Scourge - 10 (Patreon)

While Vivi and I hadn't done much more than cuddle and kiss hesitantly underneath the blankets – Tricks could only keep Trix away for so long, and unlike some we had senses of shame – I still had a spring in my step as I headed towards the bathhouse in camp under the pre-dawn light enhanced by the Blue Child. Things had finally been resolved and we were... if not back to normal, on our way to finding a new one.

Everything seemed brighter, more peaceful, the cannons were quiet and the birds were singing tentatively. Just having the chance to spend time with her again, properly, have her rest her head on my chest as she wrapped her arms around me and I ran my hands through her hair had been amazing.

Oxytocin was one hell of a drug. If only Vivi didn't have morning practice with Sir Magroth this morning before joining our escort we could've gone together and...

I shook my head, nice as the thought was, there really wasn't time. My schedule had already been interrupted by last night and being late for the ritual was utterly unthinkable; too much was riding on this to risk it. No matter how important Vivi was to me, there were things more important. Gilneas, the Order of Amber, the refugees and civilians we were protecting.

There was a difference between the emotional and hormonal importance of a teenage relationship and the importance of saving my homeland.

Not far from the bathhouse, I heard my name yelled, and the heavy clanking of armoured boots on the rough cobblestone path. "Gwen! Gwen, oh thank the Light and Watchers." Thomas called, doubling over and panting as he reached me. "Emma, Emma– she's off in a sulk. Won't listen to me and–" He heaved in a great breath. "–and I can't find Celestine! She'll listen to you."

Really, Emma...? "Is she still mad she and Celestine got assigned on the west sector while I'm in the east? Really?" I rubbed at the bridge of my nose and sighed. "She's Celestine's apprentice, not mine."

"Left her with me while–while she organised things." He panted, nodding his head. "Jealous about the fox still. And all the rest. Emma's throwing a wobbly about it, ran off and shut herself in a warehouse. Worse, it's a bloody powder magazine."

"Shit." I grimaced, what the bloody hell, Emma. "Did the guards not– she broke in, didn't she, and–" Oh, for fuck's sake. "You didn't try and tell them, did you. You need someone to keep it hushed.

He nodded shakily. "She's due for the ritual, you can't be short-staffed. Cele' can't be short-staffed. Can't."

And there were all the political ramifications of the daughter and apprentice of the order's only leading figure playing silly buggers in the hours before our largest and thoroughly planned contribution. I hated that I had to consider the optics of things. "Fine, lead the way and I'll get her out. Damnit, Emma, make me want to take up caning, why don't you..."

I kept grumbling as Thomas lead the way, down a number of side alleys and away from my bath. This was more important but bloody hell it was annoying.

Things got quieter as we went, distance from the normal foot traffic of the main paths and... something felt like it was putting me on edge. The cannons were quiet. The birds were singing in the trees behind, but it wasn't the chattering of dawn... no.

No, that was alarm. Trespass, disturbance, ravens croaking loudly in warning. Something was dreadfully, dreadfully wrong.

"Thomas, how far is it?" I asked, picking the pace; he matched me as he felt my urgency. "Something's happening."

"Not far– ah, there." He paused, stopping at a turn and nodding towards a guarded tower. Earthworks pressed against the stone walls of the lower levels, while the top was built of light thatch to keep the roof off; it was easy enough to see it as a powder magazine just from the way it was built.

What wasn't easy to tell was how Emma could've gotten in. There was only one door, no windows on the lower levels; the space around the building was clear in case of accidents according to regulation.

A horn blew atop the wall, and half a second later a ripple of thunder rode followed it. Starting small and rolling out into a full barrage as what seemed like every cannon fired at once. The morning assault was happening then, just delayed from its normal timing–

Another horn blew, louder, and another followed it.

Deciding that there wasn't time to fuss, I closed my eyes and focused. Grab Emma, drag her away, and figure out what the hell was going on before going to the ritual.

Where was Emma, where had my little cousin gone, where was the witchling who revelled in astral magic, I asked, the skies listening to my call easily as I pulled on the longstanding ties between the two of us. Only, what I saw wasn't the tower– Celestine, atop a hill, directing her witches– I redirected the vision, focusing on what I wanted.

How had Emma gotten into the powder magazine, I asked again firmly. The dead air of the alley stirred, carrying the sounds of rushing feet to my ears over the silence of the loneliness of this place. Myself, Thomas, a few plants clinging to life between the paths and the foundations where they wouldn't be trampled down. Where were the rats, where were the cats hunting the rats, where was Emma. At last it turned towards the tower, the stars complying with my wishes, showing me– danger.

I reeled back, yanking myself away from the wall physically as I distanced myself from my divination as the stars and moon screamed in warning of a danger I had encountered before. Flashes of the rot in my gut from the last time ran through me as I felt the sinister touch of the anti-divination wards once more.

"Emma's right there, what are you waiting for?" Thomas demanded impatiently, glancing at the tower.

Where the guards stood motionlessly in their suits of armour. Not twitching, fidgeting, chatting, or... breathing. They were as dead as the stone they guarded.

"Emma's not there." I said, stepping away from Thomas. I saw her, she was with Celestine. "She's not missing at all."

Horns blew again, and again. They weren't on the wall, they were too close to that. The sounds of battle and rushing soldiers sounded within the camp and behind; we were isolated here.

I was isolated here.

"Thomas," I said cautiously, "what happened back when I left home? Celestine sent you after me and you didn't manage to follow..." As I spoke I pulled seeds from my pocket and scattered, forcing them into the cracks between stones and the hard cold soil of winter.

"She's right there!" He hissed, stepping towards me angrily. "We've gotta stop her before she gets in trouble. Before she gets Cele' in trouble!"

He was right, I needed to find Emma– my mind stalled, I had found Emma. She wasn't here. She was here, she was in the store, and threatening to cause trouble for the order and I needed to– I needed to– I stepped back again, my head pounding as I saw the 'guards' from the tower approaching. I was in danger and I needed to leave.

It was like there were two of me, one who believed him utterly and one who knew he was wrong. And it hurt.

"Thomas. Answer the question."

"The dwarf on the lion bird." Thomas said, rolling his eyes. "You flew off and spooked me, was supposed to follow you all the way. Cele' insisted but then you up and vanished on me. She tanned my hide for that, you know."

I didn't relax; he was Thomas, or knew the right answer. But... that didn't resolve my worries.

If anything, that made it worse. If he was an impostor and not being controlled like I was–wasn't, I could see magic, how could I be without noticing – it was happening. I grit my teeth and turned to leave, a hand pressing into my eye.

The wind howled in my ear, screams of the dead and dying being carried upon it. A wind of death and defiance and doom as we were attacked on both sides.

"You can't go, Emma's waiting for you." Thomas said, snatching my arm and squeezing it. "Don't you want to see her? She's your sister, your little sister. You adore her."

I did, I had, I found her annoying, I loved her. She was precious and special and I remembered teaching her to read and write, helping her magic and acting as a second mentor as she started on the path to being a witch. The only part of my family I hadn't pushed away after Mama left. I went to her initiation and rejoined witch society because I promised her I'd be there.

Except, except, all that was true. And more was. And it was important too. Preparing for the Scourge, preparing Gilneas, advancing the Order of Amber, getting the witches’ support, Trix, my students. Emma had become a brat and I was distancing myself somewhat, treating her as a normal student of another witch, until she grew up.

"How curious, you're resisting." A thickly accented Gilnean man said, his monocle glinting as he stood between me and the path I'd taken to get here. Baron Ashmore. The man who fought proudly on the wall like his ancestors did– how did I know that? I didn't pay attention to noble lineages– "I shall greatly enjoy discovering the exact limits of that resistance; mortals are normally so fragile."

The baron – not a baron – grinned widely. "It shall help make up for how infuriating you have been, girl. I had thought it must be a ruse, some other force acting through you, but to think there was no false trail, no great mystery... just a child who stumbled onto everything by pure chance."

Thomas wrapped his arms around me– or tried to, as I pulled up the thornvines I had seeded to snare his limbs and pull him off of me. More lashed out to bind in place those shambling corpses that masqueraded as Gilnean guards.

More came, all around, slipping out of storehouses and alleyways.

"Cultist." I hissed at the infiltrator, the man who'd fought on the wall, who'd fought beside Vivi. "You may well have bitten off more than you can chew."

I was bluffing, my eyes darting in every direction trying to find a way out. How the fuck could I get Uncle Tom out of here? Could I afford to even try? I would never be able to look Robin, nor Celestine or Markus in the eye again. Weaving a mimicry of the Kirin Tor's disruptive magics I cast it in his direction, only for Tom to start giggling.

"You aren't the first to be able to see magic, you know." Ashmore said casually, not even batting an eye as my plants bound his legs and stripped him of his sword. "We learned how to deal with that problem millennia ago."

Not Ashmore, not a Gilnean. Not a necromancer, not a cultist, which only left a yawning pit in my stomach as to the possibilities for what he could be. There was only one creature I could think of that would mastermind this kind of ambush while the wall was assaulted on all sides, only one that would revel in my fear as it monologued like a bad cartoon villain.

"But you made it easier than most. They, at least, have the common sense to keep it secret. You? You sat yourself at the gate, letting me test the exact method by which your special sight worked." His grin got wider, inhumanly wider. "It was quite generous of you."

My reply was a lance of Astral magic, tinged with the blue of the Blue Child that shone on high. The magic readily answered my call, bought me a few moments of silence... but as the lance of light faded the mangled face of Ashmore was still grinning. Still uncaring of what I'd done.

"Ah, do struggle. It just makes it all the sweeter." He laughed, rearing his head back as the mangled skin melted and began flowing off of his face. His body. All across his form his clothes and skin stretched and rippled, pulling taut and ripping as the true form beneath pushed forth.

It wasn't the almost graceful changing of shapes I'd seen Celestine and Aderic use, that I used myself, nor was it the impossible instantaneous transition of Lord Renard where one moment he was one size and another the next. No, this was grotesque. A thick grey-skinned arm, covered in scars and rolling fat, burst out of the shell and started pulling it apart. Until a towering monster of a demon, the worst possible scenario, stood before me.

"So much better." The Dreadlord's echoing voice said, his fat face mirroring the wide grin he had as a human. "Now–"

I was already running, grabbing Thomas' arm and pulling him and his vines out of the ground while leaving him bound. A new lance drove through the ghouls blocking one of the alleyways, the one closest to the forests. A whisper of safety guiding me.

My brief hope that the dreadlord's transformation would delay him, the fact I had run immediately and only witnessed it from my peripheral vision – and it still turned my stomach – was quashed as in a burst of green flame the fat demon appeared before me once more. A taloned hand dug into the wooden wall of the alleyway and pulled it down behind him.

"Now, now, that is rude." He said chidingly, shark teeth glistening as if wet with blood. "I was speaking and you run away? After all this effort I spent in preparing the ground for you."

Thomas laughed uproariously. Or whatever was controlling him did.

"Hmm, where was I, where was I... ah, yes." The dreadlord raised his talons and pressed them together. "I am Detheroc, pitiful child. And I am your doom. You may despair now." He snapped his talons, the soft click followed by a resounding boom as I felt a surge of danger from behind.

I ripped up a wall of vines and wood from the ground, barricading the alleyway. The wave of heat and force that came buckled the wood and set it ablaze, a pillar of black smoke rising into the sky as the powder magazine detonated.

We were alive, we were– talons closed around my stomach and lifted me into the air.

"Yes, yes, your little druidic magic serves you well. But that is hardly special." Detheroc laughed mockingly. "No, no, what we are so interested in, little slave, is what lies within that head of yours. All that you know belongs to the Legion now."

One of the nathrezim infiltrators, the ones that had destabilised Lordaeron, and he was here for me. A pounding weight pressed in my skull as a talon moved for my head, terror filled me, and I did the only thing I could think of.

I yanked on Lord Renard's essence, squeezing myself into the tiniest form I possibly could, and dove for the ground.

"Rargh! Infuriating nuisance, I had you!" Detheroc roared in anger, his dagger-sharp talons carving through the cobblestones but missing me as I squeezed through the wooden wall I had made. "Run all you wish, this is your end! Your doom comes!"

Thomas was dead, I couldn't save him. I couldn't even try. I had to accept that. Coming out the other side, the air was thick with dust and smoke, and fires raged leaving everything illuminated with an orange glow.

Yet, my fire felt clear again now that I had changed. The pressure gone. Seeking to put distance between myself and the dreadlord, wriggled around the rubble of a collapsed warehouse, trusting in my nose to lead me towards fresh air and an open path.

My body couldn't be larger than a kit, the tiniest I had ever been, but I had never been more thankful I had inherited Lord Renard's ability to change shapes.

"All that you have done is for nothing and the Burning Legion comes for this world! Surrender and I shall be a forgiving master!" Detheroc bellowed, crashing through wood and stone as he chased after me. So close that a cloven hoof landed mere feet from me. "Find her, you useless wastes of flesh!"

I pressed myself low to the ground and hid, cloaking myself in wisps of illusion and pulling the wind around me to deaden the air; silencing my breathing and trapping my scent.

It was enough, the dreadlord continued on, smashing his way towards the forests.

"You think nature will be enough to keep you from me?" He growled, following a trail that wasn't there. "I have hunted mortals more powerful than you for longer than your pathetic kingdom has existed."

Seeing an opportunity, I crept forward, heading back towards the wall. Hiding in the forests felt natural, instinctive, but it was wrong. We couldn't let the dreadlord act unopposed, he had to be stopped. And that meant–

A black chain missed me by inches, Fel green flames licking at its links. "To fall for such a simplistic ruse, I am almost disappointed." Detheroc sneered, and the chain came alive to lash out against me. Black links cut into my flesh and fur, forcing a yowl of pain from me.

Only the fact it lashed blindly, failing to wrap itself around me, told me that my illusion held. Though he could discern my general presence... he couldn't tell exactly where I was unless I moved. Too late to remain, I forwent stealth; trailing blood and leaving behind clumps of fur I stretched my form until I was closer to the size of a wolf and trampled over a shambling zombie, using it as a springboard, to leap over a pile of rubble.

Had I never spent those dreams, those nights of play, practising with Tricks, I could never have come close to this. As the chase continued false trails were laid, lines of illusory blood to lead him down momentary false trails.

Each second I bought was precious, getting me further from the choking fire and smoke that stained my lungs and fur and closer to the sounds of battle. The sounds of defiance rang against the dreadlord's assault from behind.

By the time I broke out onto the main roads, I couldn't hear the sounds of Detheroc screaming his fury behind me. The dreadlord had a low opinion of people who wielded Life and Nature magic, to say the least. I could hardly remember anything about it, but I got the feeling he had been involved in the War of the Ancients.

Seeing a pocket of resistance I sped my way there, raking claws through the undead as I went. It was satisfying to rend the skeletons apart, snatching bones away that left the whole to collapse or shattering them under a blow.

"Wolf!" A soldier screamed, turning his gun my way. "Bloody wolf!"

"You bleeding idiot! It's on our side!" Sergeant Fallan yelled, smacking the soldier upside the head. "It ain't dead and it's re-killing the skeles!"

There was no question that these undead were low quality. The bones brittle and old, drawn from reservoirs of bodies... old mausoleums, battlefields, places we hadn't found or touched. Just the lack of ghouls and zombies compared to Skeletons said that much.

I barrelled through another skeleton to reach the line and shifted back into a human, suddenly feeling the pain in my side all the more acutely. "I would– appre–appreciate not being–shot." I spluttered, coughing out black soot and wincing as I healed my side. "Demon, demon leader, chasing me."

"Arevin! Thank the Light!" Tobias yelled. "Get her behind the lines, at once, Sergeant!"

"Aye sir!"

"I need to reach reinforcements, proper reinforcements." I said as I was brought back, half distracted as I looked at the wounded soldiers at the back of the formation. "A dreadlord, demon leader of the Scourge, elite–"

Tobias put a hand on my shoulder. "We've the better half of a battalion here. You're safe. The ambush is being pushed back."

No, he didn't understand. We needed people who could fight the dreadlord properly, not low-level soldiers. I could fight him from range, but I couldn't stop him from getting to me. And whether I could last long enough to really hurt him was entirely up in the air.

Tricks. I needed to find Tricks.

But, failing that..."Magroth." I said, looking Tobias in the eye. "The only ones who can fight the demon evenly will be Magroth, Arugal, and maybe Genn." The king wasn't a worgen, but he wasn't weak... I didn't think. I didn't know. Arugal– Arugal was an archmage, but was he strong enough? What I remembered of him said otherwise.

But a Paladin of the Silver Hand, trained to fight demons and monsters alike–

Tobias squeezed my shoulder and smiled comfortingly. "Calm, girl. Can't have you lose your head now– start healing the men, they need it if we're to hold."

I yanked Tobias' hand away from my shoulder. It was the wrong call, we couldn't fight Detheroc. But the men, did they need me? The position was hard pressed, this was the main street, soldiers were trickling in to reinforce in a motley mix of gear as they rushed to take up arms.

"Save your bullets for the fleshy ones!" Sergeant Fallan ordered as gunshots rang out. "Can't hit an empty ribcage!"

There were horses, I could ride on, I could leave them here. But... but I'd already left someone behind. "A minute, then I need to keep going. I have to find Magroth." I said, still thinking more of Tricks.

Or Trix. Where was my apprentice? Was she with my fox? She had to be okay.

Breathing out, I clasped my hands together. Reaching out to each and every soldier here. One minute, one minute wasn't long, but I would do my best to help them before I went to rally the people we needed. Weeds pushed through the cracks of the cobblestones around my feet as wounds sealed over, fatigue was washed away, and bruises faded.

It wasn't a proper healing, those with broken bones would take too long. Greater injuries would take too much mana from me. How long would this battle go on?

I didn't know, but this wasn't–

"There you are!" Detheroc roared, breaking through a building on the side of the street, great splinters shooting out ahead of him and piercing chainmail and shields alike. "And you have brought me to new toys to play with! How kind of you!"

He snarled as he spread his wings, leaping over the skeletal horde and crashing into the soldiers. One was skewered on his talons instantly, writhing and screaming in agony as she was lifted to the demon's face

Where Detheroc delicately bit off his arm before tossing him aside.

"Light, it's a monster!"

"A fat monster!"

"He fucking ate Ruth!"

"Hold, damn you! Keep your focus!" Tobias snapped, interposing himself between me and Detheroc. "Stand firm! We have weathered worse and will do so again, no matter how great our foe!"

Detheroc laughed, gore dribbling from his putrid lips. "Worse? You cannot fathom worse than I, worm." An abomination lumbered out of the broken building behind him, a trio of robe-wearing men behind it. And a swarm of actual ghouls rather than fodder skeletons all around. "I am a dreadlord, and you shall give me the girl or you shall know fear."

Raising his cloven hoof he ignored the spears that glanced off his thigh and stomped a shieldbearer flat.

"Never, demon!" Tobias shouted defiantly, his ornate rifle raised and cocked. "Fire, men! Faith and steel have vanquished demons before!"

Wings closing like a barrier, Detheroc weathered the storm. The bullets striking him doing little more than leaving welts and faint dribbles of green ichor seeping forth.

And around his legs, Thomas emerged. Bleeding and badly broken, bones protruding from his arm and branches still wrapped around his flesh constrictingly, he shambled forward. He was struck in the gut with a spear, and grunted, his head tilting back.

Detheroc laughed once more, even as faint oozing green blood seeped from his wings. "Despair, mortals, and succumb!"

A ghost ripped itself out of Thomas' body. No, a banshee, the horrifying visage of a tormented and tortured elf screaming her soul out into the world. The sounds pierced my ears and I felt blood trickle from them, but others – a dozen men fell to their knees, screaming silently into the void.

"Damn you, damn you demon! You will not break me!" Sergeant Fallan screamed, slashing his blade furiously into the banshee. Some like him held strong, scarcely trembling, but they were the minority.

Wings blasting open, Fel flame falling from his claws, Detheroc reached out and reaped the lives of three men who were unable to respond. My action, my change from healing to offence, was too slow. Though I drew a beam of the White Lady's disgust at the traitorous undead elves down upon the banshee, obliterating its spectral form, it was too late.

In mere moments half the defenders had collapsed and been killed by the surprise of the banshee.

"We're doomed." Tobias said quietly, then firmed his stance and reloaded his rifle. "Wallon, get my future daughter-in-law to safety!"

"What–"

Arms reached down from one of the horses, pulling me up and into the saddle.

"You will not take me!" Sergeant Fallon screamed again in a frenzy, his blade burying itself into Detheroc's thigh. Mere inches but he drew blood.

A clawed hand reached down and enclosed his head, as if to rip it off. As I was carried away, I watched as he was released, standing still and slack, only to turn and fall upon his fellows with a rictus of a grin upon his face.

"For Gilneas! Hold the North Gate!" Tobias bellowed, firing his gun valiantly as Detheroc approached him sedately. "I deny you, demon."

The last thing I heard, the last thing I saw, before we turned a corner and headed straight for the gate was Tobias withdrawing his pistol and shooting it defiantly into Detheroc's face.