his generosity and you will pay-”

Necrothirst raised his sword again and the worgen’s teeth clicked together. “We must capture another one,” he said. “One who has met with the pack more recently.”

Sasha dug through her packs and produced a tiny needle fletched with small feathers. “This is my last dart,” she said. “Anatoly had a wife when he was still human-”

“She is still my mate!” the man snapped, and Necrothirst put his sword to his throat again. He fell silent.

“As I was saying, Anatoly’s wife is named Tatjana. If you capture her, I’m sure we could make them say something useful.”

Necrothirst smirked. “Rather bloody-minded for such a young girl,” he said. “Very well. Laiza!”

The gnome broke off from where she was speaking with Epyon and saluted sharply. “Yes sir?”

“Take this dart and recover a female worgen by the name of Tatjana. You may have to scout the encampment for some time before you figure out which one she is. Be careful with the dart, the girl says it’s her last one.”

“Yes sir,” Laiza said, and waved Saelessa over. They exited the circle of firelight together and were swallowed by the shadows of the forest.

Necrothirst sheathed his sword and settled down by the fire. “Now we wait,” he said. “If you value your life, you should hope your mate has something useful to say.”

Anatoly growled again from across the fire. Sasha got up, muttered an excuse about keeping watch, and left the firelight. A moment later, he heard Epyon’s low voice exchanging conversation with her.

“Remarkably resilient for a young one, isn’t she?” Tamasi asked, sitting down next to him. She pulled one of her runeblades from its sheath and fished a whetstone from her packs, setting about sharpening the blade. “Humans never cease to surprise me.”

Necrothirst grunted. The girl was young, but she was a good shot and she seemed to be handling herself well. He had campaigned with worse.

“I have a matter that I wish to speak to you about,” Tamasi said when she realized Necrothirst was not going to answer her. “Saelessa.”

Necrothirst glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but she merely continued to sharpen her blade. “What about her?”

“You act as if she carries Plague every time she comes near you.”

“Does it trouble you?” Necrothirst stared into the fire, occasionally glancing at the worgen sitting on the other side of it. He made no move to escape, simply watched them.

“We were raised in death very near one another. We have become like sisters. I would like to know what she has done.”

Necrothirst was silent for a very long moment, watching sparks leap from the fire onto the bare earth around it. “She has done nothing,” he finally admitted with difficulty. “It is simply an old wound.”

Tamasi ran her whetstone down the length of her sword and then paused, tapping her hoof against the dirt. “I have made it a personal policy not to pry into the past of my fellow knights,” she said.

“A good policy. You should keep it.”

Tamasi shook her head, firelight reflecting off her horns. “She has done nothing to you personally, yet every time you see her it is like you are barely containing your rage. Is it a quarrel with your people?”

“You should stop now, while your head is still attached to your shoulders,” Necrothirst growled.

Tamasi shrugged. “Simply know that I understand old wounds. I have many.” The draenei sheathed her first sword and drew her second. “Our people, too, were betrayed by our own.”

“Do not presume to understand me or my past,” Necrothirst said.

“I do not mean to,” Tamasi said peaceably, continuing to sharpen. “You misunderstand my intent. I came to determine whether there was an improvement Saelessa could make, but I understand now that it is simply her species you disagree with. Might I remind you that you are still kaldorei?”

“I am a death knight,” Necrothirst snapped, rising abruptly from his seat by the fire. “No more. I hold no allegiance that I held in life. I fight for the Ebon Blade. That is all.”

“Very well,” Tamasi said. Many would have immediately fallen silent, wary of his temper, but she acted like his outburst had not troubled her at all. Necrothirst was unused to dealing with someone who had as many years as he - someone who was not ruffled by displays of emotion. He strode past the worgen out of the firelight, putting the man at his back and staring out into the night with the sounds of Tamasi sharpening her sword ringing in the silence. A long moment passed before she spoke again. “Saelessa was simply a sentinel. She had no say in the decisions of night elf command. It is unfair to blame her for them.”

Necrothirst did not answer. Many had disagreed with the decisions of night elf command, but none had spoken out. Saelessa was as guilty by her silence as command was for their decisions. The words of one draenei could not soothe thousands of years of rage and hatred, and Necrothirst would not entertain them.