”They are spies!” the banshee queen snapped.
The surrounding four pale faces were impassive, their red eyes fixed on her. They had been seated in this improvised conference room for about an hour, seated on mismatched chairs around a cracked table. None of them felt tiredness in the way that would normally call for being seated but Sylvanas was convinced that acting as similarly as possible to what they would have done in life helped to keep them all steady. Even such a simple thing as sitting down around a table to discuss. Standing up signalled impatience, hurry and possibly confrontation all too easily, and that was certainly not something she had time for between them. Although she was aware that her latest outburst was not helping in that regard.
Sylvanas took a deep breath she did not need, a stupid thing that still tricked her body into calming down just through the memory of what breathing deeply was like. Or so she reckoned. She had asked these four of her most trusted rangers to speak their minds and she wouldn’t disrespect them by responding with nothing but anger and dismissal. The general who let others lead in her stead was a fool but the general who failed to listen to and ask for others advice was just as big a fool. This was not Sylvanas official council of war, or rather what was growing into being that, but an informal and more familiar gathering among the rangers exclusively for her own advice. Nothing would need to leave the room and no one would be held to what they had put forth as suggestions, that was their constant agreement as it had always been, in life as in death.
Areiel, Anya, Velonara and Kalira waited with patience for her to gather herself until Areiel continued her reasoning.
”Dark Lady, we have gone through this twice now. I stand by my assessment that if these dwarves are enemy spies they are an exceedingly poor choice. Their mere presence has drawn enough attention to hinder any realistic attempt at gathering hidden information about us.” she said with the calm voice of her old self who had instructed the new ranger Sylvanas in a different age.
Sylvanas stared into the table. Areiel was right, infuriatingly so. They had been over this already. This meeting was going in circles.
”But their ludicrous story, Areiel? Emissaries from some vaguely far away dwarven realm? How are we supposed to believe that? No envoys or even messengers have returned from anyone we have tried to contact. Nobody wants anything to do with us.”
”From what little we know at the moment our envoys never even reached their intended destinations, but this so called Scarlet Crusade caught them. And they don’t pause to ask questions, any undead is just as bad as the next.” Kalira pointed out.
”Dark Lady?” Anya asked and waited patiently to have Sylvanas’ full attention. ”Are you not focusing on the wrong question here?”
Sylvanas was about to snap again but forced herself to keep quiet. Anya could be – was – the worst of all possible obnoxious subordinates at times but when she spoke up in her serious tone you had best listen very carefully. It was easy to underestimate the publicly reserved, quiet ranger but when she thought hard about something Anya was one of the wisest councillors Sylvanas had ever known. She could also guess Sylvanas’ thoughts and mood eerily well. Sylvanas had never had second thoughts about her decision of making Anya a lieutenant.
”Why do we need to be so concerned with what their intentions are? These visitors are under guard, they pose no significant threat to anything and they are not in a position to cause us any noteworthy hindrance. No matter their possible intentions, wherein lies the danger?”
Anya had a point, Sylvanas admitted. They had argued back and forth over something that was in itself a trivial matter – two passing travellers talking apparent nonsense.
It was just the trivial little other matter that these two were the first and only living people they had encountered that had not displayed outright hostility towards them. And she couldn’t get that thought out of her mind.
”They have been quartered and placed under guard. What about supplies - food and clean water, do they have access to that?” Sylvanas asked.
”Yes, but not much.” Kalira replied.
”They did have a good deal packed, all dried like field rations for a long trek, but we have been scouting for drinking water and sooner or later we’ll have to hunt if we want to keep them alive.” Velonara reported. ”We never expected to have to see to living people in the city after all.”
”Well, that is telling, isn’t it?” Anya mused in a low voice. ”We don’t even have food for the living and expect them to be friends?”
”I would settle for neutrality.” Sylvanas muttered but Anyas words still left an uncomfortable silence.
Areiel rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms. ”Well, I see clearly that this issue will haunt us until we have resolved it so let’s get on with it, then. Sylvanas, why would they be spies? What mad scheme would that be?”
Sylvanas groaned inwards at Areiels terrible puns – those had certainly haunted her ever since she had been Areiels apprentice – but for those very same reasons she could also be sure that Areiel meant no disrespect either by her occasional familiarity or her directness. She spoke her mind as a ranger to another. Belore preserve them if they ever ceased doing that. Not that Belore had been preserving them in any particular way.
Sylvanas tried to move past her instinctual conclusions and consider Areiels question in honest. Why indeed would someone send a pair of such unlikely and ridiculously apparent spies to operate amongst an undead nation?
”I have no good answer. Some form of destabilising scheme?”
Sylvanas could hear Areiel failing to hide her snicker and shot her a stern glare.
”Well, we had best be careful then, Dark Lady, when just the very arrival of those dastardly infiltrators threaten to undermine us and set us bickering against each other.” Areiel seemed to sober up the next moment though. ”In all seriousness, there are many ways, mundane as well as magical, that a willing or unwilling individual could be used as someones living trap, or living projectile for that matter. And if these dwarves backpacks had been filled with goblin land mines when Kaliras squad apprehended them I would have been the last to laugh.”
There were also quite a few ways to affect or alter a seemingly freed undead that the Scourge could very well start using to give her patrols a nasty surprise. Sylvanas set the thought aside for the moment.
”If we try this hypothesis,” Areiel continued briskly ”who would have the interest in undermining our quite modest nation while lacking the means or interest to do so in a more direct and infinitely more effective way? And don’t start about the Alliance, they would have a civil war on their hands if they sent dwarves on that kind of suicide mission. Even I am aware of that.”
”Varimathras?” Velonara suggested.
”How would he have gotten his rotten claws on a pair of outlandish dwarves of all things?”
”What do we even know about what dreadlords are capable of?”
”Yes, but portal magics? That is an entire school in itself and the dreadlords were ignorant of the Legions defeat for weeks. Wherever they can go on their own, it’s not all across Azeroth at least.”
Sylvanas felt her irritation boiling under the surface like a persistent headache threatening to return. This wasn’t helping her anymore and she couldn’t rightfully expect her rangers to come up with answers based on nothing.
She dismissed her rangers, thanking them for their advice. She needed time to think.
Sylvanas walked absently through the paths of the Undercity with two of the rangers on guard duty shadowing her discreetly, or as discreetly as they could considering that they tried to stay out of the way of the very one who had trained them. She climbed the stairs and ladders leading to the Lordearon Keep and the ruins of a stair by which one could still scale the tallest and least ruined tower to look down on what had once been the thriving city beneath.
It was insane, in a way. Somewhere down there in some less ruined building resided the very thing she had spent so much effort trying to find; potential living allies. And here she was, keeping them under lock and key and with a ranger squad on rotating guard duty for fear of the possibility that they were spies or saboteurs with some hidden agenda she and her rangers were unable to anticipate.
But in truth, what other reasonable explanation was there?
She couldn’t keep them here. She didn’t dare to.
But she couldn’t ignore her rangers either. She didn’t have anyone or anything else left that she could trust.
***
Sylvanas managed to distract herself with furious work for two days, or more precisely two days and nights. She did not need to sleep and had no interest in finding out if she could. She could very well imagine what kind of nightmares that would be waiting for her if she found herself able to.
She had made up her mind and summoned the two dwarves again. Now she leaned back in the uncomfortable throne once more and contemplated how she would proceed with this.
”You claimed to be representing one of the dwarven kingdoms of Azeroth, correct?”
”Not on Azeroth as such, as far as we know, but we have yet to find out exactly where our homeland is situated in relation to Lordaeron. Our journey here was somewhat irregular.” Runar replied.
So, they still persisted with this inane tale.
”In other words, I would be negotiating with a head of state neither I nor anyone around me has heard of, ruling a kingdom lost even by its envoys and unable to engage in any meaningful trade or other exchange for the very same reason.” Sylvanas remarked condescendingly with a raised eyebrow.
”I could hardly have summed it up better myself, my lady.” the dwarf grinned.
Sylvanas was taken aback by the response. Was he completely insane? Or was this some sort of distraction?
She signed to Anya to search the surroundings, which in this context meant sweeping the Keep for intruders. The dwarf would of course note her hand signs but not be able to decipher them.
”So you are either an idiot wasting my time with jests or your purpose here has little to do with your profession. Which leads us to the presumed other realm you did mention previously. Midgard?” Sylvanas intoned darkly.
”Indeed, my lady. We are not quite sure what it is or how to reach it – as have been obvious – but it is described as a place of many wonders and myself and Halvdan are looking for it. We do carry every needed authority to negotiate on our kings behalf but with the current state of affairs such endeavours are at most of secondary importance.”
”The name tells me nothing. I do however know about a region of Azeroth with similar sounding names. How much do you know about the frozen continent of Northrend?”
The blank looks the dwarves exchanged with each other were answer enough.
”You have much to learn in that case. I can tell you this much though, Northrend is the most hostile place in Azeroth and you stand no chance of even getting close to it on your own, nor do you stand much chance of getting anywhere else without my help. Lordaeron is beset by its enemies on all sides except the sea and no ships sail to or from it. Our foes will not hesitate to slay you on sight simply for being in the vicinity.”
Runar sighed. ”Why am I not surprised?” Straightening his posture he eyed Sylvanas curiously. ”Unless my instincts have dulled considerably this is the time where some kind of relatively more appealing offer is made, correct?”
”My terms are these.” Sylvanas declaimed. ”My rangers will guide you through the enemy lands south to the city of Dalaran, home to the Kirin Tor mages. We will provide you with equipment, arms, provisions and as much gold as you can carry from Lordaerons treasuries. In exchange for this you will deliver my letters to the leaders of Dalaran and after that travel to the dwarven kingdom of Khaz Modan and its capitol of Ironforge to do the same. Travelling from Dalaran to Khaz Modan will be considerably easier so long as you have the gold to procure transport. Once you have completed the tasks you will be in a kingdom that will likely view you as kin and from where you stand a better chance of travelling to Northrend if that is your wish.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
”Intriguing.” Runar said in a businesslike voice that betrayed no emotion beyond polite interest. ”And what would the naturally unappealing alternative happen to be?” he asked dryly.
”You brave the hostile forces besieging us without my aid.” Sylvanas stated harshly. ”You attempt to cross the sea on your own. You remain in my city, if I allow it, among my people who do not drink or eat and care nothing for growing crops.”
And with a dreadlord who you may be reporting to or unwittingly be a pawn of, she thought as both dwarves eyed her intensely, their expressions surprisingly hard to read. She met their gaze and to their credit they did not look away from her burning glare.
She could see the dwarves turn towards each other and exchange…something…between them certainly. After a mutual nod, Runar turned back towards Sylvanas.
”Acceptable.”
Then the dwarf held out his hand.
Sylvanas was almost amused. You did not shake hands with queens, especially not infamous banshee queens. She rose briskly and descended the four steps to the floor to grasp the dwarfs forearm like the rangers did amongst themselves and the few they considered equals, because why not? This was as much of a farce of royal grandeur that anyone could ask for already and Sylvanas had never been much impressed with the stiff etiquette of elven nobility anyway.
This whole enterprise would be a waste of time and resources but at least it had offered some momentary distraction. And it would appeal to her rangers to cling to this delusion that it was sincere. And they mattered infinitely more than some gold collecting dust somewhere in the lower vaults.
Maybe this course of action would also confuse Varimathras, who would surely expect her to either buy into the ruse or behead the dwarves at once. Yes, that would be a small gain.
Actually, there was the possibility that the intention was to make her to kill the dwarves and then put it forth as some sort of propaganda against the Forsaken diplomatic efforts. Farfetched, but possible.
Runar was apparently not done.
”Now then, if we are going to act as diplomatic envoys we will require some measure of context. What has happened in Lordaeron lately and why are you in this situation?”
”My ranger captain Areiel will brief you about what you need to know.” Sylvanas had no wish to go into details herself and she would trust Areiel to decide what to share and what not.
”Excellent. May I inquire if you would like to share something of your own past, my lady? And perhaps your ideas for the future Lordaeron, provided these present hostilities could be dealt with? It would of course not necessarily have to be right now.”
Sylvanas clenched her jaw tightly. Insolent damned dwarf! Her own history was the last thing she wanted share with some nosy stranger and absolutely the last thing that she wanted presented to the Alliance.
”I will not insist, my lady -” the insolent dwarf in question said apologetically ”- but from a purely practical point of view I expect that the that other nations will wish to know the queen they deal with and her motivations.”
It was logical, that couldn’t be denied.
Curse his logic.
”I am the queen of Lordaeron and the Forsaken are my people. That is all they need to know.”
”Very well. We will do what we can with the information we have. Is there at least some kind of library or archive left in this city that I and Halvdan could go through to familiarise ourselves with Lordaeron and the surrounding nations? Do you have access to maps of our intended routes?”
”Areiel will show you what is left of it. You have one week while my rangers gather supplies and prepare for the journey.”
***
Alina wandered the Keep, off duty.
It was a weird feeling. What was she supposed to do now? What did you do when you were…dead?
She had used to do so many things, used to like so many things. The time off and the free weeks had never lasted longer than an eyeblink. But what did it matter now? She didn’t tire any more, at least her body didn’t seem to, and she would be just as agreeable to take on a couple of more shifts as anything else. But her lieutenant Amora was adamant in her own amicable manner that Alina would take time off like everyone else. Alina hadn’t met Amora much in life but she guessed that she would have liked her.
She knew that many of the Forsaken attempted to recreate whatever they could of their earlier lives. Much of it was practical in nature, such as taking up their former trades to produce whatever their little nation needed, but some things were utterly illogical like the tavern that had sprung up in a rickety shed by the market square. Patrons who did not need to drink shared tankards of hot water before a fire they did not need.
Far more relevant seemed the apothecaries – former alchemists, surgeons and priests – who had formed something of a guild or order, calling it the Royal Apothecary Society of all things. They were attempting to provide what counted as healing and medicine amongst the Forsaken and find ways to counteract the degradation that most of them seemed to suffer from. But like anything else, they had too little to work with and could only provide the most basic procedures, many times literally stitching together their patients when they were equally literally falling apart. Alina knew she should probably feel more sorry for the plight of her unfortunate new kin, and objectively she would be the first to voice her opinion that the situation was critical and acute. She just couldn’t call forth any particular emotion to accompany that statement. It was all dulled, dampened inside her.
Many of them would give all they had to trade places with Alina. Her body did not rot and so long as she drank something regularly she couldn’t see any adverse effects whatsoever, not even a wrinkle anywhere. She would trade her body with someone who could get more out of it, she supposed, but would that someone be able to draw a bow as surely as she could or read the ground as well as she did? Would he or she be able to protect the Forsaken as good as she objectively knew that she could with the capabilities she now had? Alina did not think so. And so long as she could do her part by putting her body to the best possible use, she could find it in herself to accept that she possessed what most did not and endure the empty days and nights of her current existence.
It was just the time off that she didn’t know what to do with.
She saw a light in the library. It lay in a remote part of the Keep that ad suffered the least damage, being of lesser military importance. It wasn’t too common with lamps lighted among the Forsaken, both due to their sparse resources and many of them having improved night vision compared to when they were alive. Alina wandered in that direction, thinking that she might as well go there as well as anywhere else.
The library was under watch by a couple of other rangers who nodded to Alina but otherwise minded themselves. A warm light shone out into the outside corridor through the open door. It would have looked rather inviting, Alina reckoned. Inside were almost a dozen lanterns set up, but no candles or open fires apart from in the fireplace where it crackled merrily. The two dwarves were sitting by a table buried under piles of books and papers. They appeared to be sorting through them, scribbling on lists with some charcoal pens someone had managed to dig up.
They looked up and offered good afternoon, although it was really more like evening by this time. Perhaps they had been there for quite some time. Alina shrugged and answered the same indifferently. She would show some manners at the very least, dead or not. She sat down in a corner watching them work. It was something to do at least, and it wasn’t like she had found anything better to do.
The dwarves were systematic in their work, she had to givet hem that. They had spread out a couple of large maps across the middle and were apparently cataloguing the books and notes based on regions and subjects covered. They exchanged murmured comments on occasion but otherwise went through their task in silence. Sometimes one would put a pile of books back on their shelves and bring another batch to go through. Alina had the distinct impression that they had done this before.
***
Amora kept being immovable and Alina had to find out what to do with her hours off the next day and the next. She returned to the library. At least there nobody would pester her with suggestions of pointless pastimes, she reasoned.
She supposed she would have found the dwarves project vaguely interesting in life. They had made noticeable progress these last two days. They had finished their cataloguing and were going through specific content as far as Alina could tell.
They had also begun to ask Alina questions from time to time, generally about Lordaeron. She supposed it made sense but honestly she didn’t know particularly much about the country she now inhabited. Or haunted, or whatever.
Apparently satisfied with their geographical research for the time the dwarves shifted their focus to Lordaerons recent history. They had been given some background information, Alina could deduce, that they were doing their best to fill in by going through the kingdoms archives from the past year or so. She almost smirked when she heard the fair-haired one, Runar, quote some of Grand Marshal Garithos missives and notes and the dark one, Halvdan, offer his opinions of the quality of the grand marshals leadership. Particularly his xenophobic views of elves and dwarves of the alliance earned some very visible scorn. Alina wondered quietly what the dwarves would think of Orthmar Garithos’ end at the hands of Varimathras by Sylvanas’ order.
Like most archives, Lordaerons was sorted chronologically and the further you went the older the correspondence. Alina wondered for a moment why they wouldn’t ask her more about the Third War and the kingdoms fall as they read. Then it dawned on her that the dwarves apparently focused their studies on Lordaerons relations and correspondence with other kingdoms, which was reasonable enough for supposed envoys. She wondered if the dwarves had fully grasped how complete the kingdoms devastation had been. Then again, the strictly military matters would have been kept inside the kings close council and army unless the situation was exceedingly dire, and the fall of the kingdom after Arthas betrayal had come swiftly. They had not had the time to call for aid. Garithos amount of correspondence might at first glance suggest a more sensible policy in that regard, but their content was more about reminding the world about his new and august status and the ineptitude of the lesser races than laying foundations of cooperation with the rest of the Alliance.
This was…odd. Alina almost found herself caught up in their studies. She would have found it rather interesting in life to see what the two would find out and what they would make of it.
They had found something, it seemed. Runar beckoned Halvdan over.
”Look at this. It’s a few years old, seems like a draft, but it was still archived. Some sort of marriage contract.”
”Marriage contract? What the…” Halvdan mumbled.
”The proud kingdoms and so on of Kul Tiras and Lordaeron have this day agreed…to wed until the end of their days and whatever…Runar skimmed through the introductory ceremonial formalities while reading out aloud. ”…princess Jaina Proudmoore of Kul Tiras to prince Arthas Menethil of Lordaeron…”. He glanced through the rest but apparently found nothing noteworthy.
”There’s that name again. Who are these people?” Halvdan mused.
”Lady Alina? May we trouble you for a moment? We are coming across a name that appears to be of importance but a lot of details appear to be left out, or even struck from the records. Would you be able to tell us more about a prince of Lordaeron named Arthas Menethil?”
Alinas knuckles would have whitened where they grasped the armrests of her chair, were it not for the fact that they were already pale as snow.
She watched her fellow rangers being overrun one by one as the gargoyles began to descend from the sky.
Alina faintly registered the sharp crack of her grip crushing the wood to splinters.
A rush of air to her side was all the warning she had when a gargoyle made a dive for her and she rolled away on the ground reflexively.
A scream drew her eyes to the sky to see Loralen, who had watched her back, writhing in the gargoyles claws before it dropped her over the Scourge masses on the ground.
”Go! Run!” Alina shouted, and didn’t know if it was to her rangers or the dwarfs.
Her banshee form boiled and fumed behind and inside her. Clenching her fists and curling into herself she caught a last glimpse of the two dwarves hurrying for the door.
Alina Wailed. The walls shook, and books and scrolls flew across the room.
She lost track of time. It might have been a minute or it might have been hours when she grasped at the wall, her throat feeling raw somehow. But she was dead so of course she didn’t really feel it, it wasn’t real.
The library door creaked. What a strange thing, Alina thought fleetingly, that she could still hear the low groaning of an old door at this moment.
The dwarves entered again, looking wary. Alina couldn’t blame them. Why were they even still there? Although, Alina was the one intruding on their workspace after all, she remembered and turned her face away. She couldn’t think of anything remotely right to say.
She could hear the dwarves whisper something.
Halvdan approached her.
”What have they done to you?” he asked, sounding shocked.
Alina looked up, disbelieving. Was he serious? Red eyes? Snow white skin? No heartbeat? Hello?
”He… took everything from us.”. Alinas voice sounded raspy and hoarse to her ears.
The dwarf stepped over to an old bench by the wall and sat down. Alina sank down beside him. That old chair would probably fall apart now if someone so much as poked it.
They sat quietly for a long while, or so it felt at least. It was…harder than usual to keep track of time. And why should she, really? She was dead and done, she had all the time in the world and nothing to do with it anyway. Hadn’t she?
Something brushed against her fingers. Something that wasn’t cold. Halvdan hesitantly and very gently took her hand.
”Begging your pardon, Lady Alina, but he didn’t. You still have each other.” he said quietly.
Each other. Alina pondered at the thought. What did that mean when you were dead?
”I used to play for them.” Alina suddenly blurted out. Where had that come from? ”The other rangers. Sylvanas would let me stash my violin in her command tent because our ranger quarters were so cramped that someone might have stepped on it.”
”It doesn’t matter anymore.” Alina said quietly.
Halvdan seemed to be about to say something in reply but the door was flung open in that moment and Sylvanas and half a dozen of dark rangers bursted in followed by Runar. Sylvanas was literally fuming, shadowy banshee mist dancing from her like cold black flames. She cast a quick look at Alinas forlorn appearance and whirled on the spot to lift Runar by his collar and slam him into the wall, while the rangers all but flung themselves at Alina.
”What did you do to her!?” Sylvanas growled.
”We don’t know…” the dwarf croaked ”…and we would like some bloody answers before we need to have a bloody repeat of something like this!” he growled back angrily while taking hold of the banshee queens arm so he could support himself in the suspended state. Taking a deep breath – which was quite a feat in the situation – he looked pointedly at Alina and then at Sylvanas. ”We would love to tell you every little thing that we have no idea about here, but at the moment someone else needs you more, right?” he said much more calmly.
Sylvanas dropped him to the floor like a sack of flour and swept down to Alinas side.
”I’m so sorry, Alina. I shouldn’t have had you left unattended. I will speak to Amora.” Sylvanas mumbled, with all traces of anger gone from her voice.
The rest fell in with her, in a small choir of soothing melodic voices. How did her sisters have such beautiful voices?
Nobody is angry.
We understand.
You are not on your own.
We will help you.
Their hands were cold as the grave as they stroked her cheeks and arms and fingers carded through her hair. But it was the warmest she had felt since…before, Alina thought. They could not warm each other but at least they could calm each other. At least they had something left. At least they…had each other.
Alina looked up and suddenly realised that Halvdan was still holding her hand. It was warm and felt nice despite being rough. Like theirs, that had hardened from centuries of archery.
”Who. The hell. Did this?” Alina heard Runar ask, with a new voice that made her think of stones grinding against each other. It called to mind the stories other rangers had told from the Second War against the orcs, of those dwarves that were clad in iron and hard as stone and whose hammers broke bones instead of bending metal.
Sylvanas regarded them silently for a moment.
”Anya. Tell them. Preferably not here!”
Anya rolled her eyes and turned to the dwarves.
”We’d better take a walk.”
Halvdan did not move, however, but sat still with his eyes on Alina. Why wasn’t he getting up?
Oh.
Alina nodded a small nod at him. But her hand felt awfully empty when he had gone.