|
XXII
In chaos, we fell back to the compound’s meeting
hall. Jennoa, wounded and unconscious, was set on the hall’s table.
Allyndil stood over her, directing Jayksen Stonehammer, the dwarf who
had dragged her home, to peel off her armor and mop her swelling face.
The elf began humming a low tune over her, and I silently willed his
magic to work.
The rest of us milled about in disarray,
watching, or muttering in pairs. We could hear the undead, throwing
themselves uselessly at the gate and chanting in their guttural
language.
Shouting broke out between John and the man called
Rayn, and Rayn pulled off his helmet and threw it to the ground. His
skin was as black as night, and his face was wide and furious. Silence
fell, and we turned to watch.
“They were wearing armor!” growled Rayn. “They
chased us, and not with hunger, not like mindless plague zombies.
Listen to them,” and he pointed. “They speak to us now. That is a
language!”
“They can’t be Scourge,” said John heatedly. “The
Scourge has been gone for six hundred years!”
“Well, they are something,” said Rayn. His
deep voice was accented, and it was one I hadn’t heard before. “If you wish to
explain how a hundred intelligent plague zombies popped out of the woods
where we’ve never seen more than one, and never seen any that could
still think, tell me now.” He planted his bow on the hall’s floor and
leaned on it, glaring at John.
“Enough,” said Anduin commandingly, stepping in
from the courtyard. “Peace and Light on all of you: our fortifications
hold firm, for now. Mark, Norin, go armor up and pack for a journey.
Norin, bring your books: your lessons will continue. Luke, in our
library is an ancient tome of magic which contains a spell for turning
undead. Find it and learn it. You have an hour. Grimble,” he said to
the goblin, “go to your quarters. I would advise you and the orc to
pack as well, but I will not order it yet. Rayn,” and he turned to the
great dark-skinned man as the others did his bidding. “Tell me what
happened.”
“We were on our way back from our mission,” began
Rayn, “and camped last night a day’s journey west of here. An hour past
sundown, we heard strange sounds from the darkness, and we saw points of
yellow light. This morning, we found numerous tracks, as though a large
group of humanoids had passed in the night, heading west. We began the
journey home, but before long, we ran into another much smaller group of
the humanoids using the same path west. They were the Scourge which now
lay siege at our doorstep.”
“Stop calling them Scourge,” muttered John, as
though he could change it by faith alone.
Rayn continued, ignoring him. “When we saw them,
we stared at each other for a moment. They did not attack us, as mere
plague zombies would have. There were eight of them, and Jayksen hefted
his hammer and attacked them single-handedly.”
“An’ I’d do it again,” growled the dwarf. “Filthy
zombies. I need a beer,” he muttered.
“We slaughtered six of them, and two ran. I felled
one with my bow, but the other disappeared into the woods. We are not
very good at felling runners,” Rayn said, almost apologetically. Anduin
nodded for him to continue. “Soon, the one returned, with more. We
fought, but there were too many. Not countless, but many.” He glanced
sadly at Sacara, whose face was strained in anguish. “James fell to
them,” he said. He bowed his head. A strangled cry escaped from Sacara.
“Jennoa took a deep wound to the face before we fled,” continued Rayn.
“We hoped against hope that it wasn’t plagued, but she collapsed half an
hour ago. She is now as you see her.” He gestured towards the table.
Allyndil looked up from her. “There is no hope,”
he said simply. Jayksen let out a hoarse yell and pounded his fist into
the table.
“Can you ease her passing?” said Anduin to the elf.
“No!” said Jayksen huskily, “don’t ease her
passing, make her better. Do it!” he shouted, at no one.
“You know that’s not possible,” said Anduin
gently. The elf bent to his pack and began selecting herbs.
The dwarf looked around at us, his eyes red. He
closed them for a moment, and then reopened them. “Thistle,” he said,
quietly, “in the name of compassion, will you get me a beer?” The other
dwarf nodded and hurried out of the hall into the adjoining kitchen.
We were startled by a thump from outside.
We hurried to push through the hall’s double doors, and looked to the
gate. Those that saw first looked away, hopelessness in their faces. Jayksen
cried out and made to charge down the hill, but Anduin restrained him
bodily. “Stay back from it, for your own sake!” ordered Anduin
urgently.
I stepped out last, and looked.
At the base of the hill, in front of the barn, a
large husk lay, hurled over the wall by the chanting undead outside.
Out of it flooded a thick green gas, covering the ground, seeping into
the barn. At its touch, the grass and the plants and the rose bushes
withered to gray husks. One chicken, alone outside, pecking at the
ground, pecked into it, and came up choking and rasping for breath. It
staggered for a moment, then fell to its side, eyes closed.
The guttural chanting culminated outside the walls,
and another husk landed at the edge of the vegetable garden. It cracked
open, and gas began seeping across the plants, withering them as it
went. Thistle, stepping out of the Hall with a foaming stein, saw it
and let out a low moan. Jayksen grabbed the beer from him and downed it
in desperation.
As we watched our food turn to poison before our
eyes, the chanting outside the gates faded to disunited muttering, and
the muttering faded to silence. The undead creatures, apparently
satisfied with their villainy, had left.
“Sacara, John, Thistle, go pack as well,” said Anduin,
pulling us back into action with his voice alone. “Jayksen, go with
Allyndil and prepare Jennoa for her last rights, then get cleaned up and
re-armored. Rayn, Madoran, Horse, come with me.”
He led us silently back to the barracks, and up the
stairs. As we passed the library, Luke’s voice drifted out, chanting an
incantation. There was a sizzling zap and a yelp, and he cursed loudly.
Back in his office, Anduin pushed his chair at Rayn.
“You’ve run farther from more terrible foes today than we have,” he said
simply. Rayn sat gratefully down. “You said you completed your
mission. Tell us.”
Rayn looked from Anduin to Madoran to me. “We
found their camp,” he said. “It is in a large, well-defended cave
at Land's Edge to the west and north. We saw some forty of them, mostly humans and blood
elves, some orcs, at least one gnome. There may be more, and their
numbers are growing slowly. The small group we tracked there had
traveled from the southlands, and they were expecting another group
within days. The whole place stank of evil magic,” he spat.
“Did you find out their purposes here?” said Anduin.
“You were right that they seek a black book,” said
Rayn, “we overheard them talking of it. They were waiting before doing
anything, though, possibly for more of them to arrive. We were not able
to find out more.”
Anduin nodded, silent for a moment. “Thank you,
Rayn,” he said. “Go get cleaned up and then make ready for another
journey.”
Rayn nodded, stood, bowed, and left.
The question that had been needling at the back of
my mind burst forth as he shut the door behind him. “Does the Scourge
mean that Varimathras is already back?” I blurted.
Madoran looked at me, and was silent for a moment.
“It’s possible,” he sighed. “But I don’t think so. Maybe it’s possible
for lesser beings to control smaller numbers of the creatures. Rayn
said these seemed intelligent and mindful, that they talked to each
other. If they were driven by Varimathras’s will, they would not be
individually intelligent, and would not have left us while there was
fight in their bones. If they were controlled by different wizards,
though…” he trailed off. “I don’t know,” he concluded. “They’re gone,
for now.”
“Let us hope they stay that way,” agreed Anduin.
He sat down in his chair, and looked out the window at the ruined barn
down the hill. The evil gas had dissipated. He squeezed his eyes shut
for a moment, pained. Then he opened them back up. “We’ve paid a heavy
price for not much information. They seek the book.”
“Why can’t we search for the book itself?” I said.
“It’s supposed to be in the ruins of Lordaeron’s capital, right?”
It gave me some small satisfaction to see Madoran
shiver at my words. Anduin shook his head. “Eventually, maybe,” he
said. “No one that goes in there has come out alive, not in the long
centuries since its fall. I can only imagine what manner of curses
Arthas Frostmourn laid upon that place, and I will die happy if I live
the rest of my life only imagining.” He glanced at me. “If there is
another way, we must find it.”
I nodded. There was silent thought for a moment.
“Forty of them!” exclaimed Anduin. “I wish your
Murloc had sent us an army.” Me too, I thought.
“Aye,” said the dwarf. “But he didn’t.”
“We can’t attack them, of course,” said the old
man. “We are too few and too weak.” He gestured out the window with
his head. “We are well-trained warriors, but not great.
This land has taught us to survive, not to fight wars against armies
of evil wizards. And all I have brought us is foolishness about
respect and compassion which will be of no use to them now.” He slumped
slightly, head on his hands.
“Ah’d say it’s a poor time fer a crisis of faith,
old friend,” said Madoran gruffly. “It’ll be a dark day indeed when the
Holy Light doesn’t have somethin’ to offer the world.”
Anduin grunted. “You’re right, of course,” he
said. “It pains my heart, but I believe I know where our course lies,
if we’re to move any closer to protecting this damned book.”
Then, he stood up and looked soberly at us. “We
have the Light’s work to do,” he declared.
* * *
Half an hour later, Jennoa lay, arms crossed over
her chest, in a shallow grave at the base of the barren cliff. The
swelling on her face had gone down, and she looked peaceful in death.
Arrayed around the grave in a half-circle were a pile of dirt, myself,
Madoran, Allyndil, and the Order.
“We are here to entomb Jennoa Goldsmith, and to
mourn the loss of James Matthews,” Anduin began, his voice ringing out
strong across the dreary land. “Members of the Order of the Silver
Hand, and sister and brother of Uther’s Tomb, they were believers in the
Light, true upholders of the Three Virtues, and truly the world is a
better place for having born them. They were loved by us all.” Sacara
was crying gently. What might have been a gasp of breath or a sob was
turned hurriedly into thick coughing by Jayksen. “Jennoa is buried
here, behind the tomb of the founder of her Order,” continued Anduin,
“and surrounded by the unmarked graves of all of her predecessors, as is
our custom,” he added for my benefit. “James lies here in spirit.
Their souls will be with Uther in the Light. They died in combat,” he
said, “as none of our Order has in generations, and so, by our ancient
custom, we will plant two Tomb Roses on her grave in the spring, in
memory of their sacrifice.” If any are still alive, thought everyone.
If we are here in the spring.
He turned to Jayksen. “Would you do the honor?” he
said. Jayksen nodded, his eyes thick. He pulled his plate gloves off,
knelt at the pile of dirt next to the grave, and began tossing handfuls
of it onto her body. After a few ritual moments, others began to join
in, one by one, and the Order broke out in a song of rejuvenation, and a
minute later we had buried her.
Sacara alone had not joined in, but had stood to
the side, staring numbly at the proceedings, her light hair framing her
tear-streaked face. I recognized a human standard of beauty in it, and
her sad eyes haunted me. Jayksen had the harder job, I thought, burying
a loved one with his own hands, but it was ritual, and in that moment I
thought I envied Sacara the least.
We moved as a mass to the front steps of the
marble temple, and stood waiting. Anduin walked the length of the
antechamber, and knelt in prayer in front of Uther’s statue.
He finished, and paused for a moment, running his
fingers over the worn face of the ancient stone plaque that stood
there. I wondered what words of hope or inspiration lay etched in its
ancient language.
Anduin stood, looking up at the ancient paladin, as
though searching the statue’s face for guidance. Then, resolute, he
turned and walked to the front steps of the temple. All eyes watched
him, intent.
He took a deep breath. “I know,” he began slowly,
“that this place has been our home for years, some as few as three and
some as long as forty. This fell day, we have lost it, and we can only
pray to the Light, and work tenaciously to regain it.” He looked across
the somber faces of his flock. “Whatever the nature of the undead
creatures that took it from us, have compassion for them, for they are
creatures of the plague, and are the sad remnants of feeling, thinking
beings.” He had bowed his head. Now he looked up at us again. “But do
not hesitate to strike them down. They are our enemies now, and the
beings which we might have compassion for have long since ceased to be.
“The long work of rebuilding our life here cannot
begin today. Today we leave, on what I believe is the most important
mission the Order has faced since the end of the Scourge War, six
hundred long years ago.” His voice evened. “You all know that we have
been in search of information about an ancient book. Rayn, Jayksen, you
risked and we lost much to learn that the shadowy wizards who have been
passing through our land for two months now are indeed searching for
that book. Madoran has traveled far to bring us information: that this
book was written by Arthas himself, and that it may hold the secret to
releasing Varimathras the Scourge Lord back upon the world.”
There were shocked muttering among the Order at this
news.
“We are not an army,” continued Anduin. “But we
are warriors, and warriors of the Light. It is our sworn duty to defeat
evil where we can, and today we are setting forth, for the first time in
our lives and the first time in generations, to fight to defeat evil.
“Sacrifice has always been part of our lives. You
each sacrificed: comfort, wealth, much of your freedom, when you came
here, seeking to live by the Light. Today, we sacrificed more. The
bricks and mortar of Uther’s Tomb are intact, but our home was lost to
the very evil our Order was founded to fight. Now we leave on a mission
to confront that evil, to contain it, to fight it with our hammers and
our lives, and we will be victorious. Some of us may not return from
this mission. Two have already fallen. But death is part of life, and
the Light will not be quenched in this land.” His words rung out over
the silent monastery.
We dispersed to get our packs, and then returned to
the compound’s courtyard. Madoran, Allyndil and I stood at the top of
the hill. In front of us stood the whole of the Order: Mark, Luke, Rayn,
Sacara, John, Jayksen, Norin, Thistle, and Anduin, our leader in this
land. They were helmless, armed and ready, clad in glittering plate and
draped in white tabards of the Silver Hand, their
packs full of water and provisions. Grimble and Krull had joined us:
with Anduin’s permission and to my displeasure, they had decided to come
along. (“This wasn’t our original destination anyway,” the goblin had
said easily, “and it’s not so much of a safe haven any more.” “We need
all the help we can get,” Anduin had replied.)
The old man, looking sturdy and able in his armor,
led the way to the gate, and we followed, passing the withered grass and
the withered vegetable garden, passing the barn with its piled carcasses
of poisoned meat, and, in front of each of the doused torch pillars, the
low flower bushes, once bright green and blood-red, were now withered
gray husks. Luke knelt at the last one before the gate, rubbing a dead
leaf between his armored fingers. It crumbled to dust.
“The rose is perfect, in name,” he said simply.
“Now its name is all we have.” He stood, looking around at the ruin,
and up the hill at the compound’s locked doors and shuttered windows.
We passed through the gate, leaving the confines of
the dead monastery and proceeding into the uncertain woods.
XXIII
|
|
