21AN (11/4/07): I would just likely to quickly apologize for leaving all three of the people who actual bothered to read this far with such a vicious cliffhanger for so long. The fearsome beast known only as "Midterms" reared its ugly head and had to be slain. I actually considered putting this story on hiatus for a while, but I felt that doing so would be unbearably cruel. Also, as was mentioned in my note in the first chapter, I am attempting to slightly improve the earlier chapters in addition to working on the current ones (though in retrospect this chapter is not very good either). And now, without further ado, we return to our tale.
Chapter Eleven: Whirlwind
"Why so silent good monsieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good?" – The Phantom of the Opera
Garadar, Nagrand
It was a cruel laugh. A pitiless, mocking laugh that would have offended even the most callous veteran or coldhearted ice queen. Lorkhan, however, could barely hear it. All the young warrior could hear was the faint, failing breathing of the woman he held in his arms. Shock paralyzed him, robbing him of the will to do anything but stare at the elf for whom he had confessed his love. Tears wound their way down his face as he slowly rocked her in his arms. The soft beating of Rhana's heart filled his ears, drowning out the Broken's grating voice, until a single, disturbingly familiar phrase sliced through the din.
Markov leaned forward and glared at the orc. "I think there's something in your eye." His tone twisted into a snarl as he practically spat the words, milking the irony for all it was worth. "Here, let me help."
A deep bellow from nearby finally managed to wrench Lorkhan's eyes from the woman in his arms. "Rhana!" Obereth, who had not gone far, rushed toward them, brilliant green light already emanating from his palms.
The Broken general's eye swiveled to center on the tauren. "I think not," he said with a smirk as he darted at Obereth and leapt into the air.
The two collided and, as they did, Voidwrath slid between the enormous shaman's ribs. He toppled over backward from the force of the Broken landing on him. Obereth hit the ground and Markov gave his sword a sharp twist, shredding the inside of the chest of the former. He ripped the blade out, eliciting a grunt of pain from his latest victim, and casually wiped the blood off on the fallen tauren's hide. The insane creature cackled like the madman he was and bounded off into the darkness. The voice of the Black Blade of Sin echoed in Lorkhan's mind, its laughter every bit as cruel as its master's.
Well, little one, what are you going to do now? Are you just going to sit there and watch your friends die? Are you just going to let Him get away with this?
Part of him almost leapt up to pursue the fleeing Broken, goaded on by the words of the cursed sword, but the knot in his heart weighed him down. He still clung to Rhana, as if trying desperately to keep her anchored to the world of the living.
A weak rasp from the ground drew the grieving warrior's gaze. "Lorkhan..." Obereth lay on the dirt, a long and vicious gash in his chest.
"Obereth, are you alright?"
The tauren managed to weakly smile and nod. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. " His smile faded into a face which bore more resemblance to a stone wall than the comforting visage that Lorkhan had come to know. "Just don't let Markov get away. Not again."
He glanced back down at Rhana. "But–"
Obereth quickly but only partially cogently cut him off. "I'll take care of her, the two of us have been in worse shape than this." When the warrior hesitated again, he shouted in a more forceful and coherent tone. "What are you waiting for? Go!"
Lorkhan reluctantly lay Rhana's dying body down and stood up. He stole one, final glance back at his companions before hurrying off into the night after his fleeing nemesis.
A small part of Obereth felt bad about lying to the concerned young orc, but the rest of him had bigger things to worry about. His mind struggled to remain focused, though his thoughts were already beginning to tumble out of control and it had become nearly impossible to string one to the next. Only one thing remained clear to him: Pain. An enormous hand slowly began working its way up his chest, following a trail of blood that stained his hide, until it found a massive rend in his flesh just to the left of his sternum. Markov's blade had bit deeply, and the tauren could feel his blood draining out of his body. He knew he would not last much longer.
The shaman managed to roll onto his side, and though his vision had begun to blur, he could see Rhana lying only a few feet away. She lay in a rapidly expanding pool of blood, and what little color she had was draining out of her skin. Fear tightened its grip on his punctured heart. The scene was all too familiar. Just as countless years before, one whom he loved was slipping from his grasp. He slowly reached out toward her, and began clawing at the dirt, trying desperately to drag his failing body toward Rhana. He could not feel his legs, and a terrifying cold was quickly enveloping his hands. His chest screamed in protest as he hauled himself to Rhana's side, though Obereth no longer cared for such trivial matters as mere pain.
As he looked down upon the body of the one he treasured, he could see that she would not last much longer either. Calling on the last of his strength, he held out his hands and let a swirling cloud of green energy flow from his very soul into the outstretched palms. As the raw, elemental power he wielded condensed in his hands, the shaman felt his own spirit fail. It took him only a moment to realize that he would not survive the process. However, he also knew that Rhana's time was running out, and if he delayed healing her long enough to mend his own wound, she would be beyond his help.
Any other being would have had to make a choice, whether to save his life or hers. For Obereth, however, there was no debate, no doubt, and certainly no choice. The emerald energy leapt from his palms and flowed across the gash in Rhana's stomach. As it washed over her, the energy sealed the rend shut. He could see the elf stir, and then lie still. Color began to wind its way back into her face and she breathed lightly, as if she were simply in a deep, pleasant sleep.
Obereth tried to smile, but discovered that he could not. The massive tauren soon found that his muscles did not respond to his mind's sluggish commands, and he could not remain sitting up. He collapsed onto his back, staring up at the night sky. The stars began to run together as a haze crept in from the corners of his vision. The sound of his own breathing filled his ears, the air rushing in and out of his failing lungs created a horrendous roar that pounded in his skull.
As he stared up at the soup of a sky above him he could see a shape beginning to form out of the starlight. Even as his eyes failed him, the shape slowly came into focus. Her hide was a soft chestnut color and she wore a simple linen dress. Obereth's punctured heart sputtered as he recognized her face. A smile played across her lips and her eyes radiated intoxicating warmth that he drank in as he had long ago. He gazed longingly upon the woman who had captured and tamed his wild young heart with her calm compassion and irresistible strength of will. Cold tears poured from the shaman's eyes. Was fate so cruel as to finally show him the one he had yearned for only moments before his death?
In her hands he could see she held a small bundle of cloth. Wrapped in it was a sleeping infant, the child she had given her life to bring into the world. It was the tiny girl that he had cherished in those lonely years, the one thing, the only thing that had kept the distraught and grieving tauren from following his beloved. As Obereth gazed at the child he could see her grow before his eyes and quickly become the adventurous youth that her aging father had jokingly blamed his grey hairs on. The entire world had been a single, wondrous adventure for her, and her energy and enthusiasm had breathed new life into the shaman's hollow soul. As the girl continued to grow, he recognized the strong-willed young woman who had simultaneously been the source of all his joy and frustration. Her wild spirit had been impossible to control, a trait that Obereth had been both proud of and enraged by, depending on the occasion. Finally, he beheld the calm, confident, and compassionate warrior that he had been convinced was the reincarnation of her mother.
And then the Legion came and took her from him. All of his training, all of his skill, all his experience had been meaningless. He had failed her. He failed them both.
Obereth desperately tried to reach out to them, to embrace them one last time, but his strength failed him and his arms remained at his sides. Darkness closed in around him. He felt cold, and then nothing at all.
Lorkhan dashed through the ruins of Garadar, chasing after the shadow that leapt from rooftop to rooftop. All the while, the voice of Voidwrath cackled in his head.
I can't believe you actually listened to me! You're such a sap!
He snarled and shook his head, trying to banish the mocking voice. "Shut up!"
"Well, well. It looks like someone has a little voice in his head." The young warrior stopped as the honeyed words drifted past his ears. He looked up and, despite the darkness, spotted his quarry standing atop the roof of the building before him. "You should know better than to trust the devil on your shoulder Lorkhan."
It occurred to the orc that Markov had no reason to know exactly who he was. "How do you know my name?"
The Broken general flashed a wide, insane grin that showed off his crooked fangs. He lovingly stroked the Black Blade of Sin. "Voidwrath told me. This little setup was actually his idea."
A deluge of questions shot through his head, but each and every one shared a common beginning. "Why?"
Why? Why did I convince you to tell Rhana you loved her? It's quite simple. Being a villain is like being a playwright, you need to have a sense of dramatic timing. What better time to kill the one you love than the very moment you confess your feelings to her? And the best part is that you'll never know if she really did have feelings for you or if I was simply lying about that too. Now you can truly understand the pain that He felt. The pain that we feel.
"When you picked up Voidwrath, I was given a glimpse into your soul." Markov looked down at Lorkhan with a wide eye and an aggrieved expression on his face, one that befitted an innocent child more than the bitter general. "Do you have any idea what that did to me? To see the feelings that you so blatantly and shamelessly bear for her, after my own love was taken from me by your kind? It was torture beyond anything even the most vengeful deity or malevolent demon could devise." The heart-wrenching look slowly twisted into a mask of pure, undiluted hatred. "You taunted me with what you had, with what I had lost, and now I shall make you pay for that. You and the rest of your disgusting race shall, at long last, understand the agony I must bear every waking moment." The words were hissed through clenched teeth, and the once honeyed tone had vanished, replaced by equal parts wrath and accusation. "What goes around."
Lorkhan was at a loss for words. As Markov spoke, realization slowly crept its way into his mind. "The vision I saw on Telaar." His thoughts were suddenly aligned, each of his enemy's actions finally made sense when before he had seen nothing but mindless malice.
"The day Karabor fell." The Broken trembled with rage as he spoke, though sorrow was steadily slipping back into his voice. "The day your kind began their bloodlust fueled quest to wipe my people off the face of Draenor." The misery that the warped creature felt finally overpowered its rage. The burning blue eye flickered wildly as tears threatened to roll down his face. "The day a coward took my wife from me."
The fury that Lorkhan felt was shouldered aside as a swell of pity grew in its place. "How long has it been since she died?"
"Fifty-three years, two months, and eighteen days." The response was automatic, without doubt or hesitation. "Enough talk."
Markov wiped all the traces of emotion from his face, brutally quashing all the anguish that he had allowed to bleed through, and tossed a large object down off the roof. It landed at Lorkhan's feet and lodged itself into the ground. It took a moment for the orc to realize what he had been given. It was a sword, a large two-handed one like his zweihander, though of significantly better quality. The Broken leapt down from the rooftop and landed a dozen yards away from the young orc. He brandished the Black Blade of Sin at Lorkhan.
"We will settle this once and for all."
His eyes darted from Markov, to the sword, and then back to the hideous general. "Why are you giving this to me?"
He looked taken aback by the question, though with such a repulsive face it was difficult to tell. "My victory would be meaningless if I killed you in anything but an even fight." He motioned toward the sword. "It was one of my best works."
The warrior glanced at the sword once again, and slowly realized where he had seen it before. He had last seen it in the hands of man who had been, all at once, frighteningly different and yet the same as the Broken who stood before him. The Markov of years past had wielded the sword with extraordinary skill, grace, and, above all else, control. He found it hard to believe that the lunatic who glared back at him had once been that man, though here stood proof of that, lodged in the ground at his feet.
The sides of the Broken's mouth curled upward as he saw recognition flicker across Lorkhan's face. "I managed to recover it from the ruins many years after the fall of Karabor. If you were paying attention in any of our previous fights you would have noticed that Voidwrath is fast enough to easily slip past your guard when you wield that oversized paddle of yours."
He looked back toward Markov. His head still swam with questions, though the most pressing of them was the one that managed to leave his mouth. "Then why not use that to your advantage and kill me?"
The Broken looked horrified by the very idea. "That would be dreadfully anti-climactic."
The rage Lorkhan felt returned in full force, trampling his pity into dirt. "Is that all this is to you?" The orc's fingers curled around the handle of the sword. "Some kind of sick story?"
He ripped the blade from where it stuck out of the ground and leveled it at his nemesis. It was heavy, but so well balanced that it felt much lighter than his zweihander. The increased weight would allow him to put a considerable amount of power behind each swing, yet at the same time it was much easier to wield. It was, in all respects, superior to the zweihander.
Markov grinned malevolently back at him as the two combatants slowly began circling each other. "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances and one man in his time plays many parts."
The orc's eyes narrowed at the now disturbingly nonchalant Broken. "And what part do you play?"
"Me?" He shrugged casually and spoke with a hint of pride. "I'm the bad guy."
"So would that make me the hero?"
He paused for a moment as he thought. The Broken nodded his deformed, tentacled head, content with the idea. "Yes, I suppose it would."
"Then, by your own logic, you cannot win." The warrior and the general continued to circle each other, both tightening their grips on their swords in anticipation. "In the end, the hero always prevails."
"Not true." A small smile crept across his unsightly face. "You see, there are two kinds of plays: Tragedies and comedies. A comedy generally ends with a marriage while a tragedy ends with death. Life ends the latter way." Markov's grin faded into a more controlled, impassive expression. He spoke in an almost matter-of-fact tone. "This mortal existence is a tragedy, an excruciating nightmare and nothing more. So, in reality, you are the one who cannot win."
The calm veneer that he wore when speaking was replaced by a mask of rage, one even more hideous than the Broken's already repulsive face.
"Now, die orc filth!"
He surged forward, barely skimming along the ground as he went, and held Voidwrath pointed slightly downward. Just before Markov collided with the younger warrior he whipped the blade upward, bringing the pitch-black tip up in a curve toward the orc's chest. The move was blindingly fast, though Lorkhan managed to bat the sword aside as the Broken general sailed toward him. Not missing a beat, Markov took another step forward, putting him inside the reach of each of their swords. His hooves touched the dirt for mere moments as they pushed off the ground and he lunged. His mutated shoulder rammed into the young orc's chest, slamming into him with the force of a bull Clefthoof. Lorkhan stumbled back, the wind knocked out of him and barely staying on his feet.
Markov, however, did not relent and swung Voidwrath around from the side in a wide arc. Though the young orc was able to block the slash, when he did his nemesis snapped Voidwrath back and struck from a different angle before he could even hope to counter. Worse yet, each of the Broken's attacks was punctuated by a few choice words from the Black Blade of Sin itself.
He is right. You cannot win. We cannot be killed, not while the fire of our hatred burns so strongly. Die. Die! DIE!
Hearing the voice of the sword as he blocked each of its attempts to disembowel him unnerved him to no end. Its insane cries and rants only served to put him even further on the defensive. He snarled as he darted backward, dodging out of the way of an upward slice. "Be quiet!" The younger warrior sidestepped a stab from the Nether-cursed, Voidwrath's pitch-black tip missing him by mere inches. Before he could try and exploit the opening, however, Markov whipped his sword around and slashed diagonally downward. The malevolent sword laughed at his frustration.
No. This torment is only the beginning. You will suffer, your entire wretched race will suffer for what they have done.
As the blow fell, Lorkhan slid the blade of Markov's former sword beneath his current one, guiding it off to the side. He forced Voidwrath down until its tip was lodged into the ground. The two combatants stood shoulder to shoulder, their swords crossed downward. As they struggled, the Broken general to free his blade and the orc warrior to keep it pinned, the former grinned and cackled with glee, mirroring the voice of his sword.
The expression on his repulsive face was nothing short of pure, undiluted madness. Lorkhan gapped at his enemy. "You're insane!"
The Nether-cursed's smile vanished and loosed an enraged snarl as he tried to wrench his sword free. "Of course I am! After losing her, anyone with a soul would be!" He tilted his deformed head back and, with a sudden jerk, smashed his gnarled forehead into Lorkhan's nose.
An instant later the Broken's elbow shot up and delivered a sharp jab to the orc's ribs, followed by a fast backhand to the jaw. The young warrior staggered backward, blood streaming from his smashed nose. One of Markov's hooves slammed into the side of his legs, knocking them out from beneath him. The sword he had been given slipped from his grasp and he clattered to the ground. He propped himself up on his elbows, about to stand, but found the Black Blade of Sin pressed lightly against his throat. Lorkhan's eyes darted from the cursed sword to his own, which lay tantalizingly out of reach.
"It is over." Markov's twisted grin returned. "Your kind have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind."
A slender wooden shaft flew whistling out of the night and imbedded itself in his right shoulder. The Broken grunted in surprise and pain, backing away from where Lorkhan lay. A second arrow sailed out of the darkness, though this one was knocked aside by the flat of Voidwrath. Lorkhan peered off in the direction the arrows had come from, and beheld a sight that made his heart practically leap from his chest. Rhana notched a third arrow and launched it at Markov, who darted out of the way and dashed toward her. Lorkhan, however, scrambled to his feet and tackled the Broken general to the ground before he could get anywhere near the elf. By the time Markov managed to get to his feet, Lorkhan had dashed to and snatched up the sword the former had given him.
The burning blue eye of the Broken glanced at Rhana before it swung back toward Lorkhan. "You will not always have your wench to protect you." He slowly backed away from the two and flashed a mirthless smile. "We will finish this another time."
The orc edged toward the Broken, weapon at the ready. "There's nowhere left for you to run to." He was in the heart of a fortress crawling with Mag'har and Horde warriors, how could he possibly think that he could slip away again?
Markov chuckled. "On the contrary, there is always somewhere for me to run to. Even before the fall of Telaar I had others lined up to replace the Kurenai." He motioned to the night around him. "Listen, do you hear that?"
In the silence that followed, Lorkhan could indeed here sounds drifting through the night air, ones he had ignored while focused on Markov. Enraged shouts and the ring of clashing steel floated in from all across Garadar. It was the sound of a battle, and a large, hectic one at that. A frustrated growl issued from the orc's throat as he mentally berated himself for not realizing earlier that Markov would never have come here alone. Of course the coward had brought others with him, and the Mag'har were now occupied dealing with them.
The angered warrior glared at the Broken. "And who have you duped into doing your dirty work this time?"
"The Murkblood, among others. You'd be surprised how many factions in Outland would jump at the chance to help me take my revenge. While you have been busy with me and the paltry force here, the main contingent of my warriors has been happily butchering the inhabitants of Sunspring Post." The Broken general grinned at the expression of shock and horror that flickered across Lorkhan's face. "What, you thought I had forgotten about that quaint little village? Did you honestly think I could pass up the opportunity to stamp out even more of your kind?"
The orc gaped. "Why?!" Markov's almost offhand attitude while commenting on the wholesale slaughter of civilians was appalling. "They were defenseless! They were innocent!"
The crooked grin twisted into a malicious sneer. "None of your disgusting race is innocent. Not after what they did." One of Markov's gnarled hands crept down from Voidwrath's handle and plucked a whirling bundle of gears and wires from a pouch on his belt. "What goes around."
To late did Lorkhan recognize the device the Broken held. A deformed thumb pressed a red button on the side of the detonator. A chain of thunderous explosions ripped through Garadar, momentarily banishing the night in blinding gout of flame. The ground beneath them rocked and trembled in protest and a blast of hot air and debris blew Lorkhan of his feet, sending him crashing face down into the dirt.
He looked up, blood trickling down from where he had cracked his nose against the ground. Markov, outlined against the flames, mockingly saluted them. "And on that note, farewell." As the last word left his mouth, his body swirled like water running down a drain. With a resounding gong, the Broken was sucked into a tiny hole in the very fabric of reality, disappearing in the blink of an eye.
Though he was not an expert in the field of magic, Lorkhan knew the result of a warlock's summoning ritual when he saw it. In the near silence that followed, broken only by the crackling of flames, something gnawed at the back of Lorkhan's mind. Something was missing. Someone was missing.
"Rhana, where's Obereth?"
The elf said nothing, though the despondent look on her face told him all he needed to know. He cursed the world, he cursed Markov, but above all else he cursed himself. Once again The Nether-cursed had claimed one of those close to him and, once again, the depraved creature had slipped away. When his rage finally ebbed, it left in its wake a terrible void. A gaping wound which none of his other feelings would even attempt to heal, for fear of the fury that had left it. The sheer emptiness tainted his memories of the wise old shaman with sorrow. No longer could he fondly recall Obereth's words of wisdom and comfort, they were far to infected by the memory of his failure to bring anything but abject misery.
Do you see, little one? Of course you don't, you never will. Your kind never will.
The voice filled his head, drowning out all other thoughts. Pain accompanied it and overwhelmed his senses. It felt as though a dozen flaming daggers had been rammed into his skull, setting his mind alight his agony. He sank to his knees, clutching his head and howling from the all-consuming pain.
In an instant, Rhana was at his side. "Lorkhan, are you alright?" Her slender hands concealed a surprising amount of strength and she managed to support him, preventing him from completely collapsing under the pain. He managed to lift his head to look upon her face. Through all of the pain that lanced through his brain, he could clearly make out the expression of terror painted on her face. Seeing that alone was a far greater agony than anything that Voidwrath could inflict directly. The voice of the sword whispered mocking words in his ears.
Oh, look at her. Look at the concern in her eyes. A pity your pathetic species cannot muster such tender feelings. You might have had something together if you had been anything but an orc. You will never be able to return her love. The two of you are doomed.
"No! Get out of my head!" He bellowed and his fingers dug into his scalp as he clawed vainly to tear the voice from his mind. The pain was so intense that Lorkhan thought his skull would split open. "Get out!" The Black Blade of Sin merely laughed at him.
What? You think you can just cast out one such as me on a whim? Foolish child. You don't understand just how easily I can control you. You are my puppet. Now, little one, there's something very important that I want you to do.
His arms dropped from where they gripped his head, though not by any effort on Lorkhan's part. He felt his body slowly straighten up, as if it had a will of its own. His limbs refused to obey the commands of his panicking mind and from his own little corner in his skull, he saw as his eyes swiveled to look into Rhana's emerald ones.
Kill her.
The warrior watched helplessly as his hands shot up and curled around her slender neck. Her glowing green eyes widened in shock and horror as the orc's fingers tightened around her throat. He screamed and struggled in the confines of his mind, trying desperately to stop his hands from wringing the life out the very woman he had confessed his love for.
Rhana, however, was anything but defenseless. She twined her arms around Lorkhan's and lifted herself off the ground. Planting her feet on his face, she pushed off, sending herself sailing through the air out of his clutches. The farstrider righted herself in midair and landed on her feet with grace that even the most agile cat would envy.
"Lorkhan, what in the Nether are you doing?!" Her face and voice were tainted by horror and desperation. Lorkhan's mind tried in vain to cry out apologies and pleas for forgiveness, but his lips merely pulled back to flash a malevolent grin.
He felt his jaw begin to move of its own accord, and the words that rolled off his tongue were far too hollow and gravelly to be his own. "I'm sorry, he's not here right now. Can I take a message?" The orc's body lurched forward and charged toward her.
As he barreled toward her, Rhana darted to the side and guided him over one of her outstretched legs. His momentum carried him in an arc downward and he slammed into the ground. In an instant, a slender arm coiled around his neck and tightened to painful extremes, squeezing shut every vessel that ran through it. Lorkhan's body thrashed about, trying to throw the elf off, but she held fast. Darkness slowly crept inward from the corners of his vision until it completely consumed him. Deafening silence filled his ears for what seemed like an eternity until it was finally broken by the irritated voice of the Black Blade of Sin.
Hmmm... Well that didn't go as planned.
In his mind, the warrior smiled at the sword's annoyance. "Don't expect any sympathy from me." Under normal circumstances he would have been embarrassed by the fact that Rhana had been able to mop the floor with him, but in this case it brought him relief, joy, and no small amount of amusement.
"Lorkhan! Lorkhan, can you hear me?" The voice cut through the suffocating blanket of darkness like the first rays of the sun.
He knew the voice and, though the last time it had reached out to him while he was drowning in the void he had received a rather vicious punch to the jaw, he was overjoyed to hear it.
"Rhana!"
He spun about, trying to find where her voice was coming from. What he heard, instead, was the hollow laughter of Voidwrath echoing through the blackness, mocking their attempts to speak with one another.
Meddlesome wench, this is my realm. You are powerless here.
The sword's laughter was quickly overpowered by a deep, mighty, and obviously orcish voice. "She may be, but I most certainly am not." It was calm and confident, and when it reverberated throughout the warrior's mind the Black Blade of Sin immediately stopped laughing. When the sword managed to speak, it was shocked, angered, and, much to Lorkhan's delight, afraid.
What?! You!
The young orc could easily imagine the voice's owner wearing a mischievous grin as it spoke. "Hello Voidwrath."
Damn you! Didn't you learn your lesson when we took your eye?
The deep orcish voice chuckled at the sword's indignation. "Actually, I did. I learned that for all your boasting, you are merely a voice." Lorkhan heard a low hum and soft chant slowly building in the background. "And as such, you can be gagged."
As the background noise steadily grew louder it began to drown out even the Black Blade of Sin. It howled with rage, trying desperately to be heard over the din.
This is not the end! You shall all suffer dearly for this!
When the deep voice spoke again, the humming, chanting, and threats died down to nothing. "Run back to your master. Tell him that this time we're going to make sure he stays dead." The words faded into nothing and once again Lorkhan was left alone in the void. Well after the voices in his head had vanished, the warrior slowly began to feel again. The darkness that clouded his vision slowly ebbed, and his senses gradually began reporting in again.
He sat bolt upright, nearly smashing his head into Rhana's, who was kneeling beside him. The young orc glanced down at his hands, which were, once again, under his own control. He clenched and unclenched them experimentally, and was relieved to see them respond to his commands. His eyes darted about, taking in his surroundings. The flames started by Markov's explosives had died down, and the sounds of battle had since disappeared. Rhana smiled down at him, as did an orc whom he instantly recognized.
He looked up at Jorin Deadeye, who, despite the fact that he was down on one knee, was still noticeably taller than Lorkhan. "We need to go to Sunspring."
"Sunspring?" The older orc looked perplexed. "Why?"
Lorkhan quickly rose to his feet. "Markov had the Murkblood attack the village while we were busy here. If we go now we might be able to save some of the people there."
The one-eyed orc curtly nodded. "Go to the armory and get some gear, I'll round up a battalion to go with you." He took a few steps back, bowed, then turned and hurried off without waiting for either Lorkhan or Rhana to return the bow.
The former turned toward the latter, only to see her briskly, suspiciously so in fact, walking off in the direction of the armory. He hurried to catch up with her. Too many things had been said and were as of yet unsaid to simply leave it all hanging. The young orc knew, and dreaded the fact, that they would have to sort it all out if they were to go into battle together.
"Rhana I-"
She spun to face him as he neared her, a cold, impassive expression that masked any feelings she might have had. She cut him off harshly, holding up a single finger to silence him. "No, Lorkhan, stop." Rhana's eyes and voice softened as she saw the dejected look that crept across the orc's face. "I'm sorry, but right now it doesn't matter what feelings either of us may or may not have." She hastily shook her head. "Until all of this is over, it would be best for both of us to focus on the task at hand."
Lorkhan nodded solemnly, though he secretly allowed hope to tentatively creep back into his heart. "I understand."
The elf looked momentarily startled by his words. "You do?" The surprise in her voice hinted that sober acceptance was not the reaction that she had expected.
Again, he nodded. "Yes."
After a few seconds of mild astonishment, Rhana wiped the look off her face, replacing it once again with a stony expression. This time, however, the mask was not nearly as convincing. "It's just that, at this point, emotions would get in the way. They could cloud our judgment and prevent us from doing what needed to be done." She spoke methodically, though she sounded markedly unsure of the words that left her mouth and at no point looked Lorkhan in the eyes.
One of the orc's eyebrows slowly rose. "You sound as if you're trying to convince yourself." He had to summon up an enormous amount of willpower to keep himself from smiling like an idiot.
She glared back at him and she her tone shifted to a defensive one. "Well, when you thought I was going to die, how did you feel?"
He honestly and almost automatically answered, speaking with conviction that surprised even him. "It was the most painful experience of my life." Even as each syllable rolled off his tongue, a part of his mind screamed for him to stop, howling that he was delving into dangerously sincere territory.
Rhana quickly looked down and away, though Lorkhan could see a slight tinge of red creeping into her cheeks. "You're not helping."
"Sorry." He smiled sheepishly and allowed the hope in his heart to swell further.
She rounded on him, false frustration painted on her face. "And stop being so damn agreeable!"
"Fine." He paused for a moment as he realized what exactly had been asked of him, and quickly amended his answer. "No." In retrospect, he thought, that answer was equally poor. "How am I supposed to respond to that?" His smile grew into a grin when he heard her chuckle softly. The chuckling, however, soon degenerated into weak, dry sobs. Rhana hung her head, her deep brown locks hiding her face from view like a dark curtain. Confusion and panic gripped the young warrior. What had he done? Was it something he had said? The remark had seemed innocent enough, in fact it was the kind of thing she probably frequently got from–
From Obereth.
His heart dropped into his stomach as his mind made the connection. Tentatively, Lorkhan leaned in and gently placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, wishing desperately to undue the damage he had caused. "Don't worry. We'll make Markov pay for what he's done."
She laughed mirthlessly at the promise, though she remained despondent. "How many times have we said that?"
Lorkhan reached out and took one of her slender hands in a heavy, calloused one. "Too many." Rhana glanced down at the hand, slightly startled, then up into his eyes. He gazed back into hers with complete sincerity and certainty. "But this will be the last." Ever so slowly, a shy smile spread across the elf's face and her fingers curled around his hand, tightening their grip.
The Spirit Fields, Nagrand
On the windswept plains, in the shadow of the massive diamond Oshu'gun, a hunched figure stood staring at the glimmering white mountain. He smiled a crooked grin as he felt a familiar presence settle into the back of his twisted mind and when he finally spoke it was to the empty air.
"Did they take the bait?"
A sinister voice that only he could hear chuckled in response.
Hook, line, and sinker.
"Excellent." The figure's smile faded and his gaze drifted upward to the stars. A solitary tear trickled down his malformed face and he whispered so softly that the wind threatened to drown him out completely. "Just a little longer Anya. Wait for me just a little longer, I'm almost finished here."