Chapter 9: Chillwind Camp

It was already late in the evening when he arrived at Chillwind Camp. A small operation of the Argent Dawn, the camp was set on the very edge of the Plaguelands…far enough that only a few blighted leaves revealed the corruption of the Scourge.

Two rows of tents had been set up on the left side of the road, as well as some crude wooden sheds. Trained gryphons slept in their cots under the watchful eyes of the flightmaster – a stout Wildhammer dwarf. As Eireannan passed by, the guards gave him sharp inquisitive looks, then let him inside the encampment. What he had told Lainné was true – the Argent Dawn forces were too thin for them to be picky on whoever pledged support to their cause.
Which in turn was the reason why the Church of Light frowned so badly at their “ways”. The Dawn received in its ranks only proved followers of the Holy Light. Yet loose ties of allegiance extended to anyone that might serve their purpose – including warlocks with a grudge against the scourge. Of course, it helped that he refused to have anything to do whatsoever with demonology. It was a line he would never tread, no matter the cost.

A woman came out of one of the tents and stopped abruptly at his sight.

“Ei’an! By the bones of Kel’Thuzad! high time you were back…I’ve been starting to worry!”

The curse made Eireannan grimace – she had a fancy of swearing by everything she could imagine, but the reminder of the Lich King’s most trusted advisor was usually slightly discomforting for every sane person. Never to mention that the Butcher had used the very Sunwell to reanimate him as a lich, corrupting it in the process. Quel’Thalas trampled under the march of the Scourge with the only purpose of resurrecting Kel’Thuzad…!Eireannan’s teeth gritted almost audibly.

“There’s no need to fret over me, Dar”, he said with as much calm as he could muster. The young woman studied him suspiciously – she was tall, only a head shorter than him, slender yet not at all fragile. As if to prove it she carried two swords, one strapped on her back, the other one – a short and stout blade- in a leather scabbard at her waist. Hazel eyes bore into is for a second, then she sniffed.

Evening sounds and scents drifted around the camp: horses and wooden smoke and meals being cooked. It was almost a pleasant scene if one could forget why they were there. Any one of those men or women sipping their tea or eating their steak could be dead before noon the next day. Eireannan tried not to look too much around. It was much better not to care. He walked between the tents, nodding in acknowledgement here and there, the young woman stalking him stubbornly.

“Back so soon?” someone inquired. He whirled around to glare at the woman dressed in a pale grey robe who returned an equal gaze, hands on her hips. Alyssa McDonnell was second in command at Chillwind Camp – and a long time acquaintance of his. Eireannan barely smiled as he took out the papers he had safely tucked in the pocket of his coat – most of their – his¬ discoveries in Stromgarde.

“Here. It may be as you suspected”, he said quietly. Daria had stopped only a step behind and was looking intently at his back – he could feel her eyes on him.

“Does it never end?” priestess McDonnell sighed. “Well, a job well done though.”. Her blue eyes warmed and she patted him gently on the shoulder; she had to reach up to do so. “Yet sometimes I do wonder how we are ever going to hold on…”

“As the Light wills it…” Eireannan replied absently. He hadn’t realized what he had said – not until her eyes widened slightly and then a faint trace of color rose in his cheeks.

“I might have you deliver the words of Wisdom on Sunday ”, she announced in a light tone. “What a sermon that would be…” It was the tradition of the Dawn to hold a weekly service to the Light, to remind themselves of its blessings and what they were fighting for. Eireannan blushed even deeper.

“Would you require me tonight?”

“No.” The woman shrugged. “Tomorrow we will strike at Garron’s Whitering. The number of scourge there is dangerously increasing. You are welcome to join us.”

Always the diplomat, Eireannan thought bitterly. She would never order him around as she did with her men – just hinted at things.

“Tomorrow then”, Eireannan said evenly. He suddenly felt drained. Yet rest would not come – of that he was sure. Too many emotions stirred within his soul, like whirlwinds in a mountain river. Maybe he could eat something though. He hadn’t had a good meal in days.

Suddenly he became conscious of Daria’s gaze, still fixed on his back. He turned slowly to see her hand him a note, neatly folded in two. She looked annoyed. It was not her eyes but the seal on the paper – an odd, twisted form in black wax - that made him cringe. That letter would do wonders for his already thin appetite, Eireannan thought meekly as he took it.