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XII
For seven days we flew, from sunrise to sunset and back again. We flew in the wind, in the clouds, in the freezing rain – we flew so high that the wheeling seabirds turned to specks below. (“More favorable wind up here, for some reason,” said Tamilin. “Cuts a couple days off the trip.”) Several times a day, my mount dove down towards the ocean, plucking fish out of the water with his beak and his claws. At first they were meager, but by the end of the first day, as land disappeared behind us and the dark ocean below became too deep to fathom, Tamilin began easily plucking great, struggling fish from great, writhing schools – albacore and tuna and, once, to Tamilin’s delight, an enormous, glittering pink-fleshed salmon.
We made easy conversation, chatting about our lives and times. He laughed when I explained my idea that pride in our ability to control our own destinies should be pride enough for sentient beings. “I’m not saying it’s not a great idea,” he said, “but you’re gonna have a hell of a time convincing people.”
“I know,” I said. “There are shortcuts, though. Like if there’s a common enemy for everyone to unite against.”
“A common sentient enemy?” said the bird keenly, glancing around at me. I frowned, and changed the subject.
“What’s going to happen when we get there?” I said. “Once we get to the coast, how are you gonna know to follow it north or south?”
“Don’t worry about it,” said the hippogryph. “I’m navigating by the stars.”
“Oh, cool,” I said. I paused. “What if we get there during the daytime?”
“Then I’ll navigate by the sun,” winked the hippogryph.
“Alright,” I said, “I guess I’ll shut up and trust you.”
We paused. The task, the whole reason for the trip, hovered at the edge of my mind, and I worried that when the time came it would prove more than I could handle. Then M’s words came back to me from days earlier: it wouldn’t have been asked of you if you couldn’t do it. I sighed and pushed it all back to the edge of my mind.
“Do you know what we’re doing after I do the thing?” I said out loud.
“I actually have no idea,” said Tamilin over his shoulder. “I’m supposed to stick around and help you out. I asked M what that meant, and she said not to worry about it.” He sighed. “She does love her mysteries.”
I laughed. “You have no idea,” I said.
By the middle of the second day I was stiff and cold and miserable. Tamilin sympathized for a few minutes, and then told me to can it or he’d drop me off at two thousand feet. I canned it.
I wonder idly if the fall would even hurt. I’m a member of the Law now, right? I thought. Not quite an agent, but a member. Fang had said that I was now, somehow, immortal. I didn’t feel any different, though. I pinched myself, hard. It hurt.
Tyrande had warned me that the task ahead of me, the sea lion task, was dangerous, that I could even drown. But I can’t die, I thought. I’m pretty sure I can’t die. Kinda sure. I sighed.
When I slept, it was fitfully, and my dreams were strange. Sometimes, I was swimming through murky caves in search of an object which it was absolutely imperative that I find, except that someone had forgotten to tell me what the object was, and I was running out of breath but there was no surface – only endless caves.
More often than not, though, the dreams began with me dismounting Tamilin in the same conifer forest from my dream at the bush, with the same field of hypnotic, oversized flowers. I would find animals, or plants, or some nut or leaf that held inexplicable, powerful fascination for me, and soon I was falling down into it, through a web of intricate, interconnected chutes and branches. Often, they ended at another point of intense light. Mindful of my first run-in with them, and mindful of the pain and anger that had ripped through me when I had touched the first one, I avoided them, though each time, the points of light held increasingly more draw and fascination.
As per Tamilin’s advice, I held back from eating my fill. I was hungry, but not starving, and though it took all of my willpower to not wolf down the whole bag all at once, I managed to make my rations stretch.
By the morning of the fifth day, I had given up on feeling miserable, and set my mind to ignoring the pains in my legs and my hips. Tamilin cheered on my efforts when I casually announced them, and the exchange put us both in good cheer.
By noon on the sixth day, high clouds had gathered and were drizzling rain on us. Tamilin lifted us up above the spitting clouds, and for a change of pace we looped about their towering white spires. Tamilin ducked us back down for his afternoon meal, but we returned to the clear blue sky in time to see the sunset cast orange beams across the cloudtops.
The journey’s seventh day was overcast. We were nearing our destination, according to Tamilin, and he took us below the gray clouds. “Branch,” he said, pointing down towards the water with his beak. “We’re almost there.”
Then a dark smudge appeared on the gray horizon. Minutes later it resolved itself into dark mountains. The distant mountains sloped down to a distant beach, and, dead ahead of us, listed in the shallows, lay the distant rotting hulk of an old wooden ship. “You got us right to it!” I cried. “The sun isn’t even out!”
“I told you,” he said, “I’m that good. What do you figure, take a breather down on the beach? I can fly you back out over the water so you don’t have to swim as far.”
We touched down on the pebble beach, and I dismounted stiffly. My legs seized up. For a moment I thought I would collapse, but then they remembered how to move, and slowly and painfully I stretched them out.
Tamilin arched his wings straight up, and then let them collapse to the ground. He grinned at me. “We did it,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, arching my back painfully, “I sure did help.”
I sat down on the pebbles and pulled open M’s food bag. There was a whole loaf left, and I devoured it hungrily. It was filling, but not so filling that swimming would hurt.
Behind me, several tens of yards away, stood the gnarled edges of a plague-infested woodland, like the kind I had journeyed through with an elf and a dwarf months ago. Higher up the mountains, the plague-infested trees gave way to the strange, surreal plaguewood mushroom trees.
In front of me, gentle waves lapped the shoreline. I stared out past them, across the water. “Somewhere under there,” I said, “is a box, with a magic necklace in it. And because my next form is apparently really hard, I have to go get the necklace, which is somehow going to teach me how to turn into a sea lion just in time to keep from drowning.” I looked over at Tamilin, who was carefully grooming his wing-feathers. “I don’t even know what a sea lion is. I know what a lion is, and I know what the sea is, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell you how they go together.”
Tamilin grunted noncommittally into his wing.
I sighed and climbed to my feet. “I better do it. You gonna hang out?”
“I was going to scout around for food, actually,” said the hippogryph. “M warned me to be careful what I ate while I was here, something about undead plants. What's that about?”
“You don’t know about Lordaeron?” I said incredulously. I’d heard whispers of the word all the way back in Orcmar.
“I mean, I know druids have to go east for training….” he said. “Lay off me,” he continued irritably. “Had you ever heard of Moonglade?”
Hmph, I thought. “Well,” I said, “the upshot of the place is, don't eat anything ugly. It'll turn you into a zombie hippogryph. And most everything here is ugly.”
“Yech,” said Tamilin succinctly. “Zombies? I knew this place didn’t smell right. You gotta tell me what its deal is later. For now, I guess I’ll be careful.”
“You better be,” I grinned, “I need a ride back to wherever.”
I climbed aboard the hippogryph, and he took a running leap at the water and beat his wings back over it. We peered down through the water, clear but dim, to the pebbly bottom below. Less than a quarter mile out, the bottom dropped off suddenly into unlit depths. “Here,” I said.
Tamilin wheeled back around, skipping just above the gentle waves. “The shipwreck’s due east,” he said. “Jump!” I slapped him appreciatively on the back, and then tipped myself overboard.
The cold water swallowed me whole, and it was all I could do for a moment to keep myself from inhaling in shock. I floundered for a moment, and then pushed my nose back above the stiff waves. I snorted out, clearing my nostrils, then grabbed enough air to sink again beneath the waves.
The murky daylight from above filtered down into the clear water. Behind me, the sea’s shallow, rocky bottom rose towards the shore. In front of me, the ocean’s floor plunged downward into dark, unplumbed depths. I surfaced again, filling my lungs as full as I could. Then I closed my eyes, clenched my jaw, and dove.
I kicked downward, the dim daylight receding behind me. The edge of the ocean floor’s plunge was less steep than it had seemed from above, and rocky ledges distended periodically. I looked across them, peering down, searching for the silver glimmer that would mark my quarry. I swam closer to the rocks, but there was no glimmering.
My lungs began to protest their abuse, and I glanced back at the distant surface. I focused my mind, concentrating on the task at hand, and turned back towards the rocks. I squinted, peering through the blurring water, but the silver box eluded me still.
My head began to pound, and, cursing to myself, I turned my head upwards and, with increasing urgency, kicked back to the surface.
I gasped air, gulping it in, slowly salving my headache. I bobbed my head above the surface for a few moments – long enough to see that I had drifted a hundred feet south of the boat. I cursed and swam back into alignment. Tamilin was nowhere to be seen.
Then I inhaled again, as deeply as I could without bursting, and, keeping my eyes glued to the distant shipwreck until the last possible moment, dove.
It didn’t glint. The box, it turned out, had corroded until, though still strong, it was nearly the color of dark rock. It betrayed itself by its un-rocklike sharp edges, and, the cry of my unhappy lungs quelled with sudden euphoria, I kicked towards it.
I pulled at the box’s lid, and what could have been a latch disintegrated with a puff of gray powder. Inside the box was more gray powder, a thick layer of it, and I pawed it away into great obscuring clouds of murk. Beneath the powder, my fingers closed around something – a hard object, with pointy bits poking into my palm. I pulled it out.
The pendant was a dull metal gray, inlaid with jewels. There was a thin seam down the middle, as though the pendant had once been broken in two, but it had been neatly rejoined and the seam was nearly invisible.
Its shape was a creature, with no legs, but a pair of fins at the front and a thick swimming tail like a dolphin’s, but sideways, at the back. It had tusks. And, I thought, enormous, efficient lungs. The pendant was on a chain, thick and glittering, and, uncertain of what would happen, I slid it around my neck.
Nothing happened. I felt no knowledge flow through me, no magical energy. I poked the pendant, shaking it, trying to make sure it knew that it had been donned. But there was nothing.
I closed my eyes, ignoring the burning feeling growing in my chest. It had to work. Tyrande had said it would work! I thought desperately of the form of a sea lion, on its place in the world, willing my body to assume both – but I couldn’t focus on its form, and I had no idea what its place in the world was. My eyes flew open, wide, and I looked up. I can’t die! I thought forcefully. I’m an agent of the Law!
But bare instinct to self-preservation overwhelmed reason (if reason it was), and, in a panic, I clawed my way back towards the surface.
My head broke the surface, and I gulped air, coughing painfully. Damnit! I thought. What did I do wrong?
A powerful, metallic, unworldly screech tore the air, and before I could look up to find its source, something impacted the water around me, throwing up a terrifying splash about my head. A pair of strong hippogryph claws seized me, lifted me bodily out of the water, and flung me into the air. “Hold on!” cried Tamilin as he ducked and caught me on his back. I grabbed at his feathers and held on for dear life as we sped through the salty sea air just above the waves.
“Hi,” I said. “I didn't complete the task yet....”
“We got a bigger problem,” said the hippogryph, his glowing eyes narrowed in vital concentration, flying with all his might. “Could you keep your eyes on the dragon that's behind us and let me know if it's getting close?”
“The what?” I said, and glanced over my shoulder.
Following behind us, only a hundred feet away and closing, bourn on skeleton wings strung with tendrils of glowing webbing, with whisps of glowing green mist trailing from its wings and empty eye-sockets and emanating from its skull's fanged maw, flew an enormous, bone-white skeleton dragon, resurrected from King Madoran's dirge and chasing us with clear, deadly intent. It opened its jaw and let loose another predatory screech.
My blood went cold. “It’s getting close,” I said querulously.
We banked suddenly, turning about towards the beast, and I cried out. I stared, captivated, at the thing's massive hollow body as we swept past it. It bellowed as we swept past, towards the land, and the dragon banked after us, just a bit wider and just a bit slower than Tamilin.
We hurtled over the beach and towards the edge of the plaguewoods, the bone dragon in hot pursuit. “Where did you find that thing?” I said as we hurtled up the mountainside.
“See for yourself,” gritted Tamilin, and we crested the peak.
Beyond it, spread out maybe a mile to the east and as far to the north as I could see, was an enormous camp, a tent city like the one outside Orcmar. But where that one had been a ramshackle demonstration of a fierce will to live, this one was a perfectly regimented display of the awesome power of death. Black tents, aligned in stark grids, studded the valley. Between them marched all manner of ghastly creations – an army of dead men and women in various stages of decay, from bleached skeletons to newly-minted zombies with pale skin and dark, patchy hair, their bodies resurrected and clad in formidable, blood-chillingly uniform black armor. They marched or shuffled, mechanically, as though guided by wills which were paying them only the most cursory attention.
“Varimathras,” I breathed. “It’s his army.” His army of undead bodies and more ghastly creations, poised to invade Lordaeron, first, and then maybe the rest of the East. And behind us, its cry again splitting the air, was the fearsome bone wyrm, the great undead dragons which had casually destroyed Aerie Peak seven hundred years ago.
“We need a cave,” said Tamilin, “and we need it fast. That thing’ll kill us if it catches up to us anywhere it can reach us.”
“I know a couple,” I said.
“Where?!” cried the hippogryph.
My thoughts raced. The warlock cave, I thought, its entrance was a bit smaller than the wyrm. It was also easy to find – just follow the continent’s northern shoreline. Just fly… north, I thought, and glanced that way, where the undead army’s camp receded to the horizon.
Under City’s tunnel entrance, I thought. It was much smaller than the bone dragon, and – assuming that Under City had recovered from its invasion – it would be friendly to us. At least, to me. Maybe. If they didn’t think I’d helped steal the black book.
“Horse!” said Tamilin as the dragon let out another cry, nearly on top of us.
“I’m thinking,” I cried.
“Well, think faster!” he yelled back at me, and we dove and banked, maneuvering out of reach of the dragon’s fast-approaching bone claws.
“Go east,” I yelled, “due east and keep your eyes out for a north-facing line of cliffs, with a big wide strip of no trees.”
Tamilin banked again, just a bit faster than the dragon could, then we pulled up steeply into the sky. He pointed his beak east, and began beating his wings as hard as he could. My heart had lifted itself into my throat and was pounding away at it at breakneck speed, as though trying to urge on Tamilin’s wings. I thought for a moment of looking behind us, to see where the dragon was, but I couldn’t force myself to. It didn’t matter: a moment later, the dragon’s searing cry tore through the air again.
“There!” I pointed. Ahead of us and a quarter mile to the north was the swath of treeless land. Tamilin turned and tucked his wings back, and we dove towards it as fast as we could. The wind began to tear my eyes, and my vision blurred.
Then, out of the north, came a fast-moving speck, dimly glowing green against the gray sky. “Tamilin,” I said, as it grew closer. It was another wyrm. “Tamilin,” I repeated, “there’s more than one of them.” I glanced around again. Our first dragon was a few short lengths behind.
We turned towards the second dragon. “Tamilin!” I yelled.
“I see it!” he yelled back, exasperated.
“Then why are you flying towards it?!” I cried.
We closed in on it, its green-glowing eyes and wings distinct, and then we were upon it. “Hang on!” yelled Tamilin, his eyes narrowed in intense concentration, and at the last possible moment before we collided with the beast, he brought his wings together and forward, wrenching us perpendicularly out of our flight. The other dragon, hot in pursuit, screeched and banked, and the two of them tumbled around each other, trying to avoid collision. Tamilin crowed in triumph, but mere moments later, they had righted themselves and were back in pursuit.
We dove down into the treeless span, the line of cliffs to our right and the line of plaguewood trees to our left, and we race along it. Ahead, silhouetted in the distance but drawing rapidly closer, stood the crumbled spires of the capital city of Lordaeron.
“Where’s the cave?” called Tamilin.
“It’s just before those ruins,” I yelled through the rushing wind. The hippogryph tightened his wings, and we raced faster along the cliffs. I glanced behind us. The bone dragons, able to fly faster than us on a straightaway, were closing rapidly. I inhaled shakily and turned back around.
The cut of the cliffs was suddenly familiar, and I looked ahead of us. Around the entrance to the tunnel, on top of the crop of natural rock, a new semicircular stone wall had been built, high and thick, with a stiff metal gate in it. Above the tunnel itself, another gate had been installed. “There!” I yelled, pointing.
“There’s more zombies!” Tamilin cried.
“They’re good zombies,” I yelled, “go!”
Atop the wall were four Forsaken guards, clad in haphazard armor and armed with long fearsome pikes. They turned towards us, then began shouting in fear. They dove off the walls and scuttled back into the tunnel, and began hauling down its iron gate.
“Wait!” I yelled futilely into the wind, and then we shot over the wall and into the tunnel, scattering the guards, and tumbling to a stop against the far wall. Behind us, the gate slammed shut, and then, with a deafening crash and a flash of ichor-green light, one of the dragons impacted against it, shattering utterly. Its bones flew apart, and they landed, scattered, against the wall and around the ground outside. Above the cave and beyond, the other dragon let loose a last chilling cry, and then wheeled off, back to the north.
I slid off Tamilin's back to the ground and dusted myself off. My heart was racing, pounding against the inside of my chest – against my own rib bones, I thought.
Tamilin’s right wing was hanging crooked. “Ow,” he gritted at me. “I could use some Katy M love right about now.”
One of the Forsaken guards shuffled towards us from the cave’s gate. Tamilin shied back, hissing in pain and glancing uncertainly at me. “Good zombies?” he muttered. “Promise?”
The guard ignored the injured hippogryph, and stopped in front of me. “Horse,” he said, in strained, imperfect Common. “You are expected.”
You have reached the end of the story's first draft. The ongoing rewrite of The Murloc is Lonely, with new plots and new hints to the future, begins here.
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