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shadowphoenixrider · 5 years

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Azsuna Awaits (6/7)

(Previous chapter)

(This part is 8962 words. I hope you’re sitting comfortably. Tagging: @highpriestessbriyanna, @sigurdjarlson, @galleywinter, @elfgirl931 and @fer8girl.)

Draggka woke early, sensing the sun climbing into the sky, even within the eternal twilight of the cave’s glowing crystals. She was confused by her state of being as she woke; she was tangled up in something warm and large and-

The memories of last night came back to her, and the troll opened her eyes, smiling as she took in the sight of the human archmage curled protectively around her. He was fast asleep still, and looked as inert as a rock, only the soft wisps of breath against her fur indicating that he was alive.

Spike gave a quiet snort, and she turned her head to smile a greeting at him. He glanced out towards the entrance of the cave, tilting his head in a question: ‘Shall we go hunting?’

Early morning was best for hunting, when prey was tired and or slumbering, and Draggka moved to wriggle out of the bed roll. But as she did, she felt the arms around her tighten slightly, Khadgar making an unconscious grumbling sound, and she hesitated. The hunter remembered the first morning together, and the surprise he’d tried to hide in his eyes when he realized she’d stayed with him. The thought of her leaving him to wake up to empty arms, and thinking he might have been the cause made her heart cringe hard in her chest.

She looked back to the raptor and shook her head. Spike was surprised, yet as his eyes flicked to the sleeping human, he seemed to understand.

“Get some rest.” Draggka whispered. “You’ve had a long night on watch.”

Spike uttered a small affirmative grunt, and settled himself back down on the sleeping mat. The troll relaxed back into Khadgar’s arms, closing her eyes to see if she couldn’t catch a few minutes more of sleep too. Her body buzzed anxiously, unused to not getting up as soon as wakefulness came to it. Again, Draggka found herself thinking back to their first morning, and how they’d wished they could have lingered in that bed together, letting time slip lazily through their fingers.

If only we could have some time to ourselves, she thought, turning her head to lean it against his. And not have to fret about something coming to kill us. The reminder of Cordana’s omnipresent threat did not usher sleep any closer.

Though slumber remained elusive, Draggka did manage to doze, listening to Khadgar’s steady breathing and musing that she’d never thought she’d be sharing a bedroll with a human. Heck, she’d never thought a romantic partner would ever be on the cards, until she found herself falling in love with an eccentric, reckless, infuriating, yet utterly loveable archmage. Not for the first time, she found herself wondering which of the Loa had decided to put them together. Shadra was the Web Dancer - perhaps she found their pairing amusing. Or perhaps it was her patron Gonk - Dranka had told her that the raptor Loa was not afraid to tease his fellows, so maybe he thought similar about his followers.

A soft grunt returned her attention to the man next to her. He shifted his weight, briefly tightening his grip around her again before his eyes slowly slid open.

“Good morning.” Draggka said softly, gently cupping his cheek.

“G’morning.” Khadgar rumbled in a barely awake tone, stretching his arms out and nuzzling into the hand on his cheek, stubble rasping against her skin.

“Sleep well?” She asked, ear twitching as she heard Spike moving over to them.

“Yes. Surprisingly so.” He replied. “Usually I am kept awake by a noisy mind, the slightest sound in the night, or a nightmare.” A smile spread across the wizard’s lips. “Yet this was a blissful, dreamless sleep, which I think I have you to thank for. Did you sleep well too?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Dreamed of some stupid ting ‘bout mana cakes an’ dragons. Tink dey were try’n sell dem, but dey had too much sugar in dem? I don’t remember. Were silly.”

Khadgar chuckled.

“As restful as my sleep was, I almost wish I had your dreams,” he said. “Now, as much as I’d love to stay curled up with you, we must make haste to find the Tidestone - before Azshara or Cordana does.”

“Yeah.” Draggka tried not to sound disappointed, reminding herself of their duty, no matter how much she wanted to go back to the time before the Legion’s invasion, when it felt like they had all the time in the world to talk. Khadgar seemed to read this in her tone, because his smile became apologetic, and he clasped her hand, squeezing it.

“I know, love. I’d like to stay here too. But Azeroth needs us.” Another little squeeze, then he released her. “Now, don’t worry about going hunting for food this morning - I will handle that. I can’t let you hunt for supper yesterday and breakfast this morning. We might need your strength for later on.”

Despite Draggka’s best efforts, Khadgar stubbornly kept his word, conjuring some strudels and other bits for their breakfast. Though he couldn’t provide for Spike, the raptor was content to hunt the rabbits just outside the Repose as the mage and hunter got themselves ready for the day.

After bidding farewell to Senegos and his brood, they set off down towards the Highborne ruins where the ancient dragon said the cursed elves were still living.

It didn’t take too long to find them.

“Who goes there?” The ghost of a heavily armoured elven woman demanded, pointing her sword at them. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

They did as they were told, neither mage nor hunter particularly keen on finding out whether the ghostly sword could cut flesh or not.

“We mean you no ill will.” Khadgar spoke carefully. “As intimidating as my companion and her raptor seem, they’re with me. We just want to talk.”

The elf’s eyes looked them up and down, sizing them up.

“Are you emissaries from that bizarre floating city?” She asked.

“Floating city?” Khadgar asked, eyes widening. Draggka and Spike shared a look.

“That one up there.” The elf indicated with her head. “The one that appeared a week or so ago in our skies.”

They followed her gaze to see the spires of Dalaran stretching up in the clear, bright sunlight, as if they’d always been there.

“Oh, that one.” Khadgar rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yes. Yes, we are from there. I am Archmage Khadgar, and this Draggka and her companion Spike.” The troll and raptor bowed their heads in succession. “We have come to speak to Prince Farondis.”

The elf’s eyes narrowed.

“Farondis? I can take you to him, but first things first.” She used her sword to gesture into the overgrown ruins behind her, waterlogged and crawling with familiar serpentine creatures. “These naga attacked us suddenly. They take orders from one called Zarrin, in the low hills to the west. Help thin out their numbers and take Zarrin’s head, and you’ll have my ear.”

“That seems a fair trade.” The wizard nodded, glancing to the hunter.

“Dat it does. Ya coming to help dis time?” Draggka asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course.” The mage grinned. “I can’t have you stealing all the fun.”

As they moved off into the ruins, the elf’s eyes on their back, Khadgar lowered his voice.

“That answers my question as to the nature of their curse.”

“Yeah. Dey clearly be alive, though not as we be.”

“No. And she appears to have a firm grasp of Common, which means they’ve interacted with others on these islands.”

“Dat only be one elf though.” Draggka pointed out. “But if it be many, den dey clearly be living in da now.” She frowned. “Dey been in da now for a very long time.”

Khadgar’s expression darkened, but he didn’t reply, only holding a hand up to warn that they were getting close to a contingent of naga.

Mage and hunter moved with the same grace they’d had tackling the withered, Draggka surprising the naga with expertly placed arrows whilst Khadgar spread further chaos with his magic, and Spike crashed into a melee of teeth and talons. Their leader Zarrin was holed up in a ruined Highborne tower, a half serpentine and half mollusc naga that leered at them as they approached, which was impressive considering he didn’t seem to have any visible eyes.

“I like your bravery, little ones.” He spoke, grinning toothily beneath the shell that covered his face. “I’ll enjoy gutting you in front of my entire battalion.”

“That’s funny, I recall we killed what a looked like a battalion of your fellows just a couple of a minutes earlier.” Khadgar quipped, the arcane gathering around his fingertips. “Pity. Looks like you're on your own.”

Zarrin uttered a dangerous hiss, hurling himself towards them. Draggka sprang away, whilst Khadgar Blinked effortlessly behind the naga, throwing an arcane missile at his back.

The shells fused to Zarrin’s flesh were resilient, but their weight made him slow, and he couldn’t defend from his more agile opponents. He was constantly attacked from behind and his sides until he succumbed to their assault with a wailing plea to some Lady Athissa. Draggka didn’t pay it much mind, concentrating more on separating his head from his body.

The Highborne guard stared at the head for a couple of moments before she nodded.

“Yes, that’s him.” She looked back to them, a slight twist of a smile on her lips that her ethereal form almost hid. “I’m glad to see that my doubts in you were unfounded. I am Nightwatcher Idri.”

“A pleasure.” Khadgar said, bowing his head with Draggka following suit.

“You said you wanted to speak to the Prince. I will escort you both to him, if that is what you truly wish. Come.” She jerked her head, setting off down the path deeper into the ruins. “If you get the chance, spit on him for me.”

Wizard and hunter shared an alarmed look.

“Dat bodes well.” Draggka muttered. Khadgar said nothing, but the lines around his young-old eyes betrayed his concern.

Idri led them through the waterlogged ruins to a collection of buildings that looked in better shape, and surrounded by what appeared to be more Nightwatchers and other ghostly elves. Their arrival generated quite a stir, as a Nightwatcher on guard called out their approach, and many eyes turned to them, conversation rippling through the elves in a language that sounded like Thalassian.

“What are dey sayin’?” Draggka asked Khadgar, watching his brow furrow.

“They’re hoping we’re here to kill Farondis.” He replied in a low murmur. “Stay close to me, Draggka. Something isn’t right here.”

The troll would have commented that he was stating the obvious, but she felt too that something else was at play. She knew from experience that a hateful leader would not allow others to be so blatantly disrespectful, especially in front of others. But...it had been a long existence for the elves - perhaps times had splintered his power?

The Prince they met did not seem any more royal or powerful than his subjects, and he was surprised to have visitors. Khadgar made their introductions, inquiring on the Tidestone, to which Farondis admitted he knew the location of. But in order to prove themselves trustworthy, they would have to first complete some tasks - the main one being to collect the stolen bones of the fallen Highborne from the murlocs on the beach nearby so they could be returned to peace. One of elders of the prince’s ‘court’ had also disappeared and needed to be found, whilst an eccentric magister asked if they could gather some reagents for a cocktail - heron eggs and eyes of a hydra.

“You seem surprisingly non-plussed by those requests, Huntmaster.” Khadgar commented as they left Farondis’s ‘palace’.

“Non...plussed?” Draggka frowned at him, trying to get her mouth around the word.

“Not bothered.” He explained. “You accepted them as if they were routine.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is this what you usually do?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Dere requests not be different to da usual, and I can be doin’ dem easily whilst looking for da bones. Dey tend to pay well, an’ sometimes dey give trinkets or armour as well.” She smiled, lifting a shoulder. “It be a good life.”

“I see.” Khadgar said, looking at her as if he was seeing her again for the first time. “That would explain why you went along with my plans so easily.”

“Yeah, but I were not expectin’ dem to be as crazy as dey were.” The hunter replied, prodding the mage square in the chest. “I be expecting danger in my tasks, but not de almost dying you subjected me to!”

“You’ve never going to let that go, are you?” Khadgar grumbled. “First, it wasn’t my intention, and second, I was terrified I was going to lose you.” He glanced away. “I...I’d just realized how much you meant to me in that moment. If Cordana hadn’t interrupted us when she did...” He trailed off, eyes sad. It only lasted a moment before he blinked, swiftly veiling the emotion.

“Anyhow, we should get on. I think I will leave you to deal with the...’fish men’, whilst I find wherever that elder may have gotten to in ten thousand years.”

Draggka reached out, taking Khadgar’s hand.

“I know ya still still feel bad ‘bout Cordana,” she said softly. “It be alright.”

“One day I hope I’ll believe you.” He replied quietly, resting his hand over hers. His gaze was far-away, as if remembering something. The troll squeezed his hand, and Spike gently rested his head against the wizard’s leg.

“We be here for ya. Always,” she said. Khadgar’s smile was achingly sad.

“You’re kind. The both of you,” he said, glancing down to the raptor. “Kinder than I deserve.”

Those words made Draggka’s fur prickle, her brows furrowing.

“I tink you’ll find dat ya deserve everyting dat we be givin’ ya,” she said, fresh forged steel in her words. She quickly held a hand up when he opened his mouth to protest. “An’ when dis is done, and we have some time to ourselves in Dalaran, I intend to be proving dat to you.”

For a brief moment, the mage was speechless, his eyes wide with surprise. Then he smiled, first in his eyes, then on his lips.

“I will look forward to that, Huntmaster.” Another blink, and he was all business once again. “I suppose I should try to divine where that Elder has gotten to. Might be a bit of a struggle to find a ghost, but I like a challenge.”

“Ya sure ya be alright doing dat by yaself?” The troll asked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t want Cordana to ambush ya or anyting.”

“I doubt she would attack us here, so close to witnesses. That said, I won’t be far. I will rejoin you as soon as I know the Elder’s location. After you have...dealt with the murlocs.” The tone of the last sentence was distinctly uncomfortable, and hunter and raptor narrowed their eyes at him. Now wasn’t the time to pry, however.

“Okay. Ya best get back safe, ya hear me?”

“I will, Huntmaster, I promise.”

Khadgar made good on his word, returning to her in his raven guise. He’d found Elder Aldryth, but the spirit was trapped under a block of stone in the bay, and the mage needed an extra pair of hands to free him. Draggka’s strength, with a bit of magical assistance, managed to free the Elder, and Khadgar helped dry the troll off with a fire spell.

With Aldryth back, a magister’s strange palate indulged and the ancient bones returned, Prince Farondis agreed to lead them to the Tidestone. As he led them towards the ancient ruined buildings they’d seen flying into Azsuna, it became clear that Farondis was reviled by his subjects. And that whatever happened weighed heavy on the elf’s shoulders, as he murmured apologies at their scorn and hate.

It was revealed, via an outburst from a frustrated Nightwatcher captain and some scattered tomes around the Ruins of Nar’thalas, that Farondis was responsible for the Highborne’s cursed state, but not in the way Draggka imagined.

Back in the War of Ancients, Farondis had seen the corruption the demons were weaving into Azshara’s court from his more distant palace, and had hoped to use the Tidestone in the Academy to close the portal in the Well of Eternity. Unfortunately, one of Azshara’s sycophants had gotten wind of this plan, and the Queen had punished the Prince and his subjects by shattering the Tidestone, ushering in ten thousand years of damnation for ten thousand elves.

“No wonder dey blame Farondis for dere suffering.” Draggka murmured as Khadgar placed the last tome in his satchel with the others. “Dey didn’t know he were tryin’ to save dem.”

“And it would certainly explain why he did not seem particularly surprised as to why we would need the Tidestone to stem the tide of demons.” The mage commented. “Yet...Clearly someone knows the full story, as they’ve written these tomes. But they still blame Farondis for their ills. Why?”

“Queen Azshara be a deeply loved back den, yeah? Dose dat didn’t see da politics up close wouldn’t tink dat she have anyting but dere best intentions at heart.” Draggka mused. “Same wit de orcs when Garrosh were Warchief. Dey not encounter da same resistance as my people or de others did. Ya don’t tink ‘bout a problem if it not affecting you. Especially if ya be miles away from it.”

“Ya not want to accept dat de person ya love and admire be flawed. Dat dey don’t care ‘bout ya afta all. It be da hardest ting to swallow.” She looked around, watching Spike investigate the ruined building they were in, the raptor raising his head as she sighed. “Dere be dose dat don’t want to accept it, do everyting dey can to avoid it. Wit no other proof otherwise and a ten thousand year curse, ya get entrenched. Believe dat it were all someone’s else fault.”

“And the person who wrote these?”

“Exiled, probably. Dese tomes were scattered about, weren’t dey? Left to rot or for da tide to take. Da people of Azsuna not interested in da story dey gotta tell.” The troll lifted a shoulder. “Ya be an elf ghost who be believing ya ruler, when no-one else does. And ya try to convince dem by writing books, but it don’t take. Only way to escape would be to get away. Dere be no telling where dat elf could be. Anywhere on da Broken Isles.”

“A depressing thought, but a reasonable one.” Khadgar nodded. “And thus the truth of Farondis’s actions is lost.”

“Dat might be a good ting, though.” Draggka said.

Khadgar frowned.

“How so?”

“If Farondis be letting his people believe dat story, he be protecting dem and da Tidestone. Da less know ‘bout such a powerful artifact, da better. Especially if dey be desperate for release. If da Tidestone can stop ya from crossing over to de Other Side, what else can it do?”

Khadgar looked like he’d had an epiphany.

“Of course. By not insisting on the true story, he’s protected them both, despite how reviled he’s become. Until now.” He turned to Draggka, smiling wide. “A very astute observation, my dear. As usual, you have impressed me.”

“Aw, tanks. It...it just be someting I remembered from a while ago.” She replied, her mind drifting back to Vol’jin, and how he had allowed people to believe his death in Pandaria, until the time was right. There would be no returning this time, though. Her heart contracted with pain, and it must have showed on her face, as Spike nuzzled her leg, and Khadgar clasped her hands, gently squeezing them. She was glad he was there.

Farondis took them up to the Nar’thalas Academy, where the Tidestone rested, but the pain of the past prevented him from going any further, leaving the mage, hunter and raptor to continue alone. It was a difficult building to navigate, with the collapsed sections of wall and roof, tree roots worming their way into the foundations, as well as the leak of sea spray through the cracks, pooling into briny puddles on the stone floors.

Yet its ghostly inhabitants continued their day as if nothing had happened many thousands of years ago. Students still had their noses buried in their books, teachers still instructing them. Draggka found it bemusing and slightly eerie, and she noted Khadgar seemed lost in thought, his gaze a thousand leagues away. Spike had to keep gently nudging him with his nose horn to remind the Archmage to keep up.

The Academy’s time-forgotten state presented a problem, however. As they ventured into the deeper halls, they were stopped by the Academy Curator, Thyrillian.

“Stop right there!” He demanded. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Draggka froze, all words escaping her. Thankfully, Khadgar still had his wits with him.

“We’re new students,” he said, plastering on a winning smile. “I’m Khad-”

“Yes yes, I’m aware of that.” Thyrillian waved his hand dismissively. “But look at the both of you! You look like you just walked in off the street. You’ve even brought a pet with you!” Spike curled his lips back into a snarl, only the troll’s hand on his back preventing him from growling. “At least one of you has their robes on, but where is your hat? And don’t tell me you’ve entered the Academy without your wand and spellbook.” He shook his head, sighing. “Freshmen. Go out and pull yourselves together, and maybe then I will consider letting you enter.”

Khadgar pulled Draggka and Spike aside, out of the Curator’s sight.

“What are we gonna do?” She asked, her hand still resting on her raptor’s back, least he consider trying to eat a ghost. “Dey won’t let me in wit Spike, and I dunno where we gonna get da stuff he needs from.” She arched an eyebrow as she took in the look on the mage’s face. “Unless ya have a plan?”

“I think so.” He smiled. “Clearly his perception of time has altered to think that we are students, not intruders. We should play along with this if we can.” He reached into his satchel, retrieving a gnarled wand. “Or, I will. I was an initiate before, and I can be again. Long enough to find the Tidestone and get out of here.”

“Dat makes sense.” Draggka nodded. “Just don’t get distracted by all da books!”

“I won’t.” Khadgar grinned. “I doubt I will be taught anything I don’t already know, especially if I’m considered a new student.”

“I won’t be able to come wit ya, ya know.” Draggka spoke. The archmage hesitated.

“No. I will have to go alone. But there is only one entrance to this place. You and Spike will be able to stop anyone undesirable from making their way inside, I’m sure.” He smiled earnestly.

“Yeah, I suppose so.” The troll nodded. He had a point, but Draggka felt reluctant to let her lover go somewhere she couldn’t follow if he needed her. “You come back to me as soon as ya can, okay? I know dose books be tempting, but-”

“But the wrath of a worried troll, especially one in love with you, is considerable.” Khadgar finished for her. “Do not fear. As simpler as those times were, I do not wish to spend the rest of my days as a so-called ‘freshman’.” He brightened. “But first, we need to see about making me look presentable.”

Draggka looked him up and down, making no effort to disguise it.

“I dunno, ya be lookin’ good to me,” she said, smiling. She swore that his cheeks flushed, but he remained composed.

“Thank you, but I doubt that curator fellow will let me in without a hat. Let’s hope we can find a spare lying around here somewhere.”

They did find a spare spellbook left unattended, which Khadgar took and spent a couple of moments leafing through. His face fell.

“As I thought. All beginner spells, with some intermediates. Looks like there hasn’t been much of a change in teaching in thousands of years. If not for being written in Darnassian, I could have mistaken it as a Kirin Tor one.”

The hat was much harder to obtain, with there being no spares that weren’t on the top of the ghostly students’ heads. Deciding they’d have to ruin someone’s day for the greater good of Azeroth, Spike swiped a hat that been newly blown off an elf’s head during what appeared to be a lesson of casting spells at each other.

“Wanding practise.” Khadgar explained, turning the spectral hat over in his hands. “Basics are done with constructs now, but back when I was an initiate, students would practise on each other.” He looked at her archly. “I’m sure you can imagine why it was phased out, or at least left to duelling and combat training.”

He placed the pointed hat on his head, pulling at the brim to get it to fit snugly. “How do I look?”

“Ya remind of dose old tales of human wizards.” Draggka said. “Pointed hat, robes, staff, maybe a long beard too.”

Khadgar stroked his chin.

“I could grow one, if you like. I cultivated quite an impressive one on Outland - Kurdran certainly thought so.”

The troll pulled a face.

“Hmm, tink I prefer ya witout one.” She remembered his stubble grazing across her skin. “Dat and dey be trouble in battle.”

“Quite.” The mage nodded. “And a nightmare to keep clean once they get long. Shaving is a much easier task. Right, let’s see if that elf will let me in this time.”

Thyrillian did, sending Khadgar off to class and dismissing any talk of the Tidestone. With a parting wave and a ‘good luck’, Draggka returned reluctantly to the outside of the Academy, standing guard against the naga that tried to enter to it with a collection of Nightwatchers.

Spike uttered a deep rumble, nudging his head against her side to break the troll from her thoughts.

“I know he’s able to take care of himself,” she said, petting his head. “I just...I worry about something happening to him when I’m not there to protect him. Like, he was almost eaten by Withered last time.” The raptor blew out a breath through his nose, looking up at her with knowing blue eyes. “I can’t lose him, Spike. He- I’ve never known a connection so strong to another person that isn’t what we have. He’s like...my world.”

Draggka knew Spike well enough to know that the raptor somehow understood this, and he merely leaned his head against her hand, looking sympathetic. She was surprised (and more than a little relieved) that he hadn’t been or showed any signs of being jealous of Khadgar. Indeed, the raptor had appeared to encourage their relationship. The hunter wondered if perhaps Spike had known what would happen, or maybe that the raptor had had an inkling that the mage would be a good partner for her.

“Incoming!”

The cry from one of the Highborne guards shattered Draggka from her thoughts, and she looked out to the bridge.

A large naga brute was stalking over it, the biggest she’d seen so far, moving with the confident pace of a creature that knew it was the most dangerous thing there. And technically, it was. Draggka had only killed a couple during her time on Azsuna, and most had been with Khadgar’s help. So far, the only weaknesses she knew of was the natural ones; the carotid arteries in the neck and the spinal cord, and great amounts of magical energy. Without Khadgar, she would have to resort to the former - but the brute’s neck was short and thick, necessitating getting in dangerously close, or making it bleed to death with a thousand cuts. Or arrows.

“Gonk, grant me your talons to strike this foe down with speed.” She murmured softly, running a hand over the vials on her belt and inwardly cursing when she realized she had no serpent venom on her. After ages without need for it, Draggka had completely forgotten to resupply.

“Looks like we’ll have to do this the hard way.” The hunter grumbled, pulling an arrow from her quiver.

The brute gave a bone-shaking roar as the Highborne guards surged forward to attack, attempting to crush them with mighty swings of its massive fists. Spike answered it with his own roar, charging into the fray whilst his companion nocked her arrow, focusing on one of the beast’s many eyes.

“Taz’dingo!” She hissed, loosing the missile. It hit dead on, the brute bellowing as its top-most left eye was destroyed. Spike took advantage, attacking from its rear flank, scoring deep cuts into its flesh. The brute whirled around, ignoring the blades of the guards to smack the raptor aside - luckily, he’d disengaged and avoided the blow.

Draggka fired arrows at the beast from the top of the stairs, aiming for the neck, face or anything that she thought wouldn’t be pure muscle. These places seemed few and far between, and whilst her arrows pierced its skin, they seemed like gnats on riverbeast’s hide. With the brute’s swings and smashes, it forced the ghostly elves back or flattened them, slowly advancing towards the Academy. Whilst Spike was a greater annoyance, he was only hindering the beast, not stopping it. The troll swore - there was nothing for it. She’d have to take the risk.

The hunter began the move down the steps, keeping to the creature’s mostly blinded left, resting her hand on her knife as she snuck up to the brute. Spike kept it occupied with the guards, baiting it to turn its back to Draggka. If she was quick, and a bit daring, she could get onto its back, and from there, to its neck.

As Draggka bent her legs to begin her run, movement flickered in the corner of her eye. The troll whipped her head around to see a naga sea witch and large naga warrior slithering quickly and purposefully towards the entrance of the Academy. Draggka’s eyes widened; the sea witch was Athissa, the commander of naga in Azsuna, and who had evaded both her and Khadgar when they went to slay her. She was using the brute as a distraction to get the Tidestone!

Draggka pivoted on her feet, raising up and fluidly nocking an arrow, but the pair noticed her first. Athissa’s many hands moved in a quick pattern, and a bolt of ice was soon flying in the troll’s direction at the same time she letting her arrow loose. She managed to scramble away from the ice missile, feeling the chill wisp over her fur. The hunter fumbled for her next missile, desperately letting it fly. It lodged in the male naga’s armour as he moved to protect Athissa. Draggka grasped for another arrow when she felt a hot breath blew across the back of her head.

To her horror, it was the brute. The hunter tried desperately to back-pedal away from the beast now looming over her, but too slow - its massive fist smashed into her side.

Everything blurred into streaks of colour, the wind rushing out of her lung as she was hurled aside. Spike screamed with rage somewhere in the distance as her body hit the ground hard, coming to a rest against the bottom of the steps. Get up. They’re going to get Khadgar. Get up! Draggka forced a breath in through bruised ribs, and found her hand curling around the riser of Thas’dorah, the bow still somehow still with her after all that violence.

She looked up to see Spike being held aloft in the fist of the now heavily bleeding brute, the raptor hissing and thrashing frantically as he tried to wriggle free. The brute raised him high, threatening to smash the beast against the floor like a child with a toy, ignoring the guards that hacked away at its hide. Draggka quickly grabbed for an arrow, trying to cry out a taunt, something to distract the brute from pummelling her companion to death.

The air seemed to thicken with energy, the hunter’s fur standing on end. Suddenly, a large bright bolt of arcane energy struck the naga brute square in the back, causing it to roar with pain, rearing up and releasing Spike from its grip. A second quickly followed the first, its power enough to send the beast toppling forward, guards and raptor scattering as it fell. Before the beast could rise again, the ghosts struck, plunging their swords deep into the brute’s head.

Spike ran over to Draggka, uttering a series of soft, urgent grunts as he nuzzled her, blue eyes wide and anxious.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she said, petting her companion’s head, shifting to sit upright. “Just bruised. Got a bit careless. Give me a sec, and I’ll be alright.”

“Draggka!” Called a familiar but unexpected voice.

The troll looked up to see Prince Farondis walking over to her, the guards behind him just staring in what appeared to be disbelief.

“Farondis?” She blinked at the ghostly elf approaching her. “What ya doing here?”

“Guilt overcame me,” he said. “I could not simply wait whilst the two of you fought my battles for me.” He frowned, looking around. “Speaking of which, where is Khadgar?”

“He be down in de Academy.” Fresh horror shot through Draggka’s veins, and she began to scramble to her feet. “Farondis! Dat witch Athissa be goin’ down dere! We gotta stop her!”

“Wait!” Farondis grabbed Draggka’s wrist, his grip surprisingly solid for a spectre.

Before the troll could lambast him for trying to stop her, there was the sudden boom of an arcane explosion that rattled the ruins down to their deep foundations. The guards quickly rushed past them, and Farondis tugged her arm again.

“Come! Hide quickly!” He urged. Her feet resisted - Khadgar was in there, and he needed her, they promised... Only when Spike uttered an urgent bark, headbutting her leg hard, did she move with them, into a patch of bushes by the stairs, though every part of her body cried out otherwise.

The decision was a wise one - moments after they’d gotten behind cover, a blast of Frost magic shot from the entrance of the Academy, great spears of ice impaling the guards and ‘killing’ them instantly. Farondis cringed, and Draggka’s stomach went cold at how eerily similar it was to what happened to the Highmountain braves at Riverbend, days earlier.

The green-scaled sea witch Athissa appeared first, one of her four hands clutching what appeared to be a collection of cracked stone pieces around a glowing pearl - from the prince’s soft gasp, Draggka assumed that it was the Tidestone. The naga glanced over her shoulder, her tentacle hair waving impatiently.

“Make sure that prisoner doesn’t awaken, Parjesh!” She snapped.

“Yes, my mistress.” The naga named Parjesh replied, slithering into view. Slung over his armoured shoulder was the limp form of a human mage. Draggka’s heart almost stopped as she saw Khadgar’s head come into view, dark red blood staining his silver hair.

At first, she couldn’t digest the scene, staring in horrified shock. Yet as the pair began to slither away, a deep, hot anger ignited within the troll, thawing the cold disbelief that had frozen her veins. How dare they. How dare they.

She only dimly heard Farondis say something about following the naga, and she nodded tersely, her fingers itching either for her arrows or their skin, she couldn’t decide which.

They chased the naga back across the bridge and onto the land, heading away from the ruins of Nar’thalas. Seeing her mate limp and helpless, flopping around as he were merely a sack of potatoes helped fan the flames of Draggka’s anger until she could take it no more. She quickly nocked an arrow and fired it at Athissa’s retreating back, but it only managed a glancing blow off her shoulder. The naga’s surprised cry and the way their scaled heads whipped around to face them gave the troll some satisfaction.

“Begone, fools!” Athissa cried, summoning a Frost Shield to block Draggka’s second arrow. “The Tidestone belongs to us now!”

“You deal with our guests, Athissa.” Parjesh said, hefting the body on his shoulder. “I shall take the prisoner to the slave pens.”

Draggka snarled, immediately turning on the other naga, Spike on her heels. The naga sneered at them, pulling a coral spear from his back and hurling it at them. The troll managed to dodge, but the raptor wasn’t so lucky, shrieking with pain as the spear lodged itself in his left shoulder.

“Spike!” Draggka cried, the haze of rage shattering in an instance as her companion stumbled. He valiantly tried to continue the chase, but the long hilt of the spear threw him off balance. She looked back to the rapidly escaping naga, her heart crying in pain as it was torn in two.

The raptor uttered a wheezy cry, as if urging her to go on without him. Though it felt like someone had punched her in the chest, she shook her head.

“I can’t leave you. I need you, Spike.” He whined, looking after the rapidly disappearing naga. “I know, but...I can’t rescue him on my own. I can’t do this without you.”

Spike looked as conflicted as she felt, but he gently touched his snout to her face, blowing a breath against her - a gesture of both comfort and acceptance. If he’s being taken to the slave pens, then we have some time. I hope. Oh spirits, please keep him safe.

Getting the coral spear out of Spike was difficult and painful, and not for the first time Draggka marvelled at the raptor’s pure restraint, resisting the urge to lash out in pain. Instead, she was treated to heart-wrenching hissing whines and a strangled shriek that had his talons curling into the ground. Even with the hunter chanting her healing spell over and over, and a gauze pressed tightly to the wound, blood still oozed from it, enough that Draggka had to jury-rig a bandage over his shoulder. She kept the coral end of the spear, slathered in her companion’s blood - it would prove useful when she found Parjesh.

They hurried on through the ruins towards the expanse of tide flats she and Khadgar had seen whilst flying into Azsuna. They were not as empty as when they flew over, however; the naga had set up an encampment amongst the sands and shallow pools of water. As well as tents and weapon racks, she could see strange structures that looked like tanks of liquid, bubbling with clusters of small shapes floating inside.

They look to be staying here long term. Draggka scowled. Why else would they need slave pens? The very thought made her skin crawl with revulsion, and bile churned in her stomach, not least because that’s where her lover currently was. I hope we’re not too late.

Parjesh’s tracks in the sand led to a sea cave further inland, and whilst some naga had clearly been stationed to intercept them, they had become bored with the wait, and the troll and raptor quickly skirted around them.

The guards at the cave’s entrance were not as lucky to be spared however, and well placed arrows covered in wyvern venom sealed their fates. They died with quiet gurgles as knife or raptor’s jaws silenced them for good.

The slave ‘pen’ was surprisingly empty aside from an unconscious sea giant, chained thoroughly to the rock face, but as Draggka and Spike entered inside the cave, they noticed two naga guards to their left standing over something. A pair of brown leather boots, connected to human legs, covered in familiar blue robes.

Spike’s lips curled into a vicious snarl, his pupils contracting into thin black slits.

“What should we do with this one?” One of the naga asked, in thick, gurgling Common. The other bent low, sniffing. “Torture? Hard labour?”

“No. It looks weak.” The other said dismissively. Draggka felt her fingers closing around the coral spear tip. “Wouldn’t last a day. Commander Parjesh has a poor sense for slaves.”

“I say we kill it.”

“Good idea, let’s kill it.”

Something inside Draggka snapped. Fury, bright and hot like a summer forest fire flashed through her, and the troll slipped into a berserking rage. She screamed a Zandali warcry, Spike answering it with his own roar, and they fell upon the naga with an incomparable wrath. Draggka’s vision turned red, driving the coral spear deep into the neck of the naga that had dared suggest killing the mage, pulling it back to strike again. Awareness contracted down to her prey, clarity lost in the frenzy of the melee, noise roaring in her ears. Salt, oil and copper burst against her tongue, an empty hand curling into flesh and digging her nails into it, pulling and tugging as wet warmth coated her fingers.

The troll fought and fought and fought until she became dimly aware that her opponent was no longer resisting her blows, that deafening roar she’d been hearing was now just her furious breathing and the beating of her heart. The naga were silent.

Draggka faltered, her rage still blazing bright at the creatures that dared harm her love - but they were still, covered in blood and very, very dead. They were no threat to her, or her mate. Khadgar-!

Her berserk state lifted then, her vision clearing and adrenaline draining from her as she scrambled over to the mage’s side. Spike was already near him, sniffing him and making urgent grunting sounds that were clearly concern. As his bloody snout passed over Khadgar’s closed eyes, the man winced at sensation of air rushing against him, uttering his own annoyed grunt.

“Khadgar!” The hunter knelt down, shrugging her pack off her shoulders. The mage’s eyes flickered under his eyelids, his face creasing up as he groaned now in pain.

She reached for him, before noting that her gloves were slick with blood, both naga and troll, and pain was starting to throb in her hand (and strangely, her jaw too). Delicately, to avoid caking it over the place, Draggka took her canteen and splashed just enough water to clear the thick liquid away. It turned out her blood was leaking up from shallow gashes in her palm - she’d handled the coral speartip with such violence it had essentially sawed through the lighter leather of her gloves and into her skin. Thankfully, her regeneration was already closing the wounds, and with another splash of water, all traces of her blood was washed away.

She pulled her gloves off, placing them next to her pack and reached again for the archmage, gently brushing her fingers against his cheek. “Khadgar...”

He gave another soft groan, blue eyes cracking open, unfocused yet able to regard her.

“Draggka?” He asked, his voice thick and pained.

“Yeah, it be me. It be okay. Come back to me,” she said, watching his face carefully. Draggka knew she would have to treat his head wound soon, especially now it had been caked in sand, but she was worried that he may have suffered a concussion. He was not a troll or orc - able to sustain a head blow and keep going - and for the first time, the hunter was aware of just how fragile the wizard was.

“Urghh...What, what happened?” Khadgar spoke, his hand going to rub his face, his gaze starting to sharpen. “The last thing I remember is...is...” He trailed off as his eyes met her face, widening.

“Da naga musta ambushed ya.” Draggka said, reaching into her pack to her retrieve her bandages and gauze, trying to rub her mouth against her shoulder, as it felt strangely wet. “Ya got a pretty nasty wound on da back of ya head. Jus’ sit still a minute whilst I look, an’ try not to move ya head around too much.”

“What happened to you?” He asked.

“I be sorry, Khadgar. Dis be my fault. I tried to stop dem from gettin’ to ya, but dey sent a big brute and blindsided me whilst I were dealing wit it,” she said, gently lifting his head up and running her finger through his hair, searching.

“Yeah, but, but - agh!” The mage winced as her fingers brushed the wound, wet and gritty with sand.

“Sorry, love.” She murmured. “Dis gonna take a little time to clean up and bandage-”

Suddenly, with a strength the hunter didn’t realize he’d already recovered, Khadgar grabbed her arm, looking her right in the eyes.

“Draggka, what happened to your face?”

She blinked at him. Her face? It felt a little sticky, but... Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spike dipping his head and running his paws over his muzzle, as if wiping it off. He repeated the motions twice before the hunter got the hint, and she drew the back of her fist over her mouth. When she drew it away and saw blood, and not troll blood, horror slowly began to dawn on her. She remembered tasting copper and salt.

Draggka glanced back to the naga corpses behind them, their scaly tails the only things that weren’t a bloody, mutilated mess. It was as if they’d been set upon by two raptors, not just the one and a furious troll. Her stomach twisted, debating whether to disgorge its contents, whilst her heart chilled inside her chest. Loa above, what have I done?

“I...Dey...” Words failed her for what felt like half an excruciating hour. She wanted to pull away from him, unable to trust her own hands, but his grip and the knowledge he needed to be aided kept her still. “I was worried ‘bout ya.” She finally managed. “I promised to protect ya, an’ I failed. He...dey got away from me. Den when I got here and dey said dey be wanting to kill ya?” Draggka had to break his gaze, thick hot tears springing to the surface and ears drooping. “I...I berserked. I...not known rage like dat. I...I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t see Khadgar’s face, but his grip released on her arm. There was a long pause before a voice startled them.

“Draggka!” She whirled around, grasping for her bow, to see Prince Farondis hurrying over. “Oh! Thank goodness you’re alright. I saw-” he gestured in the direction of the dead naga, “-those, and I worried what had become of you.” His ghostly eyes moved over them. “I see you found Khadgar.”

“Farondis?” Khadgar said, frowning. “You came back?”

“Yes.” The elf glanced down at his feet. “My guilt forced me to return. I couldn’t let the both of you fight my battles for me.” He stooped to pick up Thas’dorah (apparently discarded by Draggka when she had entered her berserking rage), walking over and handing it back to the troll. “When I arrived, Athissa and her crony was making off with you and the Tidestone. Draggka and I gave chase, but we had to split up - Draggka went after you, and I followed Athissa and the Tidestone.”

“What happened?” The archmage asked, wincing. “Argh. This is the worst headache I’ve had in years...”

“Do ya want me to patch it up for ya?” Draggka asked tentatively.

“Y-Yes, of course.” He went to nod, eyebrows furrowing, but he thought better of it. The troll shuffled behind him, washing the blood off of her fingers.

“Dis gonna hurt, okay? I gotta get dis sand out.”

“Okay. Do what you need to.” He replied, blowing out a pained breath as she began to clean the wound. “Go on, Farondis.”

The Prince explained that he’d fought Athissa alone until she’d frozen his feet and fled, in what appeared to be a routine tactic for her. The Highborne had chased her down, only to encounter an image of none other than Queen Azshara herself. Whilst he had been in dumbfounded shock that her form had been twisted into the shape of a four-armed serpentine octopus elf, and that she had become the leader of the naga, she offered him a deal - if he bent the knee, she would remove the curse she had inflicted.

Farondis had considered it, but saw the deal for what it was, telling her that he and the elves of Azsuna would never ally with tyrants. Azshara had laughed, and left with a warning that her ‘wrath’ was coming. With Azshara’s distraction allowing Athissa to get away, the prince had decided to regroup with his ‘champions’.

As he spoke, Draggka had silently treated Khadgar’s wound, washing it out and covering it with gauze, winding a bandage over the top of it to keep it in place.

“This looks ridiculous.” The archmage said as the purple bandage looped over his forehead.

“I know, but dis be da only way I can be making sure it stays on ya head.” Draggka replied. “It will have to do ‘til ya can be gettin’ to a healer.”

“I’ll be fine. We’ll go after the Tidestone once you finish patching me up.”

“Is that wise?” Farondis asked. “You could be injured badly in a second fight. Not to mention if the pain gets to you.”

“I may not have lived a thousand years, but I have fought enough battles to not let a bump on the head faze me.” Khadgar replied.

“It not just be a ‘bump on da head’!” Draggka exclaimed. “It be an open wound, still bleeding, and it been dragged through da sand!” She tried not to let her anger get to her as she pinned the bandage together. “Ya should teleport back to Dalaran.” She blew a sigh out of her nose. ”At least rest, if ya won’t be seein’ a healer.”

“I have come too far to back out now, Huntmaster.” Khadgar responded coolly. “We cannot allow the Tidestone to fall into Azshara’s hands. Athissa has eluded us three times now. We must not let her evade us a fourth.”

“And what are da Kirin Tor gonna say to me when I tell dem dat dere leader be killed by naga ‘cos I let him come along when he be already injured.” The troll snapped, hackles rising. Spike’s eyes widened with alarm, whining. “Gonk’s teeth, how many times am I gonna have to almost lose ya?”

“You won’t lose me.” The mage turned around, clasping her hands in his, despite Draggka almost recoiling from him. “We face our problems together. Just like we promised. Even if our problems be underwater snake elves.” He smiled. “You’ve fought naga before. We have Spike. And a Highborne mage.” He nodded to Farondis, who was watching this unfold. “I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

Draggka found herself lost for words again. She was a little shocked that Khadgar had so easily touched her hands - touched her - after what she’d done to the naga guards. It...it must have been a fluke, a spur of the moment thing. He wouldn’t do it again. How could he feel safe touching someone who could kill so brutally?

“I still tink it be better if ya head back to Dalaran,” she said. “I worry what be happening if ya don’t be getting dat wound seen to. Ya not be an orc, ya can’t just be gettin’ up afta getting hit in da head like it never be happenin’.”

“I appreciate your concern, Draggka, but I will be fine. I’ve had worse than this, and still gone into battle the next day.”

“I apologise for interrupting,” came the voice of Prince Farondis, “but I feel I need to remind you that the Tidestone is currently in the hands of the naga. We don’t want to miss a chance to stop them before they take it beneath the sea to Azshara.”

The troll’s face flushed with embarrassment; they must have been squabbling like two orc matrons. At least Khadgar had the decency to look abashed as well.

“I appreciate you’ve been injured, Khadgar, but we will surely need your strength. I doubt Draggka and I could take them alone.” Spike made an indignant huffing noise, giving Farondis a dirty look.

“I will be alright.” The mage replied, waving a hand dismissively. “Draggka has done a good job patching me up.” He murmured a soft incantation, holding his hand out, and Atiesh materialised a purple-pink shimmer. He climbed to his feet with its aid, and the hunter couldn’t help hovering close to him, with his sedate movements, and grunts as his knees took his weight, just in case he took a funny turn and collapsed.

“Still prefer otherwise,” she said. “But Farondis be right.” She sighed. “Ya be careful, alright? Play it safe and don’t be doing anyting ridiculous. I not gonna be da one tellin’ da Kirin Tor ya went down under my watch.”

Khadgar chuckled richly, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t worry, my dear- dear friend. I will keep close to you and your trusty raptor.” He looked to the Prince. “Besides, I think I will leave the meteors to Farondis.”

“I can certainly take the brunt of the spellwork.” Farondis said. “Come. We shouldn’t waste any more time.”

Draggka nodded, and kept a watchful eye of Khadgar as they followed the Highborne prince out of the cave.

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#world of warcraft #draggka #khadgar #oc/khadgar #legion au #draggka/khadgar #otp: walk on the wild side #sprs writing #multipart fic #canon typical violence #blood tw #prince farondis #angst #long post #long fic is looong

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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'Oh, I know about that. My father told me all about that when we used to take the thargas to be mated. When a man and a woman —' 'About the universe is what I meant,' said Albert hurriedly. 'I mean, have you ever thought about it?' 'I know the Disc is carried through space on the backs of four elephants that stand on the shell of Great A'Tuin,' said Mort. 'That's just part of it. I meant the whole universe of time and space and life and death and day and night and everything.' 'Can't say I've ever given it much thought,' said Mort. 'Ah. You ought. The point is, the nodes are part of it. They stop death from getting out of control, see. Not him, not Death. Just death itself. Like, uh —' Albert struggled for words – 'like, death should come exactly at the end of life, see, and not before or after, and the nodes have to be worked out so that the key figures . . . you're not taking this in, are you?' 'Sorry.' 'They've got to be worked out,' said Albert flatly, 'and then the correct lives have got to be got. The hourglasses, you call them. The actual Duty is the easy job.' 'Can you do it?' 'No. Can you?' 'No!' Albert sucked reflectively at his peppermint. That's the whole world in the gyppo, then,' he said. 'Look, I can't see why you're so worried. I expect he's just got held up somewhere,' said Mort, but it sounded feeble even to him. It wasn't as though people buttonholed Death to tell him another story, or clapped him on the back and said things like 'You've got time for a quick half in there, my old mate, no need to rush off home' or invited him to make up a skittles team and come out for a Klatchian take-away afterwards, or . . . It struck Mort with sudden, terrible poignancy that Death must be the loneliest creature in the universe. In the great party of Creation, he was always in the kitchen. 'I'm sure I don't know what's come over the master lately,' mumbled Albert. 'Out of the chair, my girl. Let's have a look at these nodes.' They opened the ledger. They looked at it for a long time. Then Mort said, 'What do all those symbols mean?' 'Sodomy non sapiens,' said Albert under his breath. 'What does that mean?' 'Means I'm buggered if I know.' That was wizard talk, wasn't it?' said Mort. 'You shut up about wizard talk. I don't know anything about wizard talk. You apply your brain to this here.' Mort looked down again at the tracery of lines. It was as if a spider had spun a web on the page, stopping at every junction to make notes. Mort stared until his eyes hurt, waiting for some spark of inspiration. None volunteered. 'Any luck?' 'It's all Klatchian to me,' said Mort. 'I don't even know whether it should be read upside down or sideways.' 'Spiralling from the centre outwards,' sniffed Ysabell from her seat in the corner. Their heads collided as they both peered at the centre of the page. They stared at her. She shrugged. 'Father taught me how to read the node chart,' she said, 'when I used to do my sewing in here. He used to read bits out.' 'You can help?' said Mort. 'No,' said Ysabell. She blew her nose. 'What do you mean, no?' growled Albert. This is too important for any flighty —' 'I mean,' said Ysabell, in razor tones, 'that I can do them and you can help.' The Ankh-Morpork Guild of Merchants has taken to hiring large gangs of men with ears like fists and fists like large bags of walnuts whose job it is to re-educate those misguided people who publicly fail to recognise the many attractive points of their fine city. For example the philosopher Catroaster was found floating face downward in the river within hours of uttering the famous line, 'When a man is tired of Ankh-Morpork, he is tired of ankle-deep slurry.' Therefore it is prudent to dwell on one – of the very many, of course – on one of the things that makes Ankh-Morpork renowned among the great cities of the multiverse. This is its food. The trade routes of half the Disc pass through the city or down its rather sluggish river. More than half the tribes and races of the Disc have representatives dwelling within its sprawling acres. In Ankh-Morpork the cuisines of the world collide: on the menu are one thousand types of vegetable, fifteen hundred cheeses, two thousand spices, three hundred types of meat, two hundred fowl, five hundred different kinds of fish, one hundred variations on the theme of pasta, seventy eggs of one kind or another, fifty insects, thirty molluscs, twenty assorted snakes and other reptiles, and something pale brown and warty known as the Klatchian migratory bog truffle. Its eating establishments range from the opulent, where the portions are tiny but the plates are silver, to the secretive, where some of the Disc's more exotic inhabitants are rumoured to eat anything they can get down their throat best out of three. Harga's House of Ribs down by the docks is probably not numbered among the city's leading eateries, catering as it does for the type of beefy clientele that prefers quantity and breaks up the tables if it doesn't get it. They don't go in for the fancy or exotic, but stick to conventional food like flightless bird embryos, minced organs in intestine skins, slices of hog flesh and burnt ground grass seeds dipped in animal fats; or, as it is known in their patois, egg, soss and bacon and a fried slice. It was the kind of eating house that didn't need a menu. You just looked at Harga's vest. Still, he had to admit, this new cook seemed to be the business. Harga, an expansive advert for his own high carbohydrate merchandise, beamed at a room full of satisfied customers. And a fast worker, too! In fact, disconcertingly fast. He rapped on the hatch. 'Double egg, chips, beans, and a trollburger, hold the onions,' he rasped. RIGHT. The hatch slid up a few seconds later and two plates were pushed through. Harga shook his head in gratified amazement. It had been like that all evening. The eggs were bright and shiny, the beans glistened like rubies, and the chips were the crisp golden brown of sunburned bodies on expensive beaches. Harga's last cook had turned out chips like little paper bags full of pus. Harga looked around the steamy cafe. No-one was watching him. He was going to get to the bottom of this. He rapped on the hatch again. 'Alligator sandwich,' he said. 'And make it sna —' The hatch shot up. After a few seconds to pluck up enough courage, Harga peered under the top slice of the long sarny in front of him. He wasn't saying that it was alligator, and he wasn't saying it wasn't. He knuckled the hatch again. 'Okay,' he said, I'm not complaining, I just want to know how you did it so fast.' TIME IS NOT IMPORTANT. 'You say?' RIGHT. Harga decided not to argue. 'Well, you're doing a damn fine job in there, boy,' he said. WHAT is IT CALLED WHEN YOU FEEL WARM AND CONTENT AND WISH THINGS WOULD STAY THAT WAY? 'I guess you'd call it happiness,' said Harga. Inside the tiny, cramped kitchen, strata'd with the grease of decades, Death spun and whirled, chopping, slicing and flying. His skillet flashed through the fetid steam. He'd opened the door to the cold night air, and a dozen neighbourhood cats had strolled in, attracted by the bowls of milk and meat – some of Harga's best, if he'd known – that had been strategically placed around the floor. Occassionally Death would pause in his work and scratch one of them behind the ears. 'Happiness,' he said, and puzzled at the sound of his own voice. Cutwell, the wizard and Royal Recogniser by appointment, pulled himself up the last of the tower steps and leaned against the wall, waiting for his heart to stop thumping. Actually it wasn't particularly high, this tower, just high for Sto Lat. In general design and outline it looked the standard sort of tower for imprisoning princesses in; it was mainly used to store old furniture. However, it offered unsurpassed views of the city and the Sto plain, which is to say, you could see an awful lot of cabbages. Cutwell made it as far as the crumbling crenel-lations atop the wall and looked out at the morning haze. It was, maybe, a little hazier than usual. If he tried hard he could imagine a flicker in the sky. If he really strained his imagination he could hear a buzzing out over the cabbage fields, a sound like someone frying locusts. He shivered. At a time like this his hands automatically patted his pockets, and found nothing but half a bag of jelly babies, melted into a sticky mass, and an apple core. Neither offered much consolation. What Cutwell wanted was what any normal wizard wanted at a time like this, which was a smoke. He'd have killed for a cigar, and would have gone as far as a flesh wound for a squashed dog-end. He pulled himself together. Resolution was good for the moral fibre; the only trouble was the fibre didn't appreciate the sacrifices he was making for it. They said that a truly great wizard should be permanently under tension. You could have used Cutwell for a bowstring. He turned his back on the brassica-ed landscape and made his way back down the winding steps to the main part of the palace. Still, he told himself, the campaign appeared to be working. The population didn't seem to be resisting the fact that there was going to be a coronation, although they weren't exactly clear about who was going to be crowned. There was going to be bunting in the streets and Cutwell had arranged for the town square's main fountain to run, if not with wine, then at least with an acceptable beer made from broccoli. There was going to be folk dancing, at sword point if necessary. There would be races for children. There would be an ox roast. The royal coach had been regilded and Cutwell was optimistic that people could be persuaded to notice it as it went by. The High Priest at the Temple of Blind Io was going to be a problem. Cutwell had marked him down as a dear old soul whose expertise with the knife was so unreliable that half of the sacrifices got tired of waiting and wandered away. The last time he'd tried to sacrifice a goat it had time to give birth to twins before he could focus, and then the courage of motherhood had resulted in it chasing the entire priesthood out of the temple. The chances of him succeeding in putting the crown on the right person even in normal circumstances were only average, Cutwell had calculated; he'd have to stand alongside the old boy and try tactfully to guide his shaking hands. Still, even that wasn't the big problem. The big problem was much bigger than that. The big problem had been sprung on him by the Chancellor after breakfast. 'Fireworks?' Cutwell had said. 'That's the sort of thing you wizard fellows are supposed to be good at, isn't it?' said the Chancellor, as crusty as a week-old loaf. 'Flashes and bangs and whatnot. I remember a wizard when I was a lad —' 'I'm afraid I don't know anything about fireworks,' said Cutwell, in tones designed to convey that he cherished this ignorance. 'Lots of rockets,' the Chancellor reminisced happily. 'Ankhian candles. Thunderflashes. And thingies that you can hold in your hand. It's not a proper coronation without fireworks.' 'Yes, but, you see —' 'Good man,' said the Chancellor briskly, 'knew we could rely on you. Plenty of rockets, you understand, and to finish with there must be a set-piece, mind you, something really breathtaking like a portrait of – of —' his eyes glazed over in a way that was becoming depressingly familiar to Cut-well. 'The Princess Keli,' he said wearily. 'Ah. Yes. Her,' said the Chancellor. 'A portrait of – who you said – in fireworks. Of course, it's probably all pretty simple stuff to you wizards, but the people like it. Nothing like a good blowout and a blowup and a bit of balcony waving to keep the loyalty muscles in tip-top shape, that's what I always say. See to it. Rockets. With runes on.'

#Mort

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