Madness and Death

Alayne sighed as she tossed and turned. She could see the early morning sunlight beginning to trickle through her window. Zerith and Dar’ja must have dropped off hours ago; she could no longer hear them. Ger’alin had stayed in the room with her and Callie long enough for the first sounds of passion to start before turning crimson and running from the room, muttering a hasty excuse about needing some air. After the fourth hour, Callie had left as well, saying that while she didn’t need sleep, she didn’t need to hear that either. Sometime just before the darkness before dawn, Alayne had dressed, telling herself that if they kept it up much longer, she would go find Ger’alin and bed down in his tent just to get some sleep. That was about the time they had wound down, earning themselves a round of applause from the weary – or envious – patrons in the inn. Since then, Alayne had lain in bed, on top of the covers, tossing and turning.

“I wish I could go without sleep like Callie does,” the woman muttered irritably as she covered her face with the pillow to block out the light. “Oh, Light, not again!” she growled, hearing familiar noises from the room next to hers. Flinging the pillow across the room, she stood up, shoved her feet into her shoes, threw her cloak around her shoulders, and stormed out of the inn. “At least they won’t want to go anywhere, today,” she said to herself. “Not if they only got a few hours of sleep,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat. “I hope I never make that big a fool out of myself. At least she makes him happy.”

She makes him very happy.

“That she does,” Alayne giggled. “Not that I would ever want to make him happy like that. Maybe now they’ll go back to Silvermoon and stay there. Then I won’t have to worry about him so much.”

Perhaps they will. You won’t feel alone, will you?

“With you in my head constantly? No, Tal’ar’s daughter, I will not feel alone.”

It is good that we are not fighting each other, little Alayne.

“Indeed. You can be…almost nice sometimes. You remind me of Papa. Why do you fight me so much?”

You are too much like Mother sometimes. Caught up in your magics and your mysteries, never seeing what’s in front of you. If I let you, you would hurt everyone instead of being strong; as strong as they need you to be. You must never let them know, Alayne. It would hurt them. You don’t want to be weak, like Mother was; always pouring her troubles on me, always weeping and never letting me go search for Papa…I hated her, those times.

“Since we’re not going to fight, let’s not discuss Mother,” Alayne laughed to her inner voice. “She drove me absolutely crazy. ‘Alayne, proper elf maids do not throw rocks at humans, even if it is a game.’ ‘Alayne, little elf girls do not go swimming with human boys.’ ‘Alayne, you will not go out riding with your friends, without a chaperon, until you are in your thirties!’ ‘Alayne, young ladies do not get in fistfights!’ ‘Alayne, you will quit that job at the tavern immediately and find a more suitable line of work. Why if your father…’”

I know. I was there. Mother never could understand me. I wanted to learn to be strong and protect others, like Papa did.

“I enjoyed my arcane studies, though. It was fun to cast spells. She and I got along well when we were working on that.”

Yes, but then the Sunwell…

“I remember. I was there.”

“Gone without sleep so long you’re talking to yourself?” Callie asked, trying to mask her concern. She’d seen Alayne walk out of Undercity in a daze, a fragile smile on the sin’dorei woman’s face, and had followed her. The warlock had walked out of the city, seemingly unaware of where she was going. Before Callie spoke, Alayne had been about to walk right past the Bulwark and into the Plaguelands.

“Everyone talks to themselves sometimes,” Alayne muttered sullenly.

“I see. Quite an interesting conversation to be having with yourself,” Callie murmured dryly. “Almost as if you were talking to another person.”

“Oh, leave me be,” Alayne muttered sharply. “I got no sleep at all; Zerith and Dar’ja kept the entire inn awake! Maybe I’m just tired and that’s why I sound crazy.”

“Where were you heading, anyway?”

“Just walking,” she said, looking around in surprise. “I didn’t intend to come here.”

“Good thing I caught up with you, then. Come on, let’s go back.”

The two women walked back in companionable silence. Alayne would yawn and rub her eyes every few minutes, muttering to herself about wanting to get some sleep. Callie said nothing, figuring that once Ger’alin woke up, he’d let the warlock nap in his tent when he heard that she’d been kept up all night by the newlyweds. He’d told Callie to go get Alayne earlier in the night, convinced that there was no way she’d be able to sleep at the inn. As the Forsaken studied the sin’dorei out of the corner of her eyes, she wished she had fetched the woman down to the campsite hours ago. Maybe that’s all that was wrong with her, Callie thought to herself. She’s just tired; that’s why her eyes get so hard and brittle and bright.

“What’s going on there?” Alayne asked, pulling Callie from her reverie. The Forsaken looked up to see Deathguards marching out of Undercity, taking the road to Silverpine. Quickening her steps, Callie caught up to one of them and got his attention.

“The humans are regrouping and attempting to retake Stromgarde,” the soldier answered in response to her question. “We’re going to back up the orc forces. You’re welcome to come along,” he said quickly, “we can use every hand we can find.” Callie said nothing but nodded in understanding and hurried back to Alayne. She found the woman surrounded by a few members of the Disorder of Azeroth who were bringing her up to speed on the situation. Excitement tinged with fear had replaced the fatigue in her eyes. As the Forsaken came close, she heard the other woman saying, “Let them sleep. Callie will get Ger’alin and we’ll follow the forces south.”

“Zerith is going to be furious when he finds out,” Callie said after the others were gone.

“Zerith probably won’t be able to do anything about it until he gets some sleep,” Alayne laughed wickedly.

“You shouldn’t be running into battle yourself either considering you’ve had no sleep.”

“No, but then, I wasn’t up all night expending energy like he was. Drop it, Callie,” she said firmly. “I don’t want him in this battle anyway. Let’s get going.”

~*~*~*~

“Ber’lon, it’s good to see you again,” Alayne said happily as she walked over to the hunter she and Zerith had once known.

“Alayne!” he laughed, “I’ve heard about your Disorder of Azeroth. I knew you’d make a name for yourself. What are you doing out here in the Arathi Highlands?” he asked.

“I’m out here with the rest of the Disorder to help the Horde push the humans out for good. We were the ones who took Stromgarde in the first place. Are you well, Ber’lon? You look tired.”

“I remember hearing something about that fight. It’s amazing what you’ve been up to. Well, try not to embarrass us out here too much,” he laughed, plucking at his uniform. “The Farstriders would like to get some glory. Where’s Zerith? I figured he’d be with you.”

“I know what you mean,” she laughed. “Zerith’s worn out from celebrating. We decided to let him sleep in. I’ve got to get back to the others, now, Ber’lon,” she said, seeing Ger’alin wave for her to return. “Good luck.”

“Who was that?” Ger’alin asked when Alayne returned. His face softened as she explained. “Well, then, sounds like we have a challenge. We’ll try not to humiliate him, then,” the fighter laughed. “Get to your places. Remember, this time, you go where the officers order. This is a Horde battle; not a Disorder of Azeroth one.” The mish-mash forces spread out, going to their assigned places in the ranks of the Horde army. The city of Stromgarde loomed before them, its causeway well-guarded by human archers. The broken walls had been rebuilt hastily, but well. It seemed as if the Alliance forces had learned their lesson the first time. Alayne gulped, grateful that Zerith lay sleeping back in Undercity and not out here facing the long fight ahead. “It might come to a siege, in the end,” Ger’alin whispered in her ear. “Nasty things, sieges.”

Alayne nodded, not understanding. Moving towards the front of the line, she stood next to the other casters just behind the siege tanks. At a signal from the general, the tankers began to fire and huge stones flew through the air, crashing against the stone walls, denting them, breaking them in places. Another volley followed and then a third. After the fifth, the casters moved forward, eyeing the archers remaining on the broken walls carefully, and began to pick them off. Alayne jumped when an arrow took down the caster next to her but continued to throw her spells. “Zerith is not out here,” she told herself repeatedly, “so you can do what you need to do. You won’t hurt him; you won’t frighten him.” Another arrow flew past, so close that it grazed her cheek. Be strong; protect them! Do not let fear chill your heart, little Alayne! Tal’ar’s daughter screamed inside her head. Nodding to herself, she ignored the warm blood trickling down her face and continued to cast. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the archers were gone.

“Advance!” came the command from a troll captain. Alayne pressed herself against the siege engine as the melee fighters and soldiers surged past her, running into the rents in the stone walls and the gates of the city. She saw Ger’alin and Callie run past her and hurried after them. The remaining casters did likewise, moving behind the attacking force to provide cover. Bolts of frost, flame, and shadow flew over the heads of the Horde attackers, lessening the chances of assault from Alliance attackers hidden in the walls. The battle raged on.

~*~*~*~

The man smiled to himself, wrapped in light and hidden from the eyes of friend and foe alike. The Alliance, a passel of fools, thought him on their side. Silent as the grave, he moved among them, easily un-noticed in the midst of the battle raging around him. Those his true master had marked out for his own, the man sought out, stopping near them to jab them with his blessed pin. He could see the cracks running through their souls; the cracks brought by sleepless nights and haunting dreams. They were weak, insignificant. But now…now they could be remade. Now the fools of the Horde and the Alliance would see where true power lay.

Stepping lightly through the mass of fighting, the man stuck each person as he had been commanded. Finishing his task with a tired elf maiden, he smiled. “For the King,” he whispered as he crept back to his already defeated squadron.

~*~*~*~

Alayne grunted as she felt something sting her on her arm. Ignoring it, she focused her attention on the mass of humanity giving ground in front of her friends. The Horde had overrun the city, pushing the surviving Alliance fighters back to the rear wall of the hold. Alayne glanced up at the sky, surprised to see it half-way down from its noon height. Drawing a ragged breath, she pushed forward, coming close to Callie and Ger’alin. She shook her head, trying to clear it, wondering why her vision had gotten blurry. Rubbing her eyes, trying to ignore the incoherent noise that seemed to pierce her skull, she moved on, looking for something. As she drew near to her friends, she saw a hulking human, half again as tall as the tallest man she’d ever met, stand over them. Raising an enormous axe over his head, he brought it down on Ger’alin, cleaving the elf in two.

“No!” Alayne screamed, rushing forward. Summoning her strength, she let waves of flame crash out from her, burning all around her as she screamed in rage and loss. She looked around, seeing only humans. The sight fueled her rage and she channeled more and more hate into the heat of the flames emanating from and engulfing her. Tal’ar’s daughter raged at her, shrieking that she was a miserable failure. A man’s distant laugh of delight rang in her soul as she fought onwards.

“Alayne! What are you doing?!” Callie cried out as she jumped out of the woman’s path. Next to her Ger’alin stared in amazement as he tried to ignore the heat and knock the warlock to her senses.

“Ber’lon, stop!” someone else shouted at the hunter. He had turned his bow on his own company, emptying his quiver into his fellows as he screamed in the same rage that seemed to have possessed Alayne.

“Alayne, stop it!” Ger’alin screamed. The woman didn’t seem to hear him. “The battle’s over!”

“They’ve gone mad!” one of the captains shouted. “Take them down before they kill us all!” As Ger’alin looked around, he could see dozens of fighters, magi, priests, and warlocks turning on their comrades, screaming in rage and pain as they fought against those who should have been friends.

“Alayne, please!” he pleaded. The woman looked over at him, her eyes filled with hate and empty of recognition. “Forgive me,” he said as he hefted his shield and threw it, wincing when it struck her head and knocked her to the ground. As soon as it connected, the fires stopped. Running over to her, catching her before she reached the stone pavement, Ger’alin sighed with relief to see that she was still alive.

“What is going on here?” Callie muttered as she watched the others who had turned on their allies be taken down by those they were fighting. “What madness is this?”

Several feet behind her, on his knees with his hands bound behind him, as befitted an apparently vanquished foe, the man smiled. Soon, he thought, soon.

~*~*~*~

“Where am I?” Alayne muttered thickly. She winced when she opened her eyes. Her head ached abominably. This was even worse than the morning after she and Ger’alin had their drinking contest. “Ger’alin,” she sighed, feeling tears leak from her eyes. Guilt, shame, and self-hatred tore her soul. Tal’ar’s daughter screamed at her, incoherent in her grief and rage. “I couldn’t…”

“You’re awake!” Ger’alin said softly, happily.

“Ger’alin?” she said, shocked. Pushing herself up on her elbows, trying to sit up, the room spun around her. Tal’ar’s daughter went silent, stunned. “You’re alive?”

“Of course I’m alive,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I thought I saw…” she started to say, trailing off. “Oh, thank the Light, you’re alive!” she cried, managing to throw herself in his direction and tackle him. She could feel Tal’ar’s daughter laughing with glee inside her head. “You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive,” she whispered over and over again, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Why would you think I wasn’t?” he asked in confusion. “Did I hit you over the head too hard?” She ignored him, continuing her repetition. “Um, Alayne, could you get off me? Callie, a little help here?”

The Forsaken shook her head as she reached down to try to pry Alayne’s arms away from Ger’alin’s neck. She laughed when the other woman just tightened her grip, making Ger’alin grunt. “I think she’s happier where she is,” the Forsaken commented.

“Yes, but I can hardly examine her for further injuries when she’s got me pinned to the ground and barely able to breathe,” the fighter muttered.

“What are you three doing?” Zerith asked, sounding amused and scandalized.

“You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive,” Alayne continued to babble.

“Why does she keep saying that?” Zerith muttered, reaching down to touch the back of his sister’s head. “And why is she wearing a bandage?”

“That’s actually a very funny story,” Ger’alin began, forcing a laugh as he tried to push her away again. Giving up, he let his arms fall to the ground at his sides. Alayne wasn’t going to be pushed or pried away any time soon. “See, there was this battle; oh, don’t glare at me like that. The Alliance tried to take back Stromgarde yesterday and the Horde forces repelled the attempt. We tagged along because we were bored and you and Dar’ja were going to sleep all day anyway.”

“You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive.”

“Yes, I’m alive, Alayne. Thank you for noticing,” he said. “You were going to sleep all day. From what I heard, you two kept the entire inn up all night. You look funny when you blush, Zerith. Especially from this angle. Anyhow, we went to the battle, along with about half of the Disorder of Azeroth forces who were still in Undercity when the call went out.”

“You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive,” Callie began to say along with Alayne, stifling a laugh when Ger’alin glared at her.

“At any rate, we won. Near the end of the battle, though, about a dozen of our fighters, including Alayne, turned and started attacking us. I have no idea why. I was hoping she could tell me when she woke up…”

“You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive.”

Ger’alin sighed in frustration.

“So…why the bandage?” Zerith asked again.

“I had to throw my shield at her to knock her out so she’d stop attacking long enough for us to get close to her. I may have hit her a little too hard, to judge by her current reaction.”

“You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive!”

“Has she been healed?”

“No. I wasn’t able to and none of the others wanted to heal those who had turned on us. The others like her were rounded up. I think they’re in prison. Some of the higher-ups suspect them of treason. We managed to keep her out of it. Alayne would kill herself before she willingly betrayed any of her people.”

With a sigh, Zerith reached out to the Light and channeled the energy into Alayne. He winced in sympathy when he felt the bruise on the side of her head. She’d probably had a concussion. She was lucky her skull hadn’t been fractured. Ger’alin must have knocked her pretty hard if she was suffering from delusions, though. Healing her, Zerith blinked in surprise when she continued to cling to the paladin, muttering that he was alive over and over again. Shaking his head to clear it, Zerith tried again. Again, no change. Probing further, he sucked in a horrified breath, feeling cracks running along the part of her that was her. Deep fissures crisscrossed her spirit; her sanity. He’d first noticed them when they’d rescued her from the Burning Blade. The priest groaned beneath his breath; time and distance should have healed them. Instead, they were worse than ever.

“See if you can stand up and carry her,” Zerith said quickly. “This is beyond my ability to heal.”

~*~*~*~

“I never thought I’d say this,” Dar’ja huffed. “I miss Ger’alin.”

“I miss him, too. And Alayne. Light, I’ve not seen either of them since we came back. Last I heard, she’d been released from the healers and buried herself in Murder Row,” Zerith sighed, putting an arm around his wife.

“I know. I wish we could afford a bigger place. Then, we could get those two to come stay with us. I really miss the jokes, the pranks, the chasing you up a tree when you were spying on us.”

“You are a saint,” Zerith laughed. “You really want Ger’alin in your house?”

“Him, Alayne, and even Callie. We would have so much fun, just the five of us.”

“Maybe we could talk to them, see if we could all find a place together.”

“That would be…,” Dar’ja began, stopping when the door of their small apartment shook as someone pounded on it. “I wonder who that is at this time of night.”

“I’ll go see,” Zerith sighed, kissing her on the cheek and rolling out of the bed. Tying his robe around his waist, he combed his fingers through his hair and walked quickly over to the door. “No need to knock it off the hinges,” he muttered, pulling open the door.

“Zerith!” Alayne squealed, jerking away from the two men holding her arms and throwing her arms around his neck. “I can’t believe you’re…I thought I’d…”

“Good evening to you, too, Alayne,” he gasped, pulling her arm loose enough for him to breathe. “You thought what? Alayne? Alayne?” he said, waving his hand in front of her vacant, staring eyes. “What is the matter with her?” he demanded, glaring at the pair with her.

“That’s what we hoped you would know,” Jez’ral muttered. “She’s been moping around for three days. I finally got her to tell me that she thought she’d killed you.”

“Don’t tell him that!” Alayne hissed, her eyes still staring off into the distance. Zerith did a double-take, peering into her face. That voice sounded nothing like the woman he knew.

“Alayne, why would you…never mind.”

“Do you have room for her, here?” the other man asked, hovering over her like a mother hen. “They won’t let her stay in Murder Row after last night. I let her stay in my quarters there, thinking they wouldn’t find out but she woke up half the inn just an hour ago, shrieking at the top of her lungs.”

“I guess she can sleep on the couch,” Zerith said awkwardly.

“If she’s going to be staying with you, you’ll need to find a bigger place,” the other man muttered, glancing inside the small, bare apartment. “I know just the thing, too,” he laughed. Jez’ral shot him an angry glance but said nothing. “Give him the key to…”

“But, Mir’el, that was your…”

“Yes, and we both know that I’m never bringing home a wife so there’s no use hanging on to it,” the man grinned. “Give him the key. It’s a nice place, young man, and I’m a reasonable land-lord. You’ll find it in the rear of the Bazaar, back away from the shops. I’ll come by in the morning to show you exactly where it is.”

“Thank you,” Zerith replied, his attention divided between his sister and his mysterious new benefactor. “Alayne?”

“Alayne?” Jez’ral said loudly. Reaching up, he grabbed one of her shoulders, shaking her violently. “Ma’iv said she should take this when she starts…doing this,” he muttered, pulling a vial out of one of his pockets and handing it to Zerith. “It makes her sleep very deeply, though she gets no rest from it. I hate giving it to her because then we can’t wake her up when she starts screaming.”

Zerith nodded, taking the vial and leading his sister to the couch. She stumbled along, walking blindly, stopping only when he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. Turning her around and getting her laid out, he covered her with a blanket hanging from one of the chairs and put the vial to her lips. Glancing up, he saw Dar’ja staring at them from the hallway leading back to their bedroom.

“We may just get what we were wishing for,” he said, trying to make light of the situation.

“I heard. Zerith, could you close her eyes? That’s really starting to creep me out.” With a gentle touch, Zerith pulled Alayne’s eyelids shut and stoppered the vial. “What is the matter with her?” Dar’ja muttered, walking over and putting a hand on the warlock’s forehead. “Oh my!” she said, stunned. “When did this start?”

“Desolace. It started in Desolace,” he answered, praying that it was true.

~*~*~*~

“All this for us?” Ger’alin said, looking at the house warily. He’d been back in Silvermoon for a few weeks, freshly returned from another trip to Kalimdor to work with Tau’re and some of the others he’d grown to know. The Alliance had been threatening Orgrimmar’s lumber supply and Ger’alin, wanting to do something other than deal with the constant refusals by Alayne’s teachers to let them see her, had answered the call. When Zerith had come by the practice yard to invite him over,the fighter tried not to show how glad he’d been of the invitation. When Zerith explained that he and the two women wanted Ger’alin to move into the new home they were renting, the fighter had been nearly overcome. Masking his emotions with humor, he rubbed a finger across his jaw, shaking his head. “It’s a lot of house for two people, I’ll agree. I’m surprised, though, that you already want your sister and some rapscallion like me to move in. I’d have thought you and Dar’ja would want to stay away from us both considering how we accidentally got you married in the first place.”

“It’s big, I know,” Zerith explained, “but, well, I’m getting tired of not having you and Alayne around all the time now. She’s always off in the warlock’s area or giving history lessons, when she’s feeling well.” Ger’alin stared at Zerith. He’d not known Alayne was ill at all.“When you’re in town, you’re usually a hard man to track down as well; when you aren’t trying to teach a ‘gaggle of wide-eyed, idiotic, hero-worshipping mud-foots how to hold a sword,’ you’re generally reading books and complaining about the chore. Dar’ja and I decided we wanted you both around more.”

“Four bedrooms, though?” he teased.

“Callie might stop by…”

“I see,” Ger’alin laughed. “This is a clever ploy to have free babysitters on hand.”

“Not for a while,” the priest muttered. “Anyhow, we’d really like it if you’d consider moving in with us. Dar’ja and Alayne are already planning to do something to the walls so you don’t wake us up when you sleep. Alayne’s claimed the first room at the top of the stairs for her own. She says she wants a quick escape route in case of…well, she’s working on the walls of my and Dar’ja’s room, too.”

“Does either of them even know how to use a hammer?”

“I don’t know and I’m too scared to ask,” Zerith chuckled. “Come on, at least come in and eat with us. Alayne’s been in the kitchen all afternoon.”

“I don’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified,” Ger’alin joked as he walked into the house with Zerith. “What’s she cooking?” he whispered.

“Roast beef with some kind of herbal sauce she’s made up herself. She swears it’s one of her father’s favorites. It’s actually pretty good. You like yours rare, right?”

“Woman, you better not overcook that roast!” Ger’alin roared loudly as he and Zerith walked into the kitchen. He grinned when he saw her standing on the other side of the room. His grin faded when she didn’t move or even seem to notice her visitors.

“Oh no,” Zerith sighed as he hurried over to her. “Alayne? Alayne?”

“What’s the matter with her?” Ger’alin asked, stunned.

“I don’t know,” Zerith whispered. “These spells have been coming more and more frequently. She barely sleeps anymore unless she’s drugged and she’s always tossing and screaming about something when she’s not. When she wakes up…she’ll act like she’s trying to tell me about it but then…I don’t know what’s wrong with her but it frightens me to death. Alayne? Alayne, can you hear me?”

“I’m here,” she said dully, her voice sounding like cold lead.

“Talk to me,” he said, trying to make it sound like a question. Ger’alin moved to her other side, staring down at her face. Alayne’s gaze was unfocused and her face slack, as if it took too much energy for her to make any kind of expression. Zerith put a hand on her back, his touch as light as that of a person trying to calm a spooked colt. “Alayne?”

“I’m here,” she repeated. Ger’alin opened his mouth to ask what was going on but Zerith raised his other hand, forestalling the fighter.

“Here, let’s go sit down,” the priest said, guiding Alayne over to a bench by the fireplace. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

“I can’t,” Alayne whispered. “She…no, don’t!”

“Who are you talking to?”

Alayne continued to stare off into the distance for a few moments longer, silent long enough that Zerith began to worry, glancing back at Ger’alin with a look that pleaded with the other man not to move, not to leave, not to do anything that might disturb her. Reaching up, he put a hand on her forehead, summoning all of the healing power he could and sending it into his sister. He was shaking when he finished; he had to heal her more and more frequently just to keep her relatively normal lately. Suddenly, Alayne shivered, blinked, and smiled warmly. Reaching up, she patted Zerith on the cheek and let her head fall on his shoulder. The man suffered the caress, his visage pleading with her to tell him what was wrong. “Who is it you’re hearing…” he started to ask again.

“Ssh,” she said, putting her fingers over his lips. “It’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about. Ah, Ger’alin,” she said, seeing the other man and smiling brightly, “has Zerith managed to talk you into staying with him? If you do, I’ll cook supper for you every night. I’d better keep an eye on that roast,” she grinned, “I’m making it rare, just the way you like it.”

~*~*~*~

Ger’alin sighed as he finished setting his armor in the closet. Standing up, he arched his back, feeling the muscles unknot. He felt cramped from carrying his belongings to his new home. Sitting down on the bed, he smiled, feeling a sensation he’d not felt since he was a child. He felt as if he were home. Stretching his arms up over his head, he lay back, staring up at the ceiling and letting his feet hang off the end of the bed. Putting the toes of one foot against the heel of the other, he kicked his boots off, enjoying the pleasant lassitude that came with the warmth of early spring and a day spent working the forms instead of hunched over a book. He lifted his head slightly, looking at the door when he heard a faint rustling noise from the hallway.

“You look exhausted,” he said lightly.

“I am,” Alayne sighed, leaning against the door jamb.

“Not sleeping again?”

“I can’t sleep,” she muttered. “Every time I close my eyes…,” her mouth slammed shut, almost cutting her tongue in half. Screaming in frustration, she began banging her head against the wooden doorway, pounding on the wall with the side of her fist.

“Calm down, Alayne,” he sighed. “Here, come on in here and just sit with me a while. I’m too tired to move right now.”

“I should be going to get supper ready,” she said wearily. “I can actually…,” her jaws snapped shut again.

“I won’t ask,” he said quickly, worriedly. “Just come sit here beside me and rest for a few minutes before you have to go practice your gourmet cooking. You know, that’s the whole reason I moved in here,” he teased, poking her in the side. “That roast was excellent. They don’t feed us that well at the sanctum.”

“It was my father’s favorite,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and kicking her feet while she stared at the floor. “I used to make it every week, hoping that the smell of it would reach him and bring him back home to us.”

“I used to do something similar at the orphanage,” he laughed softly. “Every night, I would wear socks to sleep. It used to drive my mother crazy when I did that; she would always come and take them off me while I slept and hang them on the foot of my bed. I would wake up, checking to see if she’d come to do that. She never did.”

“I’ve never heard you talk about your family before,” Alayne said, turning and looking at him, her eyes grave.

“Probably because I’ve never spoken about them before,” he smiled. “I don’t like recalling those times. The orphanage wasn’t bad; don’t get me wrong. The matron was as wonderful as could be. But, it was hard growing up around humans.”

“I know,” she said, pulling her feet up, slipping her shoes off, and then resting her chin on her drawn up knees. “I grew up in Menethil and I remember how it was. What about your father? Did you have any brothers and sisters?”

“No. Mama used to say that I was more than enough for her. I was a little hellion.”

“I’ll bet. My mother used to say the same thing about me.”

“We should start a club,” he grinned. “Here, you can lie down if you want,” he said, scooting further towards the foot of the bed. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep sitting up.”

“I really shouldn’t,” she murmured, letting herself topple over on her side, still curled up in a ball. “I should be cooking while I can…,” she sighed, closing her eyes. Before Ger’alin had a chance to ask what she meant, she was sound asleep. He turned on his side, watching her for a few minutes, grateful that she had finally found rest. Then, easing himself off the bed carefully, he covered her with a spare blanket and went downstairs to see about cooking supper himself.

~*~*~*~

“Papa?” Alayne asked, seeing her father’s silhouette ahead in the distance.

“Alayne, why haven’t you come to me?”

“Where are you?” she asked, feeling the other her rise up, grappling with her for control of their shared body and mind.

“You must come to me when I call you. I am coming to save you from those who would kill you, my daughter.”

“Where are you?”

“I am coming to you. Soon. Be ready. Do not let them hurt you any longer!”

“What are you talking about? Who’s hurting me? Where are you, Papa?”

A rush of visions assaulted her. In them, she could see Zerith, Dar’ja, Ger’alin, and many other sin’dorei sitting around her while she lay chained to a bier. The elves were siphoning off her life force, sucking her dry. She saw her own face turn wan and pale as those around her continued to gorge themselves on her vital energy, laughing whenever she begged them to stop or screamed that they were killing her.

Alayne sat bolt upright on the bed, shrieking at the top of her lungs. Raising her hands to her face, she tried to claw her eyes out, to scratch away the sights around her. The room seemed to be a dank cell, remembered from Desolace, and she could feel herself weakening, feel the life being drained out of her body. Pulling her hands from her face, she stared at them, seeing them wasted, thin, the bones threatening to break through the skin, leaving her a skeleton.

Silence! Tal’ar’s daughter flogged her, slamming her mouth shut. It was just a dream!

“Light, where am I?” Alayne asked in confusion, unable to remember where she was, “What’s happening to me? Let me out of here!” she cried, banging on the wall. “Please, let me out! I just want to go home!”

Silence! We…find the door! We’ll go find Papa! He’ll know how to help us! Tal’ar’s daughter shouted.

“He said he’d be here soon,” Alayne remembered. “I have to get ready. Where am I? Light, where am I?”

We’re alone in the dark…it’s as dark as a grave in here! We have to get out of here!

Suddenly, part of the wall flew open. Alayne whirled around, her eyes wild and filled with fear. Three people stood in the hole, staring at her. The warlock reached for her dagger, terrified to see the strangers staring at her. “Let me go!” she begged her captors.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Home, I want to go home. Let me go home.”

That’s…that’s Zerith! Shut up, you fool! It’s just a dream. Just a dream! Do you want to frighten him?

“Zerith?” she said uncertainly, as if the name should have been familiar but wasn’t.

“I’m here, Alayne.”

“I…don’t touch me!” she shouted, jerking out of his grasp, remembering how he had fed off her soul. “I want to go home! I’m going home to Papa!” With that, she shoved past the three, running wildly out into the night.

“…but you are home, Alayne,” Zerith said softly. “Light, what’s happening to her?” he asked as he hurried downstairs, hoping to catch her before the guards found her.

~*~*~*~

“Zerith, be reasonable. The three of us aren’t enough to handle her,” Dar’ja said gently.

“I’m not sending her away.”

“But sweetheart, she’s…”

“I am not sending her away and that’s the end of it, Dar’ja.”

“We can’t take care of her like she needs to be cared for, Zerith. I don’t like it any more than you but she’s getting worse and worse here. We’re not helping her.”

“I am not…”

“Found her,” Ger’alin announced as he walked in the front door. Zerith glared at his wife and hurried over to see if Ger’alin needed any help. Dar’ja threw her hands up in the air and followed.

“Where was she?”

“Sunfury Spire. Confessing to being a traitor, a murderer, a spy, a minion of the Scourge, and running her own private army,” the fighter sighed, ticking her confessed crimes off on his fingers. Alayne lay over his shoulder, limp and unresisting. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s trying to get herself killed.”

“Let me see her,” Zerith said softly, reaching up to take Alayne from Ger’alin. The fighter leaned down, steadying her with his hands while he passed her over to her adopted brother. “She’s asleep,” the priest said as he settled into a chair, holding her in his lap like he had held his other sisters when they fell sick.

“She is,” Ger’alin agreed, squatting down next to the chair and gazing up at her face. She looked haggard and tired, as if she’d been hard-used. Faint bruises, attesting to a lack of sleep, marred her eyes. Lifting one of his hands, he gently brushed her sun-colored hair away from her forehead and began to channel the healing powers he’d been studying how to use since their return home.

“Do you think I haven’t tried…,” Zerith started to say, clicking his teeth shut when the expression on Ger’alin’s face changed from one of curiosity and hope to one of anger.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “How long has she been like this?”

“I first noticed it when I was healing her after we rescued her from the cultists in Desolace,” Zerith sighed. “It’s got to be just trauma from that. Being captured and tortured would threaten to break any person’s spirit.”

“Has she gotten any better? Was it worse than this?” Ger’alin pressed, relentless. “Has she?”

“No,” the priest said softly, tears welling in his eyes. “It’s gotten worse. Much worse.” Ger’alin’s face fell and tears began trickling from the corners of his eyes. He looked away, unable to bear the sight any longer. Dar’ja walked over to stand behind her husband, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder for support. Zerith flinched and stiffened at her touch. “I’m not…” he sobbed.

“Of course you aren’t,” Dar’ja said softly. “I won’t ask again. I won’t even consider it.”

With a wild, body-racking sob, Zerith pulled Dar’ja in front of him and threw an arm around her waist, pulling her in close. Dar’ja wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his, stroking the back of his head and letting her own tears mix with his. Ger’alin leaned against the side of the chair and shook with anger and grief.

Alayne slept, oblivious to it all.

~*~*~*~

“No, stop, please!” Alayne pleaded, struggling against a weight holding her hands and legs back. “Please, you’ve got to stop it,” she begged.

“No,” the woman said, calmly, coldly.

“For the love of the Light, stop, please!”

“No,” she said as she continued to add weight to the traps holding the other woman down. “I cannot let you do this. You will hurt them. Light, Alayne, it’s only dreams and nonsense. Dreams can’t hurt you! Even dreams…even dreams like that can’t! I will not let you hurt Zerith with your weakness!”

“I would never hurt them! I love them; Zerith, Dar’ja, even Ger’alin! They are my friends, my family! Please, you’ve got to let me go! Something is not right here! He haunts my dreams…he tells me…that they’re trying to kill me! You have to let me tell him!”

“Never. I will protect them since you are too weak and too eager to pour your pathetic problems on their shoulders. Stop struggling against me. You agreed with me once before. Can you not see that I know best? Has your mind bent so far that you are blind to that, Alayne?” Raising a gauntleted hand, she struck the chained and bound woman, hitting her in the face until she was unconscious. “I will do what must be done.”

~*~*~*~

“Alayne, what are you doing?” Ger’alin asked when he saw the woman wandering around the square in front of the Farstrider’s Court. She rarely ventured into this part of the city, preferring to spend her time in Murder Row with the other warlocks or in the library. “Alayne?” he asked again, gently taking hold of her arm. She looked up at him, her eyes glassy and blank and then, with a look of fear, jerked out of his grasp, backing away until one of the archers cursed at her. She’d nearly walked into his line of fire.

Ger’alin sighed and went to drag her away. He braced himself, waiting for the screaming to begin. He was pleasantly surprised when, for once, instead of shrieking, she smiled up at him, her eyes clearing. He could feel the tension melting away as Alayne looped her arm through his and began to speak, her words making sense.

“I came to find you,” she was saying as she led him towards the gates of the city.

“Well, you found me,” he laughed as he let her drag him along.

“Yes, I did,” she answered brightly. Too brightly. “I made a picnic like we used to have when I was young. Come on.”

“Alright, Alayne. I’m coming. I suppose Zerith and Dar’ja are waiting for us?”

“Oh no,” she said, her face losing its happy expression. “I forgot them.”

“Oh, well, don’t worry about it,” Ger’alin said hastily. “Zerith told me that they had their own plans for today. Come on, Alayne. Smile?”

He had stopped in the middle of the road when she had. Turning, he put a gentle hand under her chin and lifted her face. Her eyes were vacant again, as they had been earlier. Sighing, he stood there, staring into her blank eyes, praying she would come back to herself soon.

“Can’t you see that you’re hurting him? We have to ask him! We have to know!”

“Be quiet, woman! I will silence you yet, little Alayne!”

For long minutes, he stood there, keeping her from wandering off and staring at his own worried face reflected in her empty eyes. Then, without warning, she began walking off towards the city gates. Turning, he jogged to catch up.

“I hope you like sandwiches,” she was saying as if there had been no pause. “I made a lot of them.”

~*~*~*~

Ger’alin leaned back against the wall that wrapped around the city. Alayne had made a lot of sandwiches. He made a mental note to buy more bread as it seemed she may have used the entire loaf. Moving carefully, he pulled a book from his pack and, pulling up one knee, set it against his leg so he could read while he waited for Alayne to wake up. She slept peacefully, her head on his thigh and her body curled up in a ball beside him. He knew he shouldn’t let her sleep in the afternoon, but he couldn’t bear to wake her. She slept so infrequently of late, he wanted her to get what rest she could find. Balancing his book on his other knee, he read, turning the pages quietly.

Alayne turned, rolling on her back, murmuring in her sleep. Ger’alin stopped reading and watched her face. He was tempted to wake her now, seeing her brow furrow and hearing her sound as if she were having an unpleasant conversation with someone. Putting his hand on her shoulder, he shook her gently, hoping to rouse her enough to at least pull her from the dream. It seemed to work. Alayne sighed and settled back into a more peaceful slumber.

Glancing around, Ger’alin lifted his hand from her shoulder and placed it on her forehead. He knew that Zerith had tried healing already, but maybe it would work this time. Blocking out the fear of failure that haunted him since Mannoroc Coven, Ger’alin drew upon the powers he’d been learning to wield and channeled the healing energies into Alayne. He gritted his teeth in frustration, sensing no change in the woman. Opening himself wider, he let the Light-energies pour through him and into her until he could feel sweat dripping from his face and hear his breath coming in gasps.

“Surely now, now she’ll be well,” he whispered as he fought to get his breathing back to normal. Placing his hand back on her forehead, he searched once again. No change. He could still sense the widening cracks running through her spirit. Lowering his face, he told himself it was the sweat that was dripping down his cheeks.

~*~*~*~

Zerith ground the herbs into powder, following the instructions the Apothecaries had sent to Silvermoon. He tried to focus on that and ignore the screaming from the suffering patients behind him. Several had had to be restrained, bound to their beds to keep them from attacking the healers. Finishing the mixing, Zerith stirred the grounded herbs into a cup of wine and carried it to Ma’iv, the leading healer of the sanitarium.

“Thank you, Zerith,” the older priest muttered, taking the cup and holding it against the lips of a young elven man. “Drink, Ber’lon.” Zerith nearly bit his tongue. The man in front of him looked nothing like the hunter he and Alayne had worked with so long ago. His black hair was matted and filthy, hanging lankly from his shoulders. Patches of it were missing as if he had pulled it out at the roots. The skin of his face was sickly pale and ugly purple and blue bruises hung under his dull green eyes. “No change,” Ma’iv sighed. Zerith reached up and placed a hand on the man’s forehead, pulling away as if burned when he sensed the exact same breaks in Ber’lon’s mind that he had found in Alayne’s.

“Ma’iv,” Zerith asked, “what is this malady?”

“That’s a good question,” the elder said wearily. “No one seems to know what it is. All we know is that once the person begins to descend into madness, conventional healing fails. I suppose all we can do is keep them calm until the Light takes them. What?” he asked, seeing the stricken look on his young attendant’s face.

“How does it start? How did it start with him?” Zerith demanded. “Ber’lon, what’s going on?” he asked the hunter. The man stared at him blankly. “Come on, Ber’lon, remember me? Remember Alayne? Tell me what’s happening in that mind of yours!” The hunter continued to sit silent. Zerith rounded on his superior. “We’ve got to find a way to cure this, Ma’iv!”

“Do you think we haven’t been trying?” Ma’iv asked, sounding offended. “What have I had you doing almost every day? Treating them. Caring for them. They’ve been abandoned by kith and kin. Some would say that even the Light has forsaken them. These poor madmen have one thing in common though I have heard stories of something similar spreading through the populace in Kalimdor. At any rate, I think our only option is to wait and pray…and to grieve for them now that no one else will care for them.”

“Is that why so many are here?”

“Look around you and see those who turned on their comrades in Stromgarde,” Ma’iv sighed. “Almost all of them were rounded up after the battle and put in the cells of Undercity. Once the Apothecaries realized that these poor souls weren’t traitors; merely madmen, they released them to their friends and families. In time, their friends and families sent them here. And now, I’m afraid that all that is left for them is to wait for the end. Nothing we do helps. Nothing we do brings them back for any length of time. In truth, my son, they are dead men walking.”

“I will not let that happen to Alayne,” Zerith said, forcing the words through his clenched teeth. “I will not let that happen to my sister!”

~*~*~*~

“So, how’s life with the newlyweds?” Callie asked Alayne. It had been several months since she’d last seen the four sin’dorei. The four had returned to Silvermoon and promptly buried themselves. Zerith and Dar’ja were enjoying the dawn of their marriage and Ger’alin and Alayne had hit the books with renewed vigor.

“I’m thinking about removing the headboard of their bed,” Alayne muttered. “I’ve taken to trying to sleep in the other end of the house most nights.”

“Thanks for the warning, Alayne,” Callie chuckled. “I’ll plan to stay at the inn while I’m in town. Where’s Ger’alin?”

“Ger’alin’s probably dying of impatience waiting on us. I should have met him outside the city ten minutes ago. I forgot,” she said ruefully.

“Ah. So, he’s still teaching you the sword?”

“No. He’s teaching me how to make cookies. I’m just wearing this thing for decoration,” she laughed, swinging the scabbard of her sword around. Giggling together as if they had not been apart a day, the two hurried out of Silvermoon, Alayne stopping frequently to shake her head as if to clear it. Callie watched her, feeling worried. “He must have whapped you really hard if your head’s still hurting after three months,” she joked. Alayne blinked and looked confused but said nothing, walking on.

Outside the city, the grass sparkled in the midday sun like emeralds. A warm, spring breeze blew gently through, carrying the scent of flowers in bloom. Squirrels, birds, and dragonhawks danced around the trees, the coming of spring bringing them out of hibernation and migration. Youthful sin’dorei hurried to and fro on errands, still working to clear their territory completely of the Scourge and of creatures wrought from the failed experiments of the Magisters.

“I’ve never noticed,” Callie muttered as she watched a pair of young elven men stroll past, “but there doesn’t seem to be a single ‘old’ elf in the city.”

“Yeah, we’re a young bunch,” Alayne laughed. “Probably Lord Lor’themar is the eldest of us. I think he’s probably around two hundred or so, give or take a few decades. Hey, it’s not something we really talk about,” she muttered. “Most survivors are our age. In their early twenties to thirties, if not younger, like me. All the rest were killed when the Scourge came through. My father was considered fairly young and he was,” he tapped her lip while she thought, “around ninety or so when I was born. He and my mother married young; they were only in their seventies when they eloped, according to Mama.”

“In their seventies?”

“Yes. Things certainly have changed,” Alayne sighed. “If the war hadn’t happened, Zerith and Dar’ja would never be carrying on like they are,” she laughed. “All of us would be considered children, to be kept under the watchful eyes of our parents while we trained in the crafts that we would follow as adults, once we hit our sixties or so. Ah, there’s Ger’alin. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

“Callie!” Ger’alin called out when he saw who was walking with Alayne. “It’s been far too long!”

“Far too long since you bashed something?” the Forsaken laughed, running up and hugging the paladin fondly.

“Indeed,” he said. “I keep hoping that Zerith and Dar’ja will decide to go somewhere interesting for their honeymoon and take the entire Disorder of Azeroth with them.”

“Fat chance of that happening,” Alayne muttered as she unsheathed her sword.

“A man can dream, can’t he? Let’s get started.”

For the next hour, the two sin’dorei dueled each other, Ger’alin occasionally stopping to correct part of Alayne’s pose or form. The woman had improved drastically in her technique, her motions almost as fluid and easy as Ger’alin’s. Several times, she disarmed the man, using her greater dexterity to deflect his strength. Callie sat to the side, watching in rapt attention. To watch the pair work their blades together was like watching the rehearsal of a skilled acting troupe, a pleasure even when it was less than perfect. The only detraction was Alayne’s eyes. Sometimes unfocused, frequently too bright and too hard, there seemed to be an air of something not quite right about the elf woman. A similar feeling had permeated the tone of her voice earlier. Callie shoved such thoughts aside, refusing to consider them. “I just haven’t seen her in a while, is all,” the Forsaken thought to herself.

“We’d better stop before poor Callie gets too bored,” Ger’alin said after he’d managed to disarm Alayne using a wrist-lock. He bent down and grabbed a pair of face towels, tossing one to the woman while wiping his face with the other. “Do you have any plans for tonight?” he asked the Forsaken.

“Ack!” Alayne yipped as if she’d been bitten. Ger’alin and Callie stared at her. “I completely forgot to go by the bazaar and pick up supper for tonight. I’ve got to run and go do that before it closes!” she said, tossing her towel to Ger’alin and dashing off.

“I guess I’m eating with you,” Callie said. “You’ll have to show me where you’re living, though.”

“Of course,” he laughed. “Alayne forgot that bit, too, did she?”

“Sometimes I wonder about her.”

“As do I, Callie, as do I,” the fighter sighed.

“How has she been? She seems well.”

“She does. It’s an act, though. It’s a carefully crafted act to hide something…Light, I wish I could get her to tell me what it is, though. She’s come close to breaking down, once or twice, since she almost got herself exiled. Did she forget to tell you about that as well?”

“No..”

“Well, when we first got back here, apparently she went off and threw herself at Lord Lor’themar’s feet and confessed to all manner of crimes. She didn’t even tell him that she’d been captured and tortured by the Burning Blade; Jez’ral had to do that. Sometimes I think she was trying to get herself executed.”

“And that made her come close to cracking?”

“No, that came later. About a week after she’d been sent to stay with Zerith and Dar’ja  – don’t ask – she started having those strange dreams again, only worse this time because we can’t wake her from them. Sometimes, she doesn’t even wake from them when she wakes up! Well, she went to Lord Lor’themar again and started telling him some string of nonsense she’d dreamed about a civil war coming to Quel’Thalas unless we all went to Northrend – don’t ask, I don’t understand it myself – and he threatened to have her locked up in the sanitarium. Said she was speaking treason. Jez’ral managed to convince the government that Alayne’s suffering from some kind of sickness brought on by stress. That evening, Zerith sat her down and pleaded with her to talk to him. The man was weeping, Callie, begging her to spill it. I must confess; I was, too. I think she was about to finally break down and tell us what was going on in her head; she’d opened her mouth like she was going to but then she clammed right back up. Only now, it’s worse when she does it. She didn’t speak – not a single word – for two weeks! It was eerie. She just walked around, staring, not blinking, not speaking, not even eating unless you put the food in her mouth, for about a fortnight. Then, one morning, she just…woke up. We came downstairs to her happily cooking, or rather, burning, breakfast. She was chattering on like nothing had happened. As far as she’s concerned, nothing did happen. She didn’t even realize any time had passed.”

“And there was another time?”

“Light, I don’t even want to think about that one. That one was worse. I thought she was going to die. It almost killed me,” he whispered morosely.

“What happened?”

“Zerith and Dar’ja decided to get away from the city for a few days. I guess they got tired of hearing Alayne and I throw things at the wall when they would wake one of us at night, our rooms being on either side of theirs. Yes, they can get loud,” he said with a blush, then muttered something about his mother washing his mouth out with soap, “anyway, they took off for a few days. I had just about decided to go stay in my quarters in Farstrider Square with the rest of the Blood Knights; I was spending most of my days there anyway, studying. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I can read. I guess Alayne wasn’t paying attention or maybe I was being quieter than I realized. I must have snuck up on her, from her point of view. All I did was walk up behind her and tap her on the shoulder. She whirled around and just started screaming at the top of her lungs. Zerith told me to be careful about getting close to her; he told me about what that warlock did to her when she went for her trials. Luckily, Zerith says she killed the bastard who dared lay hands on her. If she hadn’t, I would be hunting him down right now.”

“Ger’alin, are you listening to yourself?” Callie whispered. The man didn’t hear her.

“At any rate, I must have frightened her,” he continued. “Like I said, she started screaming. I tried everything to get her to stop but she wouldn’t. The city guard came, and that made it even worse. They were trying to haul her off, I suppose. She had a fit; threw one of them through the door – it was closed – and just curled up in a little ball. She went stiff as a board, then. I wound up having to carry her to the cathedral. It took five priests and a couple of Blood Knights, not to mention me, to get her laid out so she could be examined. I felt her pulse, Callie; there’s fast and then there’s what hers was. And she was just laying there, stiff, cold, her eyes wide open but seeing nothing. She stayed like that for three days before she just blinked, sat up, and announced that she was hungry. The priests got her off that time; they said it was a fever of some sort and she wasn’t responsible for what had happened.”

“What did Zerith say about it?”

“I’ve not told him about it yet.”

“You what? Why not?”

“Because I don’t think I can. If I tell him, he may decide to send her away. I don’t think that’s the right answer. I think all she needs is to get out of here and do something useful for a time. Maybe coming back here was the mistake. She’s spending too much time cooped up with her thoughts, with her studies, and with that bastard Jez’ral, who I’m still going to kill as soon as I can find a plausible excuse,” he muttered. “I keep hinting to Zerith that we should get back out there; that there’s a whole world out there to explore. Frankly, I think he’s too wrapped up in being Mister Married Man to notice anything that isn’t written in three foot high red letters and shoved under his nose. Or maybe I’ll take Alayne back out into the world myself,” he sighed. “To hell with anyone who would think anything improper was going on between us. I should have taken her with me when we went into Warsong Gulch months ago but I didn’t. I should have…I should have done a lot of things when I had the chance.”

Callie stood aghast, staring at her friend. Their months apart had wrought changes in him she hadn’t dreamed possible. With a sigh, he came back to himself, forcing smooth the creases of worry that marred his forehead and blinked the sudden hardness from his eyes. With a smile, he turned and looked down at her, once familiar eyes shining out of a stranger’s face. “But enough of that kind of talk,” he said gently. “Come on, let me show you to our happy home.”

~*~*~*~

“Callie!” Dar’ja said happily as Ger’alin and the Forsaken entered the house. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“It’s been far too long,” Callie murmured as she glanced around. Further in the house, she could hear pots banging. Dar’ja gave a start every time a loud crash echoed through the corridor. “Need any help for dinner?” the guest offered politely.

“Thank you, but it’s probably better if we don’t go in there while she’s cooking,” Dar’ja said with a sigh. “She’s already bolted the door against me once. Luckily, Zerith’s become something of a master lock-pick so I don’t have to worry too much about her burning down the house tonight.”

“Alayne’s cooking?” Ger’alin grimaced. Seeing Dar’ja nod, he muttered something about dining out that evening and turned on his heel. Dar’ja glared at the man’s retreating back but said nothing, clenching her jaws and balling up her fists in frustration. Callie stood uncomfortably, wondering if she should follow Ger’alin out or not. She jumped in fright when she heard the front door of the house slam shut with a bang. It was too late now, it seemed.

“He exaggerates, you know. Alayne’s really a good cook,” Dar’ja said brightly, as if to a stranger.

“He told me a lot of things, Dar’ja,” Callie said tonelessly. “I want to know the truth. He danced around it quite a bit. Is Alayne going mad?”

Dar’ja bit her tongue in shock at the question. “Alayne will be fine.”

“If what he told me is even half true…”

“Well, I hope you like your food flame-grilled,” Zerith muttered as he left the kitchen. “She’s got that little imp in there helping her now. Blasted thing. She couldn’t get the fire going, Dar’ja,” he explained, seeing his wife clench her jaw in anger. “Callie!” he smiled, seeing his friend in the hallway.

“Hi Zerith,” Callie said, cutting short the greetings. “Is Alayne going mad?”

“You’ve talked to Ger’alin, I see,” Zerith said irritably. “Do you want the truth or do you want to hear what he wants to hear?”

“The truth would be fine with me.”

“Then let’s go in the living room and be comfortable. This could take a while.” The three walked past the kitchen door, moving further into the small house and seated themselves around a darkened fire place. “Tell me what Ger’alin told you so I won’t just be repeating what you already know.”

“She’s been acting erratically, and irrationally, and she’s not sleeping well. From what he told me, she’s had some kind of nervous breakdown.”

“That’s not far off the mark,” her brother sighed. “There are days I wonder if it wouldn’t be better if I…but, never mind about that,” he said, seeing the look on Callie’s face. “Did he tell you about the others?”

“What others?”

“What’s happening to Alayne is happening to many other sin’dorei,” Dar’ja answered. “It starts off with bad dreams and problems sleeping. After they’re weakened by lack of rest, the next phase starts: paranoia, waking dreams…”

“You remember how she was when she came back from her trials, Callie? Paranoid? Didn’t want anyone to touch her? Well, for a while, I thought it was just because she’d been assaulted by the leader of the Burning Blade. Oh, don’t worry. She killed him before he could…” Zerith growled. “You’ve heard about what happened in Stromgarde? The second time she went?”

“Heard about it? I was there, Zerith.”

“Well, then you know it’s not just her. Something happened there; something we don’t know about and that they can’t tell us. See, before Stromgarde, from what I can piece together, all of the people who we’ve had to put away were already having problems sleeping due to bad dreams. At Stromgarde, they all turned on their friends, attacking them. After Stromgarde…they’ve grown worse and worse, less able to tell reality from their paranoid delusions by the day.”

“Can’t you just heal them? Or just explain things to them?”

“Do you think we haven’t tried that?” Dar’ja muttered. “Ger’alin and Zerith have followed her, day and night, trying to reason with her, bring her back to herself when she was delusional. It doesn’t register. There are days she wakes up convinced we’re all dead and is startled nearly out of her wits when one of us walks past her. We’ve padded the stairs since she has a habit of knocking us off our feet and nearly strangling us with joy when she wakes up like that. When we got back here to Silvermoon, Zerith had a long talk with Jez’ral to figure out what might have happened to cause her mind to start slipping. I thought it might have to do with the first battle in Stromgarde. But, it’s more than that. I wish she could just tell us…”

“She relives that battle again and again,” Zerith sighed. “And, she sees herself turning on those she loves. She sees us turning on her,” he sighed again, more sadly. “That’s why she wakes up the entire neighborhood with her screams some nights.”

“Did she finally open up to you about that?” Dar’ja asked. “If so, she may be…”

“No, she didn’t. Lord Lor’themar told me about it the last time I had to go drag Alayne away from the Sunfury Spire. He said she was demanding to be locked up because she was going to kill all of us or we were killing her or something. We’re lucky he, at least, understands that she’s ill. That’s the only reason the city guard hasn’t tossed her into a cell.”

“Oh,” Dar’ja sighed.

“So, how do you make her better?” Callie asked in confusion.

“We can’t. Ma’iv, one of the best healers we have, says that Alayne has to make that decision herself and either she can’t or won’t let herself. That’s the second phase of the malady. It starts with the dreams and troubled sleep. Then the mind slips a few rungs and the person becomes paranoid, impervious to logic or reason. The third phase is a descent into complete mania until the person manages to kill themselves, usually through some accident, not any kind of deliberate planning,” Zerith said, reaching up to wipe tears from his eyes. “By that point, they don’t have the ability to plan anything. Should Alayne go that far, we will have to commit her, for her own safety. Light, she’s one of the last still somewhat sane. None of the others managed to make it a month. Ber’lon, the only other hold-out…,” Zerith sighed, unable to continue.

“Can’t you just heal her?” the Forsaken repeated.

“The Light can heal all the wounds to the body. It can offer comfort to the troubled spirit. It cannot unbreak a shattered mind. And I’m terribly afraid that that is what we are facing with her and with the others.”

“So, you’re just going to sit around here with your wife and Ger’alin and wait for Alayne to go mad and die?”

“What else can we do? Our best healers, even the Apothecaries, have found no way to treat this disease. I know it’s driving Ger’alin to desperation to just sit around and do nothing but there’s no enemy to fight here. I worry about him more than her, to be honest. I think he blames himself for all this, as if he could have foreseen it in any way. I’ve gone through a fair bit of that myself.”

“So, why did you send for me?” Callie asked in a small voice.

“To give you a chance to say good-bye,” Zerith whispered.

~*~*~*~

“No, no, on the wood, you little idiot!” Alayne growled at the imp. “Fire on wood. That’s not a difficult concept. Fire on wood. No fire on robe. No fire on table. Fire on WOOD!”

The imp danced around the kitchen, knocking pots and pans off the walls, merrily ignoring the warlock. With a scream of frustration, Alayne dropped the carrots she’d been trying to slice and closed her eyes. She could recall, vaguely, a time when commanding an imp had been easy. Now, it took all of her concentration just to keep the little thing from running amuck. She opened an eye when she heard a “fwoosh,” over near the stove. Turning, she saw the wood stacked inside glowing brightly in the flames.

“Thank you,” she muttered as she dismissed the imp back to the Nether. “Urgh,” she muttered. There had been a time when concentration had been easier. When it had been less tiring, at least. These days, it took all of her energy just to remember what was normal and not start wandering aimlessly, as she’d seen others doing. Sometimes, she couldn’t even manage that well enough. Inside her skull, she could hear Tal’ar’s daughter berating her for all of the times she’d failed to maintain control, all the times Ger’alin or Zerith had been worried for her. All the times she’d failed to be the sweet, normal woman they wanted her to be. She couldn’t remember why she wanted to remain normal, but it seemed like it was important that she manage that. Maybe if she could just go work on her sword forms for a little while; that always seemed to help. Her thoughts didn’t wander so much then. “Oh, wait, supper,” she muttered, turning back towards the stove. She dropped the carrots directly into the fire, put the roast in the pot of water on the burner, and set the bowl of dough Dar’ja had made earlier on the roast-rack in the oven. Supper taken care of, she dusted her hands and walked out of the kitchen.

“Where was I going?” she muttered to herself. “Oh, yes, to practice…something.”

“Alayne? Do you need help?” Zerith called out from the living room.

“I’m just going to the library,” she answered.

“It’s closed, Alayne,” he sighed, standing up and escorting her into the living room. “It closes at sunset. Now, come here and let’s talk with Callie for a while.”

Dar’ja leapt up and rushed into the kitchen while Zerith settled Alayne down on the couch next to her friend. Callie looked deeply upset about something. And Ger’alin was missing. Alayne knew that something was wrong with the picture in front of her; this was supposed to be a happy time. Had she done something wrong? Tal’ar’s daughter flogged at her, beating her mentally for messing this evening up. The day had gone so well… Alayne leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes. If only she could focus…

~*~*~*~

“Well, I managed to salvage most of supper,” Dar’ja muttered when she re-entered the living room a few minutes later. “The roast was in the water, the carrots are burnt to a crisp, and I hope you didn’t want any bread. The bowl was on fire.”

“Ssh,” Zerith hushed his wife. “She’s asleep. Here, Callie, help me carry her to her room.”

The two lifted the sleeping woman, Zerith taking her shoulders and Callie holding her feet, and carried her down the hallway and up the stairs. Laying her down on her bed, Zerith tossed a quilt over her and, checking to see that the window shades were bolted shut, locked her in. “She’s taken to sleep walking from time to time,” he explained. “I guess she’s had a rough day. It’s been one of her better ones, though. She spent most of it wasting her time with Jez’ral. I almost feel sorry for that bastard,” the priest muttered.

“I don’t,” Callie growled.

“You can’t blame this all on him, Callie,” Zerith sighed. They had returned to the living room. “Alayne was falling ill almost from the time she returned to our homeland. And, she’s not the only one so afflicted. There was a hunter we knew, Ber’lon. He was picked up and locked away for good last week. They found him wandering the streets at dawn, his bow missing its string, trying to fire arrows at the shrubbery. He’s in the sanitarium now, catatonic. You haven’t been here, Callie. All of this seems sudden to you. Trust me, I’ve been watching her suffer for the past few months. It kills me that there’s nothing to be done about it. Come on,” he said, trying to smile and failing, “let’s at least eat something. Alayne’s better in the mornings most days,” he said, patting the Forsaken on the knee. Callie nodded, open-mouthed, and stood. After she and Dar’ja had left the room, Zerith folded his hands, closed his eyes, and prayed harder than he ever had before. “Light, let her stay with us as long as she can,” he begged, seeing Ber’lon’s staring, sightless eyes floating in front of his face.

~*~*~*~

“Come to me, little one,” the man whispered gently, as if he were encouraging the toddling first steps of a baby, “I’ve shown you what awaits you if you stay with them. If you come to me, I can restore you, heal you, and let you be the woman you were meant to be.”

“But, I can’t leave Zerith,” she whispered uncertainly.

“Zerith has his wife to look after him. He doesn’t need or want you. If you stay with him, you will die.”

Alayne opened her eyes. She lay in her room, on her bed, in the dark. Rising to her feet, she walked over to the door. It was locked. Her brow furrowed in confusion; why had she been locked in? She knew she needed to get out; someone had called for her. A man, she remembered, a man who said he could heal her. Taking her dagger to the knob, she struggled to open the lock on her door. Zerith would be happy if she were well again. And Ger’alin wouldn’t look as if he were about to cry all the time.

And we could protect them better. We could help them and keep them safe, always.

“Don’t worry about your friends, my child,” she heard the man whisper in her mind. “They will be taken care of. Come to me now.”

“I can’t,” she muttered. “The door’s locked.”

She heard an amused sigh of pity from her ghostly benefactor. Sitting herself down on the bed, she waited. If she could not get to him; he would come to her. Deep inside, she knew it. Outside, she heard the front door open and then someone remove the key from the desk drawer. Then steps to her door and the key opening the lock with a quiet click. She smiled, recognizing the face of the man who had come to get her though she’d not seen him in months. Closing the door behind her, she followed Ber’lon out into the streets, moving through the shadows for the ziggurat that had come for them.

~*~*~*~

“Zerith, wake up,” Dar’ja said, shaking her husband. He muttered in his sleep, turning and burying his face in the covers. “Zerith, I heard something. Go check on it.”

The priest sighed in frustration. Usually when he got up to check for these mysterious noises, he found nothing more than shadows. Occasionally, he’d found Alayne wandering the house in her sleep, but she was locked in tonight. He’d started doing that after she almost set herself on fire walking too close to the fireplace.

“Alright, Dar’ja. I’m awake,” he sighed, standing up and shoving his feet into his slippers. “I’ll go check on it,” he said wearily as he tied the belt of his robe around him. “It’s probably nothing,” he muttered as he opened the door and walked out into the hallway. “Or maybe it is something,” he said, dread creeping over him when he saw the front door standing open. He ran down the hallway to the living room. Callie lay asleep on the couch. Hurrying back upstairs, he saw that Alayne’s door was still shut and that Ger’alin had still not returned home. Nothing seemed to be missing and no intruder was to be found. Rolling his eyes at his foolish panic, he went back downstairs to close and lock the front door.

“Zerith!” he heard Ger’alin call out as he was pulling the door shut. “Come here.”

Zerith glared at the fighter, wanting nothing less than to go stand out in the middle of the street in his house robe but the look on the man’s face stopped him. Storming out, to Ger’alin, he looked up in the direction the man was staring.

“I know I’ve probably had one too many to drink this evening,” Ger’alin muttered, “but what in the name of the Light is that?” he asked, pointing up to a floating building hanging just over the gates of Silvermoon. Zerith didn’t have time to ponder the question as, suddenly, skeletons, zombies, and other minions of the Scourge poured into the streets.

~*~*~*~

“Well that was certainly unexpected,” Ger’alin muttered as he finished wiping the remains of zombies off his blade. “Hell of a way to get sober, though.”

“Yes, joke about it, why don’t you?” Zerith muttered angrily as he pulled his hair out of his face. “An attempted Scourge invasion in the middle of the night and you jest. Do you take anything seriously?”

“I take too many things seriously,” the fighter muttered, his eyes suddenly haggard. “I’ll go see if any of the guards need healing. You go on back home and check on the others.”

“I guess I can trust you to look after that,” Zerith laughed. “You’ve really been studying hard at healing ever since we returned.”

“I have. I hope it will be enough to help…” the fighter said, trailing off. Without another word, he turned and hurried down the street to see if others needed his assistance. Zerith watched him go sadly. If the former-warrior-turned-healer could somehow wrest the power necessary to heal Alayne, Zerith would not question the source. Giving himself a shake, he turned and walked back down the road to his house.

“We wondered where you were,” Dar’ja said when he opened the door. She was sweeping dust and fragments of bones out into the back alley. “A couple of skeletons got in here. Callie made short work of them. Alayne slept through the entire thing.”

“I should have been here,” he said contritely. “Ger’alin and I got caught up in the fighting and were pushed most of the way down the street before it was done.”

“Where is he?” Dar’ja muttered. “Has he been out drinking again? He’s turning into a regular sot lately.”

“Leave him alone, Dar’ja,” Zerith said warningly.

“You should have woken me,” Callie said as she came back into the house. “I hate missing the best of the fighting. Oh, did I walk in on something?” she asked, shying back at the looks passing between Zerith and Dar’ja.

“No, you didn’t,” Dar’ja muttered as she finished brushing the last of the filth out of the house. Tossing the broom in a corner, she swept past Zerith and Callie and returned to her room, slamming the door.

“You guys certainly have changed,” Callie muttered. Zerith shot her a withering look. “I’ll just go back to sleep, then,” the Forsaken said, pointing towards the couch. No sooner had she settled in than the front door creaked open again to admit Ger’alin.

“Is everyone well?” the man asked Zerith. Callie didn’t hear a response. “Well, then, I’ll just go check on Alayne,” she heard Ger’alin say.

“You’ll need this,” Zerith said, opening a drawer in the desk that stood in the hallway.

“You locked her in?”

“I’ve been locking her in for weeks now since we woke up to find her standing in the living room, the hem of her nightgown smoking.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ger’alin said as he climbed up the stairs. “Hm, you forgot to turn the lock, Zerith,” he called down.

“No, I didn’t,” the priest said, apprehension in his voice. The next thing Callie heard was an upstairs door creak open and then slam shut and Ger’alin come pounding down the stairs.

“She’s not there,” he said, panicked. “I’m going out to look for her.”

“I’ll come with you,” Zerith replied.

“And I’ll come along too,” Callie called out, tossing her blanket aside and chasing after the pair.

~*~*~*~

“Our losses for the night?” Lor’themar asked the captain of the guard. The smoky smell of fire hung thick in the air around Sunfury Spire. Leaning on the window sill, Lor’themar could see the pyres dotting the square where the carcasses of the Scourge invaders were being burnt.

“None, my Lord,” the captain replied. Lor’themar turned and stared at the man in shock. “We took no casualties. The Scourge may have just been testing our defenses. The Lich King ever was one to use a feint to draw his enemies after him. Perhaps that’s what he hoped to do this night; lure our forces out of the city.”

“We took no casualties? From the Scourge? That’s impossible,” Lor’themar muttered. “No one’s missing? Unaccounted for?”

“To my knowledge, no, my Lord.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Lor’themar snarled, gripping the sill until his knuckles turned white. “Why would Arthas just throw forces away?”

“My Lord! My Lord!” came a man’s desperate cries from the outer entry way. Lor’themar recognized the voice as belonging to Ma’iv, the priest in charge of the sanitarium.

“Let him through,” Lor’themar ordered. The guards lifted their spears and let the priest run into the inner chamber. “What is it, Ma’iv?”

“The patients, my Lord,” the man gasped. “They’ve escaped! They tore apart the healers set to watch them this night and ran out. We followed them as far as the gates of Silvermoon. Once they got there, just underneath that floating monstrosity, they vanished!”

“I see,” the Regent-Lord of Silvermoon said. “Return to the sanitarium. Tell no one else what you’ve told me. Until you hear further, the sanitarium is under quarantine. Order the rest of your healers to do the same. If word of this leaks out, I’ll kill the gossipers myself. You there,” Lor’themar said, pointing to one of the guards. “Go to Undercity immediately. Ask the Lady Sylvanas to report to me as soon as she is able. And you,” he pointed to one of the attendants, “go and fetch Rommath. Tell him I want him in here now. All of the rest of you are dismissed. Speak of this to no one!”

Once he was alone, save for the guards watching his door, Lor’themar sank down onto the chair before his desk. He didn’t know what exactly had passed this night, but he had a horrible suspicion that it did not bode well for Silvermoon, the sin’dorei, or the Horde.

~*~*~*~

“I dislike leaving my city for any reason, my Lady,” Lor’themar muttered as he entered the orc stronghold.

“I know you do,” Sylvanas whispered, her voice reverberating with contempt. “But when Thrall orders us to Orgrimmar, we go without question. Neither you nor I are in any position to deny the demands of the Warchief. Now, stop whining and let’s get on with it!”

The banshee queen and the regent-lord moved further into the stronghold, leaving their retinues behind them. Orc guards admitted them to a dark, stone room carved into the mountain that reared behind the city of Orgrimmar. Cairne Bloodhoof and Vol’jin of the Darkspear sat on the floor of the room. They glanced back over their shoulders at the newcomers and then turned their attention to the orc standing before them.

“You’re here,” Thrall muttered. “Be seated.”

Lor’themar bit his tongue at the orc’s brisk orders and said nothing. Seating himself awkwardly on the stone floor, he held his peace. Sylvanas remained standing, muttering that she would not lower herself to such indignity. Thrall seemed to take that in stride and nodded. Without further introduction, the Warchief began. “All four of our cities were visited two nights ago by Scourge attacks launched from floating ziggurats. All of these attacks were easily repelled. However, from what my agents tell me, all four of our cities suffered losses, or, rather, defections, to the Scourge. Do any of you possess any information on what brought this about?” he asked, glaring at Sylvanas.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the banshee queen said threateningly. “The Forsaken had nothing to do with this. We were attacked as well and suffered our own losses.”

“Lady, you know I don’t trust you. I’ll be frank about that,” Thrall said in response to her tone. “But you are the only one among us who actually knows how the Scourge functions.”

“As you say, Thrall,” she muttered, her voice echoing through the room. “From what I have gathered, the Alliance was also attacked the same night we were. I would conjecture that they have been facing the same problems some of our people have faced. Tell me,” she said, turning to each of the living beings in the room, “have you heard rumors of a sudden madness overwhelming your people? It begins with strange dreams and visions, then passes into an inability to focus or concentrate, affecting the ability to perform the simplest of tasks. Lastly, the person goes mad, wandering about aimlessly and lost. Throughout any stage of the madness, the person may suffer fits that leave them catatonic, the fits tending to occur more and more frequently towards the end.”

The other four in the room nodded. Such afflictions had never been unknown, but had become more common in the last year. Lor’themar and Rommath had discussed this malady afflicting some of the newly recruited blood elves, believing it to be related to their arcane addiction.

“We managed to hold on to a few of our madmen,” Sylvanas said slyly. “I questioned them myself. Gentlemen,” she said, dropping her tone, “this was no mere illness; this was Arthas marking some of ours for his own.”

“That’s absurd,” Thrall muttered. “Who would believe the ramblings of an insane corpse?”

“If you had seen the terror in their eyes, Warchief, you would believe.” Sylvanas replied respectfully. “The madness makes them susceptible to suggestion. Very susceptible. The ones we managed to hold back spoke of promises to be healed and made whole if they would just go to him. They described Arthas as if they had seen him. After more questioning, it turned out they had; in their dreams. He plays a long game,” she warned, “and he has infinite patience. Currently, he’s taken a relative handful from each of us. Perhaps he’s testing them, experimenting with new methods to force others to follow him. It would be just like that sick son of a bitch.”

“Can you produce any of these ‘witnesses,’ Sylvanas?” Cairne asked, his deep voice rumbling through the room.

“I thought you might need some convincing,” the Forsaken leader muttered as she glided to the door. Opening it and whispering to the guards, she waited. Moments later, members of her retinue entered, carrying a cloaked and hooded figure between them. Sylvanas roughly tore off the hood, revealing a young troll, his eyes glazed with madness, his blue skin mottled and filthy, his tusks broken and chipped. “He’s one of the only ones still alive after that night,” she replied, seeing the look of outrage on the Darkspear leader’s face. “I could have brought one of the elves, had any of them not chewed their tongues in half by the next evening.” Lor’themar looked as if he might be sick. “My own have simply taken to shambling about after that night, as mindless as the Scourge minions still plaguing our lands.”

“It’s all well and good to discuss why this may have happened,” Lor’themar said after a long pause. “But what course of action should we take to guard against it, if it is him? Precious few of our counter-measures against the Plague did much good, if you remember, my Lady.”

“I’m glad you asked that,” the banshee queen continued, ignoring a snort from Thrall that declared he still distrusted her. Well, let him, she thought to herself. She would achieve her own ends with our without his cooperation. “I would suggest that we put out word that this illness is actually a new form of the Plague. That should encourage people to report cases of it and make them willing to turn over their friends or family who are suffering to the Apothecaries. The Apothecaries will need to study new cases to see if they can develop a way to reverse the illness,” she explained, forestalling the protests she could see rising from the other leaders.

“There will be riots over this, Lady!” Lor’themar spat.

“The Cenarion Circle will want to get involved,” Cairne pointed out. “And, my people trust them more than they trust your Apothecaries, Lady Windrunner. Nothing I say will force the tauren to cooperate with you.”

“The spirits will protect my people!” Vol’jin shouted. Sylvanas’s eyes gleamed as she prepared to argue her points with the others. Thrall put an end to it by pounding his fist on his desk.

“Enough,” the Warchief said. “We’ll go along with your plan for now, Sylvanas. But I’ll be keeping my eye on your Apothecaries for results.”

~*~*~*~

Dar’ja, Zerith, and Callie ran as fast as they could down the streets of Silvermoon, the elves gasping for breath as they tried to keep in sight of Ger’alin. The man was a blur ahead of them, visible only by the way that others leapt out of his way as he tore down the streets, racing towards the sanitarium. The flyers with Alayne’s description that they had been hanging in the bazaar littered the road behind him as they fluttered from his grasp. The four had been in the bazaar, still hoping for word of their friend when the news came out. None of them wanted to believe it but Ger’alin seemed to be taking it worst of them all, Zerith thought as he let go of Dar’ja’s arm and, in a fresh burst of speed, tried to catch up to the other man before he did something truly foolish.

“I’ve got to see her!” Ger’alin was shouting as he crashed through the doors of the sanitarium, looking around the room wildly for some indication of where she would be.

“Who are you here to see?” one of the novice priestess asked, shying back when Ger’alin stared at her, dumbfounded.

“I’ll take care of him, Rilis,” Ma’iv said, as Zerith slammed through the doors a few seconds behind Ger’alin. “Young man,” the healer was saying sadly, “she’s gone and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Let me see her!” Ger’alin yelled.

“She’s gone,” the healer repeated. “We had to burn all of the bodies for fear of another outbreak once we knew what it was.”

“No, you don’t understand,” the paladin shouted hoarsely.

“Young man, I recognize you,” Ma’iv said patiently. “And I know who you’re looking for. You brought her to me, once before. Now, I’m telling you that your friend has passed on and you should be grateful that we figured it out before the Lich King could reanimate them all. You wouldn’t have wanted her to suffer that, would you?”

Ger’alin seemed as if he was about to try to force his way into the wards behind the man. Zerith stood, his back against the wall by the doorway, staring at Ma’iv in horror. He lifted a hand when he saw the doors swing open again to admit Dar’ja and Callie. The look on his face must have said all he needed to them as the two women turned and, without a word, left. The priest stayed only a few moments longer, silently watching as the friend he had known to face any enemy with a smile collapsed before the one opponent no one could beat. With a worried glance at the Blood Knight kneeling on the floor in the middle of the room, Zerith left.

~*~*~*~

“Where’s Ger’alin?” Callie asked when Zerith dragged himself into the house. Dar’ja shot the Forsaken an irritated look as she ran to her husband. Zerith waved them both away, leaning against the door and letting his head bang back. Callie moved further off but Dar’ja ignored him and moved closer, throwing her arms around him and holding him while he cried. Callie, feeling uncomfortable around such displays of emotion, moved further back in the house, retreating to the living room, giving the couple their privacy.

“I can’t believe it,” she muttered to herself. “Not the Plague again. Titans, Light, anything protect the world from that.” For long moments, the Forsaken paced in front of the fire place, torn between being grateful that Alayne had been spared the pain of slavery to the Scourge and mourning over the loss of someone she had grown to care about. And, it had been so sudden. Alayne vanished the night of the attack. They’d spent the past several days looking all over the city for the woman, fearful that she’d been hurt in the attack. Then, just as they had started to post signs offering a reward for word of her whereabouts, the Apothecaries, led by the Silvermoon city guards, had come through the square, making and posting their announcements concerning those who had fallen ill with this new version of the Plague.

Callie turned back towards the front of the house in her pacing, halting when she saw Zerith and Dar’ja moving slowly towards the living room. Zerith collapsed on the couch, his head in his hands, while Dar’ja settled in next to him, stroking his hair and back and offering useless words of comfort. Callie stood in front of the fireplace, wishing she knew what to do. She jumped and yelped in fright when she heard the front door crash open. Looking down the hallway, she saw Ger’alin pass by and mount the stairs. For several minutes, she could hear him rummaging around in the upstairs rooms. Then, just as quickly as he’d gone up, he descended, casting a glance down towards the living room. Callie’s breath stuck in her throat at the dead expression on the fighter’s face. Only the burning rage in his eyes gave any signs that his soul remained within his body. For a moment, it seemed that he might enter the room. Then, firming his jaw, he hitched his shield on his back and turned and left the house.

Without stopping to think whether or not he’d let her tag along, Callie hurried after him, leaving Zerith and Dar’ja to their grief. Outside, Ger’alin finished saddling his horse and, with a silent glance at Callie, mounted and rode off. With a sigh, Callie saddled her own and galloped after him.