Chapter 22: The truth comes crashing down (1)

The paving stones crunched under the weight of plated boots – closer.

Instinctively, Lainné’s eyes ran to the body sprawled on the floor. He lay face down in a puddle of his own blood, a crimson trickle still dripping from the corner of his mouth.
The men, shuffling through armfuls of ledgers and scrolls of parchment seemed oblivious to the corpse – or the mind-grating steps of the patrol that completed their round at the end of the corridor.

There were only five, her included. Tjolme and Garon, both in their forties and tried in combat judging by Eligor Dawnbringer’s praise – and Haldan, younger than all, herself included, but able to open any imaginable lock.

Her thoughts shifted faster than she could acknowledge them. The archives had been crammed into a large room, shelves and tables holding loads of paperwork. Trying to find something meaningful in there was like digging for a needle in the haystack. Lainne put aside a pile of reports – mostly rubbish and new recruit files - and took another.

The sound of steps drilled into her brain. If one of those guards cared to open the door…

She side glanced at Eireannan. His lips were moving soundlessly, as he leafed through the scrolls.

A dark whirlwind of images clawed at the edges of her mind – glimpses of deserted streets in which broken windows seemed to peer like empty eye sockets…A purple flecked luminosity enshrouded the ruins, revealing heaps of bones and charred remnants of clothing spread everywhere…the form of a child, curled into a protective ball …the dress of a woman…
She had heard about the “culling of Stratholme”…The city had been purged through sword and fire by prince Arthas at the beginning of the Scourge war, in a desperate attempt to stop the undead infestation. The horrible news had travelled south, to where she had been at the time, on the border of Tirisfal. Somehow she had never been able to picture the extent of the massacre.
Until now.

The sound of steps ceased, abruptly. Lainné’s head whipped towards the door. A second – long enough for a hundred years, and the guards resumed their steady walk, heading in the opposite direction. She inhaled deeply and realized she hadn’t been the only one holding her breath.

They worked in silence, in the flickering light given by a single candle each one held close. Tjolme and Garon each had bags already stacked with scrolls and ledgers. Eireannan piled his aside with an expression that spoke of disgust. He kept whispering something, but she could not make out words. She would have paid to know what he was saying.

Her stomach started to churn even worse as she started to investigate a new stack of hand written papers. Minutes of interrogations, dotted with plastic descriptions of the torture methods applied. She struggled to read – to see whether there was something useful at all in those blood soaked confessions.

The tiny flame of the candle flickered and trembled, painting shadows over the walls and the men’s faces. She looked again at the corpse on the floor, like a broken puppet. These people thought they did the will of the Light, yet they were horribly wrong.
She peered uneasily at Eireannan, wishing he could hold her, if only for a minute. She felt uneasy, the pressure of danger almost material…and the feeling reminded her of a weird dream, not too long before. She had to ask him about that…she…

Suddenly Lainné realized what was wrong. Outside the pacing had stopped.

“Galford, what in the name of…”

The door creaked ominously, to allow in a tall, blonde haired man, wearing the red-and-white scarlet flame tabard over his armor. Lainné barely swallowed a cry – it turned into a squeak as she struggled to breathe steadily. Tjolme and Garon had their swords in hand in the blink of an eye, while Haldan looked ready to faint. Eireannan’s face was unreadable, except for the tight line of his lips.

“So we have guests…” The man advanced slowly inside, peering over the tables to where the corpse of the archivist lay, barely visible from his angle. “Curious guests…” He kept talking as he moved, and to Lainné it seemed as if he were looking to all of them at the same time – a gaze that paralyzed. “Very good. I’ll get to hear what you have to say in the hands of my inquisitors…”

“Grand Crusader Dathrohan…” Haldan whispered. He swayed, growing paler by the second. The other two men seemed ready to charge, shifting their weight from one leg on the other, swords at the ready. Despite his apparent carelessness, the Grand Crusader watched those two closely as he advanced.

“Guards!”

Shouts broke in the corridor, together with the sounds of running. The Grand Crusader smiled, a smile of utter satisfaction, never taking his eyes from his prey. Lainné held her breath. Light help them, if they were to endure what these people could do….

Suddenly she knew what Eireannan had been whispering under his breath all the time.

She knew as he dashed forward from where he stood, slamming the heavy door shut. The transversal bars of iron fell into place with a loud clatter. Angry cries answered from the other side, as fists and boots battered uselessly into the wood. It was a solid door though, metal and oak, made to last.

The Grand Crusader spun round – vivid shock painting his face for a second, only to be replaced by a cruel smile, while he slowly unsheathed his own sword.

“You are no match for me…You have no idea what you are confronting…”

“Oh…I do…” Eireannan’s features betrayed nothing of those emotions succeeding so fast on the faces of the other men. Frustration, expectation, fear, determination… He just looked blankly at the Grand Crusader as the shouting and battering continued in the corridor.

The door trembled under each blow – yet held.

“Do you?” Saidan Dathrothan asked lightly. A wicked grin contorted his features. He weighted them, Lainné saw. And he did not doubt their end.
But Eireannan nodded. His face might have been a funeral mask for all the expression he displayed, yet to Lainné he felt like a coiled spring as he bared his blade. He looked strong enough to weather the end of the world without merely flinching.

“Oh, believe me…” he said bitterly. His voice had the sound of a grinding stone. “I know who you are…”