Lord Bolvar received me swiftly upon my arrival. Despite being for years the regent of Stormwind he looks every bit the soldier he is, a tall and well built man in properly polished armor. I was amazed to see the extent of the forces massed at the gates – and even more surprised to see that the Horde will also take part in the offensive that is being prepared.
As I climbed through the rather narrow valley that leads to the Wrath gate, I have noticed to the right the Alliance hold, the blue and white banners fluttering in the wind and orderly lines of tents to the left, where the Horde encampment lies. The two armies have formed there a grudging covenant, spurred by the sight of the gate itself. It tops the steep lines of the mountain, massive and seemingly indestructible, the first of a chain of such gates that defend the Lich King’s frozen citadel.
Thassarian told me all their names during the night I spent in their encampment: Angra’thar, the Wrath Gate, Mord’rethar, the Death Gate, Aldur’thar, the Desolation Gate and finally Corp’rethar, the Horror Gate barring the very entrance to Icecrown. I can’t say the Scourge lacks a certain inspiration of sorts. The very names are meant to make one’s skin crawl with fear; I do not dare imagine what their defenses look like.
I had this secret hope I will be allowed to participate in the offensive, but Lord Fordragon sent me back immediately, to relay some instructions to Commander Wrymbane. I have been a soldier for too long to argue with orders. At least I managed to get a sound night’s sleep before leaving…a luxury I have started to appreciate of late.
Lost in thoughts, I have not noticed how deep the mist has become. I look around, trying to figure out if I am still going in the right direction. I can barely see as far as my own arms, gripping the reins, the rest is lost in the thick layer of vapors, which keep climbing, by the second, wanting to swallow me entirely. This fog feels alive and malevolent. My throat constricts and I fight for every breath, each one more ragged and shallow than the last…
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Who gave the order?”
Taelan’s grip on my shoulders hurts as he shakes me violently. “Who gave it?” My hands are crimson red with dried blood and I stare at them even while my mind tries to close on itself, not to remember…
“Who gave it? The Inquisitors?”
I look into his face only to see anguish, and disappointment…and horror.
“Who did it?!”
“Me!” I yell back. The words pluck me apart, shread by shread, a never ending torture. “I did. I gave the order, Taelan! It was me…!”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Flicker -
I blink hazily, struggling to focus against a sudden wave of diziness. My imagination must be playing games on me. I must find a way to –
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Make me proud.”, my father says, placing the sheathed sword on the table between us. “I know how much you’ve wanted one ever since you were little…” He never shows such emotion as it is now painted on his otherwise stern features. “Be strong. Have faith in the Light…”
I take it reverently and slowly unsheathe the blade that catches the slanted rays of sun and reflects them back. It is beautiful indeed, perfection molded into steel, the strong hilt carved with the symbols of the Light fitting right into my palm. Tears fill my eyes while I try a form or two, just to feel the sword’s weight and balance. My father’s work is, as expected, impeccable –
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The horse stumbles upon something and suddenly pulls me out of my thoughts. I draw in another deep breath; for some reason the air just seems to have run out of oxygen. My vision has clouded, or is it just the mist? For a second I thought I could see –
Flicker.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The man stops for a second in front of the strangely shaped altar. Something lies on it, but I cannot figure out what. His voice is hoarse and pained as he speaks. “…Only shadows from the past remain. There's nothing left to redeem!”
Suddenly he lifts his sword and runs that thing through. A scream rises, a sound to make blood freeze in your veins. The man I look at crumbles to his knees and a circle of blades surrounds him, searching for his flesh, for his heart…Pain shots through my chest, unbearably strong and I feel as if my soul is ripped away, together with the last glimmer of hope…
Noooooooo…
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Be righteous and fair. Be always in the service of those too weak to defend themselves. Never fear death or pain while you tread in the ways of the Light…”
The mist clings to my lungs, feeling like oil stained water.
“We will cleanse this land…” The modulated voice of High Inquisitor Isilien rises and falls in rhythm of his words. “We will destroy the unbelivers and all those that carry the taint of the Scourge…”
“How could you?”, Taelan asks softly, and his eyes are distant and disbelieving. “How could you?”
I am dreaming. It must be. I must turn and find a way out of this mist, I -
…I am looking straight into the woman’s face. She has exactly my height and hair like polished copper, cut neatly to her shoulders. Dark plate encases her body, angles sharp and unyielding. A death knight’s armor, I notice uneasily. Her eyes however are not orbs of pure blue fire, but a soft green and gray, sad eyes that seem to be gazing through me. Her hand reaches my shoulder – a feather like touch as she shakes her head.
“You must go on”, she whispers. Her voice has an oddly familiar sound. I know this woman, even if, in this exact moment I can’t figure out exactly how. “If you turn now, some things will be changed – forever.”
A noise startles me, like great wings flapping over my head.
“You must go on”, the woman repeats. Only now I notice the intricate carvings on her stark armor – the symbols of Light, such as I am wearing, on the hilt of my blade. “Have strength”, she says softly. I hear again the sound of wings and peer around, for the briefest of seconds, trying to see where it is coming from. When I look back the woman is no more. Only the mist, wrapping me tightly, like a cocoon. Like a shroud.
I urge the horse forward, whispering a prayer under my breath. The words come without thinking now, by rote. Suddenly, the fog vanishes. I can see far into the distance through the frozen air, the contours of Wintergarde Keep projected like a shadow on a glimmering layer of snow.
What I see closer is what worries me most though. I must have wandered far from my initial route to stumble upon a camp of the Onslaught. Men in light red armor surround me in the blink of an eye, as I vainly search for the sheltering fog. Someone yells at me to dismount. There is passion in their eyes- and madness. I have learned to recognize fanaticism long before.
“You must go on”, that woman said, but I wonder if she would have gone forward, knowing…
Maybe these man do not know of my betrayal, yet. Maybe I will just convince them to let me pass..
“I’ve seen her two days before”, one of them spits. “With the death knights! She serves the Scourge!”
Cheers rise from the ranks of the Scarlet Onslaught. There seem to be more gathering every second to block my way. I might be able to ride through them, but I cannot escape their arrows if they decide to –
The nearest man suddenly swings his sword against the horse's legs and the poor stallion gives out a horrible cry before crumbling into a shivering mass. The violence of the movement projects me ungraciously out of the saddle and onto a rocky outcrop; my head hits something hard, with a sickening thud.
Some more enthusiastic cheering is the last sound I hear before blacking out.
No comments:
Post a Comment