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Artimus Devaneaux was a wanted man.

The criers were in force at the street corners in Stormwind: "Let it be known to all citizens of the Alliance that Baron Artimus Devaneaux is wanted for the harm and intention of harm to the persons of Genevra Stoneheardt, High Priestess of the Cathedral of Light, and Gentyl Turncutt, Sepha of the Pia Presidium. If he is seen, report to your local Watch house immediately. Do not attempt to fight him!"

Alone in the great runeforge of Acherus, the Baron paid little heed. He knew no one was stupid enough to violate the neutrality of the Ebon Hold. All free death knights called it their sanctuary, whether they had served here during the battle for the Scarlet Enclave, or elsewhere in the service of the Lich King. To violate that sanctuary would result in a backlash greater than the treason of Alterac. Looking out to the open-air balcony, where once the Dark Lord had stood to oversee the destruction of the Scarlet Crusade, Artimus could see a solitary crow flying around the Hold, occasionally halting to look in.

Zherron. It would appear he is persistent. Waiting for me to depart. He snorted. When I make a move, he will be the last to know...

Artimus had never felt freer in his entire undeath, except maybe when they were freed from the Lich King at Light's Hope, what felt like an eternity ago. He knew now that the author of the anonymous manifesto was right at least about Gentyl. She was a hypocrite and a coward. But Ragefang...he began to wonder if maybe his brother death knight had the right of it after all, that more decisive action was required. Perhaps I should contact Gondorin. He doesn't care a whit about what Genevra or Gentyl, or even the Watch, can do to him, because they can do nothing. He answers to a higher law. He smiled coldly. As do I.

Rilani gazed at her runeblade with cold, calculating eyes. She remembered the day she forged it from that old discarded sword that most wouldn't even consider fit as scrap metal. Forging it into the gleaming weapon that had taken more lives than she could remember, even before she had been freed.

She still didn't really think of it as freedom. It wasn't as if she could go back to her previous life. Her family would see her as an abomination, a cold shell mocking their former wife and mother. They would be disgusted at what she had become. Even more so if they knew the things she had done.

The very thoughts caused conflict in her mind. Better to simply push it aside and get on with what she did best now. Her place was here, amongst the other outcasts.

Still, the notch in her blade needed seeing to. Keeping the weapon in pristine condition was one of the few indulgements she allowed herself. She made her way to the runeforge, glancing across to the balcony as a lone crow called out. Nodding silently at the only other occupant, a human death knight, she set to work on the runeblade.

"My lord," came the voice of young Vorian Tanis, "a draenei is here to see you. Big fella with a big sword. Looks like a death knight."

Turning from his "perch" at the Aerie, Saavedro's heart skipped a beat as he saw his visitor. He had not laid eyes on the man in close to four years. "Battlelord Velenkayn."

"Lord Saavedro. I see that rumors of your demise are greatly exaggerated." Velenkayn, named by his father in the honor of the Prophet - whose example he sought to uphold even in his corrupted state - bowed. His tabard still bore the emblem of the Hand of Argus, an organization he had joined as a living Vindicator, prior to the invasion of Northrend - and the treachery of the Corruptor that had delivered him to the Lich King. He had been Artimus' lieutenant in the so-called Council of Deathlords, the death knights sworn to guard the places they'd called home in life.

"Has he sent you to murder me now? Has Artimus discovered I now call for his arrest and trial for what happened with Genevra and Gentyl?"

Velenkayn frowned. "That is partly why I am here. You are aware that he has settled in the Ebon Hold - and because we never tire, he can stay alert and aware indefinately, while your watchers must regularly rotate. I have spoken to the worgen called Zherron, and he told me I could find you here." The Battlelord began walking with the paladin down the ramp to the floor of the Hinterlands. "Highlord Mograine is displeased with Lord Artimus of late, though he will not express it openly to him for fear of sowing discontent among our brothers. The acts of Ragefang, he does not condemn because he understands that while as free knights, we are sworn to the Ebon Blade, we are also sworn to our people as we were in life. The war between Alliance and Horde, and the acts committed by people like Ragefang against his enemies, are inconsequential to him - he accepts them as part of the politics that rules this world in the wake of Deathwing's fall."

"What has earned him Darion's ire, Battlelord?"

"The fact that he uses the Ebon Hold as a hideout like some petty criminal. Acherus is intended as our sanctuary, where our knights learn the skills of the Scourge to be used as weapons against the enemies of our peoples. It is not intended as a place to evade the justice of those peoples, even if neither the King nor the Warchief will dare touch the Ebon Hold for fear of reprisals. Our Order is far stronger than the Scourge's death knights ever were, and if we are forced to defend our sanctuary and our right to exist among you, we will be far more terrifying than anything the Lich King could concoct."

Saavedro could well believe that - it was one of the things he constantly worried over, especially with people like Ragefang, so heavily tied to Acherus. "And he is concerned that Artimus will force his hand in this matter."

"I see your sight has not dimmed in this shadowy time, Lord Saavedro. I was right to come to you." Velenkayn's face was crinkled in a scowl. "Artimus will not leave the Ebon Hold as long as he feels the eyes upon him. Which is not to say that he should not be watched. Far from that - if he is a criminal on the run from the Alliance, we will not oppose any action taken against him should he choose to leave. Artimus knows this, and he will remain for as long as he needs to."

"So you are asking me to...what, call off the watchers? Ask the Stormwind City Watch to revoke the warrant? Tell Gentyl to back off? The first thing I can probably do...but the Watch takes its manhunts seriously, and Gentyl will not forgive Artimus' insult. They will never accept such a thing, not even from me - especially not from me, in Gentyl's case. I did essentially accuse her of being a terrorist and a coward, even if she is not aware that my pen was the source of such an accusation." Yet, he thought. He still had to speak to her.

The Battlelord nodded grimly. "Nonetheless...he can feel the eyes upon him. If the scrutiny is diverted - my understanding is that this Holy Guard is engaged in a battle with the Modas il Toralar, among others - Artimus will make a mistake. With respect to you humans, you make far too many when your confidence rises too high."

"Guilty as charged," the paladin agreed with a thin smile.

Lahkin had the feeling he was one small leaf in a very big windstorm.

The events of the past few days had happened too fast for him to do much thinking. Saavedro's notice...Nynra accused of being a traitor, and his Ma for harboring her...his Ma and little sister showing up at Aerie Peak for protection...Taelanas going down under Aziel's attack...the Pillar of Honor razed by the Modas...Cyrus and his weapon...the Razortalons once again open to the notion of peace...and finally, the betrayal of Artimus Devaneaux.

Dear Light, did the party never stop?

He spent a long time in the sky that evening, unable to see the ground, only the stars reflecting off his wings. Each event required its own careful thoughts and planning, as Lahkin rolled ideas this way and that until he rejected them or accepted them as best fit. Tonight it was Artimus Devaneaux.

Lahkin felt a pang when he thought of the death knight. He remembered back to a time when he had been struggling with his parents and the Pia Presidium, the two fighting over him, and he almost wanted...neither. Their arrogance in assuming he had no opinions of his own, that the other side was trying to poach him for their own benefit.

But Artimus...he had listened. Shown Lahkin the respect the others didn't, listened to his worries, and showed him the way.

How had the death knight turned from that thoughtful man into the belligerence he was now?

The longer Lahkin spent up in the air, the more he realized there just wasn't an answer.

The stone drake glided back to the ground, landing with a particularly heavy thump on top of an outcropping looking over Aerie Peak. Feathers and broken egg shells littered the rocks up here--this must have been someone's nest last spring, but now she were gone. Lahkin settled, curling his tail around one rock and propping his chin on another. Those passing him would just see more rocks--and two amber eyes turning this way and that as the paladin searched for a solution that didn't exist.

Not too long ago Finn would have taken the news with a sigh, perhaps pinched the bridge of his nose, and then kept his composure. But things changed, and keeping anger welled up only proved self-destructive. So when he heard of Devaneaux's recent spat of activity, he left Mardenholde Keep, shifted into his worgen form, and went running. It gave him something to do while his body worked through the angry energy now in an abundant supply.

It wasn't that long ago that he had met, at Devaneaux's request, with him and Gentyl to go over the recent propaganda. Dev insisted that the culprit be found, as did Gentyl - after all, they wanted to halt the fallout and bring an end to the assault on the Pia's honor. For his part, Finn thought the accusations of an anonymous blowhard were beneath consideration. After all, an advocate for the Light should not hide in the shadows. But he obliged them, after repeatedly telling them that the Silent Guard was strapped for resources, that his and their time was better spent tracking the Modas. And when the subject of Nynra came up, Dev volunteered. Hadn't Finn said then it was a matter of politics, that a gentle hand was necessary since she was involved in a neutral group in the Conclave? Dev said he would be tactful.

Finn bounded through the woods of Western Plaguelands, growing more angry with each pace. All of this effort turned against each other, and in the meantime the Modas just wiped the Pillar's headquarters off of the map. And what came of that effort? More posturing, more whining, more complaining. All of this talk of honor and Light and peace and friendship...they used words they didn't understand. If they did understand it, more people would be visiting the likes of Kordrion, his back flayed and looking like raw, infected meat, delivered at the hands of the Modas. They would see Taelanas, viciously assaulted by Aziel. Or Harmyone, stripped of her powers. Or Faithe, left a hollow shell simply for profit and sheer amusement. Or any of the countless individuals left dead, injured, broken.

Victims, all, and yet no one wanted to talk about the truth. They wanted to talk about honor, reputation, right and wrong, and while they talked more people burned. When did they draw the line?

He snarled, the anger welling up, and he pushed harder. It would be a long run today. There was too much anger to burn.

Sitting alone on his bunk at Wildhammer Keep, gently running his fingers across the soft feathers of his sleeping Loch eagle companion, Varsil Eagleshot's mind was racing through what he had learned in the last few days, from Saavedro and more recently from Lahkin. He had remembered Artimus Devaneaux's name after his father, General Korogh Madeyes, had sworn to bring him to justice for the near-fatal wounds he had inflicted on a human lad, a lieutenant in Stormwind's army who'd been Korogh's student. The lad - Field Marshal Sir Oren Tanis, to give him his full rank and title now - had survived, but Korogh had gone to Northrend in search of his quarry when Artimus had joined the Ebon Blade knights in the battle for Icecrown. He had not come back.

The day word had come from Northrend of the Lich King's fall, and Korogh not having returned to meet him, he knew in his heart what had happened. He had sworn gwyarbrawden - an oath confirming the kinship of blood with his father, and an oath of vengeance when that blood was shed. But he knew he could not touch the Baron, a hero of the Northrend war himself, without possibly incurring the Alliance's wrath. Recently, however, that problem had been taken out of the equation. Artimus was a fugitive - and possibly a terrorist. That made him fair game. Saavedro had told him that a friend in the Alliance military now hunted him, and hoped to catch him when he finally left the Ebon Hold; he had also dispatched his worgen ally Zherron to have his fellows keep a watch on the necropolis.

Varsil only prayed that if he could not get to Artimus first, the hunters would leave a body, or at least take the death knight's head. He wanted the head - it would go next to his trophies on the wall at his home in Thelsamar.

That had been too close...

It seemed the Stoneheardts had eyes everywhere. He had nearly ended up being dragged in chains back to Stormwind. Circling around, following the hills to screen his movements, he made his way back to Acherus, cursing. But there had been a delicious bonus to that. It seemed that the "Terra Incognita" were not as cohesive a unit as young Lahkin had hoped. Ulthryn - former Presidium, like him - seemed particularly...perceptive. He had attacked his own comrade to allow their supposed prisoner to escape. It was days like this that Artimus was grateful that people could still see as clearly as he did.

He was worried, though. Both Kaellar and Nynra had mentioned they had been sent by Saavedro. He had condemned them as liars. But a nagging thought bothered him as he cross through the Scarlet Enclave to approach the Hold. What if they were right? That would mean Saavedro had betrayed him - and of all people, that was the last person he would expect.

Does he suspect my hand in what happened in Lakeshire? he wondered, remembering what he'd heard from a few of his Ebon brothers who'd come back, hearing that one of their own had been killed trying to "whack" Narnicka Stoneheardt. The house was crawling with Genevra's sycophantic converts, and Ragefang had also made his presence known. Demanding to know where the Forsaken was, no doubt.

As he landed in the upper reaches of the Hold and made his way back to the runeforges, he smiled to himself. If someone who served the Stoneheardts could see sense...who's to say others of similarly idiotic idealism might not come around to reality?

After listening to Ulthryn's words, Lahkin was in a quandary. The man had a point.

"How do you know...?" Ulthryn had pressed him, frowning at him with that narrowed eye look Lahkin had come to associate with men prepping themselves for disobedience. "How do you know she was not up to any good?"

How did he know indeed.

Lahkin silently thanked Ulthryn for his judgement, though he didn't say so to the man's face in case he got ideas. It may have been unorthodox for a Commander, but Lahkin was secretly glad when others questioned his orders. It showed him he wasn't dealing with a group of blind, idiot followers. With his soldiers' experience and differing views, he could pool the knowledge of all of them to make a good well-rounded decision.

When a Commander like him had only lived for so long, what other way was he supposed to do it? He only wished they would stop using the middle of crises as times to reflect that maybe they weren't doing the right thing. That piece could use work...

As Lahkin invited Ulthryn to tell him more, he found that at least some of the paladin's judgements came from his hatred of the undead. Those pieces Lahkin passed aside. Nynra may be undead, and she may even be a spy for the Banshee Queen, but she deserved justice just like everyone else.

But as he explained to Ulthryn, Nynra was to be investigated, and then given a fair trial, not pressed into punishment by a mob. Those accusing her would be welcome to state their claims up front of a jury, and a neutral judge would make the verdict.

The only sticking point was: who to use as the judge?

Saavedro seemed fair, but he was also behind half of the trouble, so few would trust him.

Taelanas, too, seemed like he had a good head, but he was Presidium. Not right for the judge to be of the same order as the ones making accusations. For the same reason, Narnicka wouldn't be able to preside over the case, as by his marriage ties with Genevra, he was legally suspect, too.

That left...The Watch. It was the only thing Lahkin could think of. They knew the process, they were neutral, and they were fair. And if they proclaimed Nynra's innocence in front of all to hear...well, maybe it'd stop this ridiculous witch hunt so the Alliance could focus on the real problems.

He only had to get a hold of Orwyn....request an official investigation of Ragefang's claim of spying and treason...and finally, hold the whole thing.

Lahkin sighed, rubbing at his headache until it went away. One step at a time.

And he still had Devaneaux to think about...if only Kaellar had succeeded in capturing him. Lahkin had a feeling his input would be important at the trial.

Oh, what was he thinking? If he couldn't speak to Artimus' face, he could still write the man a letter.

Varsil left the council chamber muttering under his breath, starting to see Saavedro of Stratholme standing at the top of the stairs. "M'lord --"

"I heard," Saavedro replied, raising a hand. "I am disappointed, but not altogether surprised. We do not know Korogh is dead, Varsil."

"He has t' be! He woulda come home from Northrend if'n he were alive!"

"Maybe. We don't know that for certain - or if he is dead, that it was at Artimus' hand."

"It has t' be. It HAS ta!"

"Varsil, listen to yourself for a moment! You sound like like Artimus himself. Too willing to condemn without full evidence at hand. That is why he is a fugitive from justice now. Do you want to end up like him?"

"What th' bloody hell kinda question is that? Of course I don't!"

"Then CALM DOWN, for Light's sake! THINK!" Saavedro knelt and grasped the dwarf's shoulders. "Go. Out into the wilds. Go hunt. And no, don't go hunt Artimus! There are plenty of other things to worry about. Scourge remnants, Forsaken, plagued beasts."

Varsil took a shaky breath, then nodded. "Aye...I do need t' go out an' do some thinkin'. Maybe some huntin' will be good."

Saavedro smiled and clapped the dwarf on the shoulder, watching him leave the keep. He heard raised voices from the common room downstairs, recognizing one of those voices as Kaellar's. Fighting with Ulthryn, no doubt, he thought, as he made his way down to get a closer look...

Saavedro stood in the silent throne room of Lordaeron, hammer glowing with holy energies. At each of the entrances stood a group of silent Forsaken Deathguards, all belonging to the 122nd Battalion - veterans of Northrend and Gilneas. Their weapons were in-hand, but not raised to attack. Even the ghosts that often whispered in this hall were silent, as if they were waiting to see how this combat would end. "It did not have to end like this, Artimus," he said.

Artimus let out a roar as he charged. Death knight and paladin were evenly matched, their weapons and armor hardened by battle and superior smithing - the Baron's Scourge runeblade, skull-adorned armor and necromantic magics clashing against the holy winged plate and draconic greathammer of the Light-infused Oncoming Storm.

Despite Saavedro's strength, Artimus was the more experienced fighter. He spotted an opening and slashed Saavedro across the chest, cleaving his tabard in twain and gashing open his armor. Blood began to trickle from the wound, but Saavedro ignored the pain as he charged again, still proving he could hold his own. With an underhand slash, the Baron disarmed the paladin, and then kicked him in the shin to bring him to his knees. "It would appear that you will suffer the fate of your Light-spouting friends, Saavedro," he gloated as he raised the blade high for the deathstroke. "Serving ME in death!"

A gunshot from behind him exploded Artimus' right hand. The Baron shrieked in pain, for the bullets had been blessed by the Light, intended specifically for Scourge-hunting. The blade flew into the air -

- and into Saavedro's outstretched hand.

"I'm sorry, Artimus," he said as he brought the runeblade slashing against Artimus' neck...

----

Saavedro awoke with a piercing scream. Breathing heavily, he wiped his forehead, drenched in sweat. He was back at his home in Goldshire. That had been a horrible nightmare - the kind that had been plaguing him since he had returned from Alexstrasza's domain.

But was it truly a nightmare - or a vision of the future?

As a dead man, he needed no sleep. But visions came to the damned all the time - often their own memories...

----

He saw him lying on the floor, the lifeblood leaving him. He held a poisoned dagger in his hand, the blade having gone in and out so quickly he had not needed to wipe it - and only a fleeting bit of regret crossed his face.

"I did not want to do this, Father. But you have left me no choice. Rest assured, though - your death will allow our family to live on..."

----

He saw the dwarf general screaming curses at him in his native tongue, only bits he understood - an oath of vengeance. He and his black-furred saber cat charged at him, axes and claws meeting his paired swords and the claws of the ghoul minion at his side. Their blade-strokes echoed through the abandoned trappers' camp. No witnesses, no allies on either side, just what they brought with them.

With a swipe of his blades, he disarmed the dwarf and lunged, stabbing one of his blades deep into the general's chest. Beside him, the saber cat had fallen, its fur shredded by the diseased talons of his minion. The dwarf gurgled, spitting blood into his white beard as he cursed his enemy. "Your oath of vengeance does not supercede mine," he said to the dying general. "No one will know of your passing - your body will be fed to the fish, while I and my comrades will go on to glory." Speaking into his hearthstone, he summoned his lieutenants to take the body to the harbor where his ship was waiting...

----

He saw Gentyl standing in front of him. She handed him a consecrated candle and a sprig of kingsblood, and he was amazed that the plant did not simply wither and die in his hand. She wrapped her hand around the hilt of his sword, a gift from Saavedro, and touched him on each shoulder. His armor was not the dark and fearsome suit he wore in battle, but white trimmed with gold, with a white cloak edged with golden scalemail. The golden cross of the Presidium was proudly worn on his chest.

As he stood, he did so as a Knight of the Argent Rose, a sworn protector of the Alliance and the Pia Presidium...

----

He saw Gentyl again, this time standing in the Stockade. He was surrounded by a group of other Presidium followers, knights and squires alike. He was expecting that he would be lauded for taking a stand against the traitor Genevra. But Gentyl had shown her true colors, proving to be nothing more than a voicebox, all talk and no action...except for ordering her knights to take him into custody. He batted away their grasping hands, spat in the face of the so-called "Sepha", and ripped the colors of the Presidium from his chest, throwing them to the floor.

I will not be held by whelps such as you, he remembered thinking, as he opened a death gate to Acherus...

----

He saw the legions of Justice assembled in the Court of Bones on that black day when all hell had broken loose. You speak of justice? Of cowardice? The Lich King's voice echoed across the assembled army waiting at the Wrathgate. I will show you the justice of the grave...

The legions of the damned rose from the earth as he willed it, proving that the Light, the arcane and strength of arms meant nothing before a creature with no soul.

And the true meaning...of FEAR!

----

He saw Jaeden'laek, the wise and learned draenei ambassador and shaman, standing in the parlor of his family's house in Brill. Or was it the Cathedral? The Stockade? The village in Grizzly Hills? The Wrathgate? The images began to blend and swirl, but the farseer remained constant.

"These are things that were, things that are. They will shape, and have shaped, all that will be. Your actions have made what you are, Artimus Devaneaux. I see this now, even as you swore your oath to the Presidium, as you fought for the Alliance. You are motivated by your own needs, not by the needs of others. You have lied to everyone - to your comrades, to your family, and to yourself. You have become the very thing you hated most of all - you have become Arthas. Heartless, soulless...selfish."

"You're right about that. I have been lying to you - I never liked you, bluie freak." Artimus' sword entered his hand, and he lashed out at the draenei farseer --

-- and returned to himself, alone in the great hall of Acherus. The others were in meditations, or off fighting for their peoples. Jaeden'laek knew what he was. All the while he was claiming to be a loyal soldier, a defender of the Alliance, a Knight of the Pia Presidium...all the while, he was a hypocrite. He cared only for himself, but could not bring himself to admit it, wanting to look like a loyal friend.

Now, he embraced that selfishness. Now, he would drop all pretenses...

"Tirisfal? What the hell is he doing there?"

"Dunno. Flew over several rotter patrols, though - and they didn't shoot at him. Like he was one of them or somethin'. Looked like he was headed for the city."

Eidan Zherron was dumbfounded. He was seated in the parlor of Saavedro's home (rented out to Zherron and others who answered to him) outside Goldshire. Amendera was still missing after the attack on the Stoneheardt house, so he replied mostly on the eyesight of his chief scout and assassin, Liam Branscombe. "Who do you have watching?"

"Maggard. Yeah, he's a warlock, but he knows to shut up and stay out of sight."

The Packleader nodded, expression concerned. "You think Narnicka is aware by now? He would also have had a tail on him. He feels very strongly on this."

Branscombe shrugged. "Maybe. Dunno what the military thinks. Not my job."

"Fair enough. Maintain your surveillance. If he's gone over to the enemy for whatever reason, gut him the moment you see him. Bring Narnicka his head, that should be a nice gesture."

The assassin raised an eyebrow. "What about Saavedro?"

"What about him?"

"He did say he wanted the death knight taken while he was still moving."

"He can say all he wants. We're the ones doing the work, and we will decide what condition we bring him in. Besides, what Saavedro does not know will not hurt him. Let him think we tried."

"Don't be so sure of that, Eidan." Eyes wide, Zherron turned to find Saavedro standing in the doorway. In a flash, the paladin had him by the throat, lifting him off the floor. "I said I WANT HIM ALIVE, Packleader. We are not the Horde, to summarily execute our traitors without charge or trial. We give them fair hearing under the King's Law. And if you even think about trying anything stupid like you were suggesting, you will answer to me. I will not hesitate to have you locked up for murder, Artimus' crimes be damned. Do I make myself clear?"

The worgen nodded feebly in Saavedro's grasp, and the paladin released his grip. "Don't toy with me, Eidan," Saavedro said in a dangerously quiet tone. "Don't you ever toy with me."

Gentyl went to the Stormwind Watch, to clarify a matter. Only Dev and Pia had been at the stocks when Dev did whatever it was he did aside from begging to be removed from the order. She was pretty sure the guards nearby hadn't filed a report, but rumors were flying there was a warrant for his arrest for assaulting her.

She sat down, once again, and reiterated her statement. He had apparently threatened to kill Genevra. That was the only charge she was aware of, if that was even a valid charge. People threatened each other very day. If the watch was going to start arresting everyone for that they better start recruiting more.

"Dev did not assault me. If rumors are true that you have a warrant for his arrest on that charge, please drop it."

If spitting on people was an assault Light help them all. This was a matter she preferred to handle personally and not from a Storm Watch desk. It seemed to her, there was plenty to worry about without this constant little petty propaganda war and she was done with it. Pia had better things to do.

His mind is not his own.

Those words, out of his own mouth, echoed through Saavedro's head as he guided Magnanimous through the streets of Stormwind from the Cathedral. He had taken a gamble, and was glad he had bet on the right outcome. Gentyl, for being somewhat...different in her ways than he, was still a paladin. She still called upon the Light, as he did. She followed the Three Virtues, and was willing to forgive him his lapse in judgment, for which he was grateful. But he had left her with a warning.

"If he is captured by your order, he will be granted fair treatment under the King's Law," he had said to her. "Do not let Narnicka find him first, or the truth will never be found."

Narnicka - and Zherron, as it turned out - were all for killing Artimus without asking questions. But the letter Saavedro had received while in the Aerie, which precipitated his return to Stormwind, left troubling implications. He had told no one - not Zherron, nor Gentyl, nor Genevra...

Genevra. He had to convince her to call off Narnicka. Whether Narnicka would heed her - or Saavedro himself, for that matter - he knew not. Privately, he doubted it. He had proven that he was all for killing first and asking questions later, and to Saavedro's dismay, so had Zherron. He needed Artimus alive (well, metaphorically speaking, anyway) to prove that Artimus' actions were not entirely of his own will.

Except he didn't have to prove it. Not to himself, at any rate. He knew exactly what was going on. So why...unless this was intended to draw battle-lines, just as the whole brouhaha with his manifesto had.

It seems that your devious streak has not altered in death, Master, he thought. They cannot possibly comprehend the consequences. If he is captured, he can be cured. But if he must be killed...it must be by my hand. He smiled sadly to himself as he rode out of the city gates back to his home.

More than even the battle between Alliance and Horde...this is my war.

Sir Taelanas had been convalescing for some time. After harsh words with his daughter he had given battle to Aziel as he happened across him, and was left on a mountain top, trying to hold his intestines in, while he called feebly to Erelyn to beware the threat he could not protect her from. For days he had tossed and turned in his medical ward bunk, revisiting every battle he had fought, ever comrade he had lost, and every miracle of the Light he had witnessed. Then, one morning he woke, and when he rose from his sickbed, he felt under his loose tunic the bulbous and malformed scar tissue that had healed over the rends in his skin that Aziel's pet felhound hand ripped in his abdomen. He walked to the great hall and sat on a bench and broke his long fast with bread and butter. He requested his correspondence and his writing materials. There at the table while eating light bread, and sipping water he began to review all that had happened while he was in his dreams. When Taelanas reached the reports of Artemus Devaneaux's actions he frowned deeply, and set aside his crust. After some time Sir Taelanas affixed his seal as Justiciar of the Pia Presidium to a docket and set it aside and moved through the mountain of reports that the squire had placed before him.

Later that day a Presidium courier lifted into the air astride a gryphon uncommon fast. After reaching a certain altitude the courier made south with great speed.

The traitor must pay. The traitor must pay.

Attired in skull-adorned armor and wielding Crimsonblight, his massive runesword given to him by Darion Mograine, he made his way across the frozen wastes of Northrend towards the city of Dalaran. His memory was hazy after flying over Andorhal...but there was an imperative command. The traitor was in Northrend. It often went to Dalaran, to the Underbelly. Its movements were as routine as the rising of the sun.

It is a traitor. A blight. It spreads lies and corrupts minds. It must be silenced.

He wanted to curse the voice that kept echoing in his mind, but he found that not only could he not do so...he was not sure he wanted to. It made sense. It was something Ragefang had wanted...something Saavedro opposed. His time would come. But for now...

The traitor must pay...

Stowing away the last of her reagents, Nynra turned at the sound of cruel laughter coming up the sewer pipe from the Underbelly. "So...predictable."

To her shock, the laughter came from the massive armored figure of Artimus Devaneaux. "S-Sir Devaneaux?" she stammered.

Before she could utter another word, the Baron had her in chains of ice. "Let's not try your tricks again, witch," he sneered - in a voice that was not the one people knew him from. The voice of another. "Did you think she would forget about you? That she would not notice you subvert her?"

With a yelp, the priestess invoked the Light to break the chains. "W-what are you talking about? W-what is this?"

The death knight with another man's voice laughed. "Sylvanas has a long reach, Nynra...and so do I." A face blinked over Artimus - a bald man with his face in a permanent grimace, eaten by maggot holes. Clearly dead, and making no effort to hide it. "You will learn first hand why even your friend Saavedro fears me."

Nynra began quaking in terror. "No...n-no, not h-her! I am NOT F-Forsaken! S-stay back! S-stay back, fiend!"

A voice that did not come from Artimus' lips - but instead echoing in the minds - spoke next. Now...you will pay the price of your treason! Artimus! KILL HER!

Nynra slammed her staff onto the ground, unleashing lashing chains of Light. "L-Light save m-me!"

LIGHT? The mocking voice laughed. There is no Light...THE SHADOW CONTROLS ALL! With that, the Baron lunged, and unleashed a massive wave of death and decay, rotting the wood floor of the Black Market. Screeching in agony, she let loose a wave of light. The death knight staggered...but made no sound, and kept on inexorably coming. It was like he was a robot...

GAH...ENOUGH! RUN HER THROUGH, YOU MORON! The unseen watcher was infuriated. YOU HAVE A SWORD!!!

Lunging again, the death knight crashed into a crate as Nynra leapt nimbly out of the way, chaining him with Light. "I-I will not f-fight you! I-I will not k-kill you! F-free yourself, s-sir Devaneaux! F-free yourself from t-them!" She let out another wave of light, searing the death knight's armor and flesh.

Artimus shrieked in agony and slumped to his knees as Nynra fled the scene. "Wha...what..." Where the hell am I? he thought.

IMBECILE! screamed the voice in his head...and all of his own thoughts melted away. GO AFTER HER!!!

Bringing himself to his feet, the scorched death knight raced after his quarry.

It was agony.

She did not know how far she had ran before finally leaping onto her carpet and floating down to Northrend, letting the enchanted cloth carry her far away. Safe on the flying cloth, she cringed in pain as the full force of the decay struck her, the Light cleansing it but adding to her pain.

She had used too much too often this week; she could feel portions of her flesh twitching, breathing, old nerves awakening in their rotted state. The cauterizing touch of the Light was painful to her, but she soldiered through it. Still, she whimpered during, pained by it.

But that was not all that tore at her.

A forsaken... was it? Someone, something commanded Devaneaux, controlled him, forced him to attack. Or was he forced? Nynra could not know for certain, but she knew that he was going to hunt her.

Her carpet surged on, flying somewhere, anywhere for safety...

After hearing Nynra's story, Lahkin slipped inside his office. There was a mound of paperwork on his desk as per usual, and per as usual, Captain Voldarr was working his way through it diligently. Ignoring him, Lahkin crossed the room and sank into his chair. He put a hand over his face. Quill poised over a report on the night's attack on the Black Hand Society, Voldarr respectfully kept his eyes averted from his Commander.

There was no doubt about Devaneaux, now. But instead of soothing Lahkin's worries, it just made it all worse.

He didn't want to believe Artimus was capable of this. He wanted to believe there was a better way. Peace. Unity. Forgiveness. They seemed such a good ideals, but now so far out of reach. And maybe it had always been, and Lahkin had been just kidding himself.

It didn't matter. Nynra would have to be protected. The Terrans would be on alert for Devaneaux's capture--or kill--and the Watch notified. Again? This was the second assault in however many weeks. The first on his mother could've just been a fluke, but now...

No. No more time for hesitancy. There was justice to be done, and people's safety to consider over his own misgivings. Straightening up, Lahkin called Voldarr to him, and in a firm voice, began to dictate the orders...

"WHAT?!"

With another, wordless, scream of rage, Saavedro threw his hearthstone against the wall. The stone shattered, not only abruptly cutting off his communication with Dalaran, but also creating a small crack in the masonry of the wall. He had never been this angry before - not when it looked like open warfare in Hearthglen, not when the Corruptor had nearly killed Oren Tanis (and was thought for more than three years to have killed Saavedro himself)...not even when he had gone with Varian to Lordaeron after the Wrathgate to seek vengeance against the Forsaken.

Eidan Zherron stood in the doorway in stupefied silence, his clawed hand absently going to his throat. He had thought Saavedro would throttle him right then and there, back at the house in Goldshire. The paladin's anger scared the hell out of him - and as somebody who'd faced down a whole mob of feral worgen and a Forsaken invasion army, that was saying something.

Leaving Zherron and his pack to work out of the Goldshire house, Saavedro had gone home to his old living quarters in Stormwind's Cathedral District; he had maintained this small residence ever since he first came to this city after its reconstruction, more than twenty years ago. Due to its proximity to the Cathedral, he often came here to meditate, and had been doing so when he returned from the reception in Dalaran - only to receive a message from an old acquaintance, the Archmage Inar of Borealis, that there had been an attack in the Underbelly not long after he left. The perpetrator was unclear - no one had been able to positively identify him. But the victim was positively identified as Nynra Lirann Lightheart.

Immediately, Saavedro had two suspects. One was Ulthryn - remembering what had transpired in Andorhal, and getting a very, very brief glimpse of him at the wedding reception when he'd raised his hood for a fraction of a second. He knew that Ulthryn didn't particularly care about the verdict of Nynra's public tribunal; she was his enemy. The other, whether the man himself knew it or not...was Artimus Devaneaux. Thinking long on it, he finally dismissed Ulthryn as the perpetrator, even if he was a reckless idiot. Weren't we all at that age? he thought, smiling grimly to himself.

But Artimus...it made no sense to most people - the Baron had turned from a stable, jovial voice of sanity back into a bloodthirsty lunatic, as he had been when he served the Lich King. People had suspicions, and it was likely Nynra knew it was the act of a Forsaken, but no one knew who - save for Saavedro himself.

It was time to bring the evidence he had to the fore.

"Eidan," he said finally, after seating himself at his desk and rolling up a pair of parchments he had written during the day, "I want you to deliver one of these to Gentyl at the earliest possible time. He was one of hers - and they must be warned to be alert. Then do the same for Genevra, as Nynra was among her acolytes." He handed the Packleader the two scroll cases.

"What about you?"

"I am going to the Aerie."

A warrant was posted on the bulletin boards in Dalaran, bearing the violet sigil of the Kirin Tor.

LET IT BE KNOWN, to all subjects of the Kirin Tor and visitors to Dalaran, that the death knight known as BARON ARTIMUS DEVANEAUX is wanted for the attempted murder of the priestess NYNRA LIRANN LIGHTHEART in the Underbelly of this city last evening.

LET IT ALSO BE KNOWN, that a similar warrant has been issued against Baron Devaneaux by the honorable Stormwind City Watch for the charge of assault against GENEVRA STONEHEARDT, High Priestess of the Cathedral of Light in that city.

THEREFORE, if any subject of the Kirin Tor may find him or herself in a position to capture this death knight in a territory not subject to Dalaran, or not within proximity (i.e. not within the Crystalsong Forest, the island of Coldarra, the town of Amber Ledge, or the crater at the former site of this city in the Alterac Mountains), turn him over at once to Alliance authorities, and we will send a formal request for extradition through proper channels. If, however, he is captured within a territory of Dalaran, he is to be brought at once to the Violet Hold.

BE WARNED that Baron Devaneaux is armed and extremely dangerous, and if at all possible, do not attempt to engage alone. The servants of the Lich King, former or otherwise, had great means at their disposal to kill spell-casters.

So ordered, this twenty-ninth day of the fourth month.

By the Authority of Lord Rhonin,
Inar of Borealis
Archmage of the Kirin Tor

Reading this in his quarters at the Violet Citadel, Caro'thel Vendross was deeply disturbed. He had begun to like the man, even after his first impressions...the fact that he had turned in this manner unsettled him. Was there an unseen hand behind this...or was the Baron truly mad?

He dreaded the answer, either way.