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The Ebon Hold was watched...and indeed, some had even entered the halls to find him. Highlord Mograine was furious, but had done nothing...yet.

Instead, he stood in the ruins of the Scarlet Hold in New Avalon, waiting. Finally, the one he was tasked to meet with approached, attired in fine robes with a masked cowl over his face. "Your failure is unfortunate, but understandable," he said in a raspy voice, like that of an old man - which he had been before his death and transformation. "The Kirin Tor likely has people looking for you in Northrend, and the worgen and the so-called Holy Guard watch Acherus. It is also likely that your 'comrade' is aiding them...our enemies are moving to bring him to their cause." Indeed, the Watch and the Stormwind military had had choice words for Gondorin Ragefang in recent days.

"What must I do?" the man asked emotionlessly, like the robot he was.

"Come to the city above; there are many halls and abandoned towers we could use. They will not be foolish enough to try anything there. You will be under my protection, and through me, you will be under the protection of the Dark Lady. I have an entire battalion of Deathguards at my disposal, for I am the voice of Sylvanas to these soldiers - they will obey my word as they would that of the Dark Lady herself. And no other will bar your way. General Metheius will see to that."

The man gave a silent, long-considered nod, as he stepped into the saddle of his skeletal gryphon.

"In time," the masked figure continued, "your mission will be allowed to continue. They will grow complacent. They will tire, and need rest. A great advantage we have over such creatures is that we are not bound by such weakness. Our vigil is eternal, and our reach is long. Nynra now knows that. We must be patient, my friend...given time, our reward will be far greater."

"Understood."

"Then go at once to the city, my friend. Victory for Sylvanas."

----

As the armored figure lifted off into the air, a chill seemed to follow in his wake. Nynra knew the truth behind the rumors of his madness, and Saavedro knew the source. But no one knew exactly the tortures the man faced. As he watched his body used as an instrument of discord and destruction, the remaining noble fragments of the man he had been pounded against the ethereal walls of his mental prison. But no matter his strengths, no matter how hard he tried, it was a useless gesture - he was trapped.

Left as a prisoner in his own mind, the ragged soul of Artimus Devaneaux screamed in agony.

"Lord Saavedro! LORD SAAVEDRO!!!"

"I'm here, what is it?" Saavedro ran out his front door to find a breathless Vorian standing outside his door. "What is it, lad?"

"A courier from Hearthglen! He says it's urgent!" The human courier, who had come behind him - a bit more prepared for a jog than the lad of twelve - came up behind him. "Well, what is it?" Saavedro demanded.

"Lord Saavedro, our militia soldiers found a wounded worgen female along the King's Road, outside Andorhal. We positively identified her as Amendera Kynes, a warrior of the Shadowhowl pack."

Gods below... "What the hell was she doing so far from Redridge? I TOLD her to stay with Genevra!" She's been missing for more than a week - what the hell did she do, go hunting?! His mind was racing.

"I know not, my lord. But we positively identified her attackers - we found at least four dead around her. They belong to the 122nd battalion of the Forsaken Deathguard. One of the patrollers said he spotted that bastard Varan Metheius himself leading them."

Now that really didn't make sense to Saavedro. Why in the hell would one of Sylvanas' generals lead an attack against a lone worgen in what was still technically - claim to Andorhal notwithstanding - neutral ground?

"And another fellow with him. All in black armor with the tabard of the Ebon Blade. Couldn't get a look at him, but --" The courier hesitated.

Saavedro immediately knew why. "It's Artimus Devaneaux, isn't it?"

"Yes, my lord, I believe it is. There's been no other death knight reported skulking around northern Lordaeron other than Metheius. It has to be. But that means he's riding with Sylvanas, and from what I've heard of the man, he would be among the last to do that."

"It's a long story, courier, and one I cannot tell in public company yet." Saavedro sighed. He had revealed everything he knew to only two people - Zherron and Nynra - and that was enough for him. He had not been able to speak to Lahkin at the Aerie, and with the Terrans, Saavedro's main concerns were Ulthryn and Varsil. Lahkin, thankfully, had a relatively cool head compared to his father. And his mother too, come to think of it, he thought, remembering the incident with Arlston in Genevra's parlor. "Where is Amendera now?"

"The Hold, sir. I know her boss, Packleader Zherron, keeps his distance because of the Presidium, but there is no onus against her."

"That may be, but I will attend to this...Vorian!"

"My lord?"

"Arrange transport to Hearthglen. Now. I must go to her."

"Hold off on that." Eidan Zherron stepped into the doorway, his amber eyes glowering at Saavedro's presumption. "Let the Presidium healers tend to her. Our past history aside, they have some damn good healers. She will be in good hands with them, and with Fordring's people too."

"Hardly an opinion I would expect from you, Eidan. You will forgive me if I find it suspect."

Zherron let out a low snarl. "I have a far greater emotional stake in her life than you do, Saavedro. So don't try your high and mighty paladin routine with me, or I will rip out your throat and leave you bleeding on the floor."

"Are you threatening me, Packleader?"

"No, my lord. I am stating the facts. Get in my way regarding my child, and I will kill you." Zherron grinned coldly. "You think I'm going to play second fiddle to YOU for the rest of my life? You're nothing. You strut around with your 'Lord Saavedro' routine. What are you the lord of, paladin, hmm? If it were up to me, you'd be nothing more than the lord of my chamberpot, and your duties would involve slopping out whenever I fill it."

The paladin began to tremble with rage, but Zherron continued regardless. "You think that because you're working for Alexstrasza, and because of your long years of priesty duties, and your war service, and your little Argent tabard..." He glanced at the Argent messenger. "Er, no offense, courier..."

"None taken..." The courier bowed slightly and retreated to let the confrontation play out without him.

"You think all that gives you the right to lord over people's lives. I hear you make your plans, how you'll tell Narnicka to do this, how you'll tell Genevra to do that, making your grand pronouncements and your cowardly anonymous manifestos. Who the hell do you think you are? You're a nobody. You think because you're a paladin who's seen war against evil that you're all that and we should kiss the ground you walk on because it's 'holy'?" Zherron's gaze did not flinch. "Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but you can kiss my furry butt. Paladins are a copper a dozen these days, not like when I was a kid and we only had...how many were there originally, five?"

((cont'd...with the guy ranting at Saav, heh heh))

Saavedro looked away, his hands shaking. Zherron's tone softened. "You're trying to act like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, Saavedro. Like you have to run and work your Light every time something goes to hell in a handbasket. Well, I have news for you. It's not, and you don't. I am not speaking as some mindless lackey, but as a comrade of the Alliance. And I say to you - let it be. Amendera will be fine in Hearthglen. Gentyl and her ilk hate me, after that whole brouhaha in Silverpine. And I have made no secret of my dislike for them. But they will not harm her. I trust in their code of honor enough to believe that."

Saavedro stared at the tapestry on his wall, depicting the rise and fall of Arthas from Prince of Lordaeron to Lich King...it had been woven by a veteran of the campaign as a reminder to him that even one like him could fall. And more than a few like him did...

"Alright, Eidan. I will let the healers in Hearthglen tend to her." The paladin nodded, mostly to himself. "Leave me now, I must think."

The Packleader nodded and made his way out, where the courier was standing. "Return to Hearthglen, courier, and say that the message has been received, and that we trust in our friends in the Argent Crusade to protect her while in their town."

"Very good, sir."

As he walked away from the house, Zherron suddenly felt a need to enter the nearby Cathedral. Maybe a little time here to think would help, he thought...

Saavedro found himself standing in what looked like a prison - it could be Tol Barad, or the Violet Hold, or the Stormwind Stockade, or a number of other prisons he had seen in his lifetime. He couldn't be sure. He could see the cells filled with screaming people - some of whom he recognized. Korogh Madeyes, the dwarf general, who his son believed was murdered in Northrend. Euphrati, the daughter of Sekhesmet, found murdered along the road to Durnholde; she was now believed to be Forsaken. Lucian Devaneaux, the magistrate of Brill...what was he doing here?

In the smallest yet most prominent cell, with bars of burning iron, was the man who had imprisoned them all here. The bars seared into his flesh, and he screamed in agony.

"HELP ME! PLEASE, SAAVEDRO, HELP ME!!!"

----

Saavedro bolted upright, gasping, drenched in sweat. Another night, too many in a row, ended like this. The sun hadn't even risen yet...

Part of him wanted to curse Alexstrasza for saving him, only to bring him back to this - a land broken and dominated by war, and constant nightmares.

Not nightmares, Saavedro. His hearthstone - replacing the one he had smashed against the wall days before - hummed softly. Visions.

"Jaeden'laek?"

Yes. Come, I am waiting for you in the Cathedral.

Saavedro swiftly put on a fresh robe and made his way through the predawn chill (feeling a shiver as the breeze cooled his sweat-drenched hair and face) and into the Cathedral, where the venerable draenei shaman stood. Next to him was Battlelord Velenkayn, leaning on his old Vindicator's warhammer, the crystalline head said to have been forged by the naaru themselves.

The Farseer began without preamble. "You are aware of the crimes Artimus Devaneaux has committed, Saavedro. You are also aware that his actions are not of his own doing. You have emphasized your point to Commander Stoneheardt, but his heart is filled with vengeance. He will only bring back Artimus' head, if even that, if he reaches the Baron first."

"I'm not so sure I want to stop him anymore, either. The rumors are true - he killed Korogh, and Euphrati...and his own father."

"He did. And those were indeed by his own hand, not by the will of his new master. I had hoped that he would be able to bury these ghosts of the past and atone for them in his service to the Alliance. But alas, he has broken faith with me, and with the pact." Jaeden'laek smiled sadly. "The pact already seems sundered, it seems. Taeril'hane Ketiron is dead, and Artimus is mad, corrupted by the Forsaken. Only Oren and I seem to be the ones left to uphold the promise we made when we thought you dead and buried at Sorrow Hill, Saavedro - to uphold the tenets of honor in all things."

"Artimus has proven he is willing to forsake honor for personal gain in the past, Jaeden'laek," Velenkayn spoke up, his tone bearing a hint of reproof. "Honor does not come easily to him. I could have told you that; we knights of Acherus know our own."

The shaman nodded, conceding the point. "I had hoped that you were wrong about him, Battlelord. But perhaps I should have given your counsel more credence."

The death knight waved a hand dismissively, the hints of a smile curving his lips. "What's past is past, Farseer. We must now look to the present."

"What can be done?" Saavedro asked.

"If possible, Artimus must be taken intact, and imprisoned for his crimes against the Alliance," Jaeden'laek replied. "And, if at all possible, exorcised of the influence Sekhesmet puts over him. Somehow, I do not feel this will be possible. Sekhesmet is very powerful, and also very secretive. Plus, he enjoys the protection of Sylvanas; she will not allow one of her most loyal priests to be killed by 'mere mortals'. Even our death knights, for whom the term 'mortal' has no clear-cut definition. It seems the only way to end the dominance is to kill his puppet."

"Indeed so," Velenkayn agreed. "If we cannot capture him, we must be prepared for the possibility of giving him his rest. With respect to you, Farseer, I favor this option - the man we knew, the man we fought alongside, is dead and gone. What exists now is a mere meat puppet of the Blighted Father. No one should suffer a fate like that, not even a death knight." His gaze went to Saavedro. "Are you prepared to take that chance, Saavedro of Stratholme? If the charge goes to you, and you are the only one capable of ending Artimus, will you do so, for the good of the Alliance?"

Saavedro was silent. He had been wrestling with that question for weeks. He had been asked it by many - Narnicka, Zherron...even by his own conscience. It was he who had kept Artimus from the block when people - from Stormwind and Ironforge, and even survivors of Lordaeron - had wanted his head. And it would now end like this...

"Yes," he said finally. "If it is to be my destiny, I will kill Artimus. And may the Light have mercy on my soul, for I will have none."

Varan Metheius - the "silent general" to the Forsaken, the "Butcher of the Northgate" to the Gilneans - led his escort group from Undercity into Hillsbrad, heading to take the death knight to Sekhesmet in Tarren Mill. Alliance infiltrators had already attempted to find him - or evidence of his work - in Undercity, somehow managing to avoid the Deathstalkers. But Metheius had enough friends left in the higher echelons of that organization to get some details.

"Something I don't understand, General," came the voice of his trusty retainer, Commander Declan Malkus, his bone-carved bow in his hand. "Why is Sekhesmet making a big deal outta this guy?" He nodded to the human among them. "I mean, he's just one among many."

Metheius, unable to vocalize his opinions, just shrugged. He didn't know, either; and frankly, he didn't much care to ask. Sekhesmet, for all that he and the general shared the same loyalty to the Dark Lady, gave him the creeps. All those damn Apothecaries did. We need no alchemists to win wars for us, he thought, words he could not repeat aloud. We are the Forsaken. We are legion.

"Seems Sekhesmet's big into this 'shadow war' business," Malkus commented, disgusted. "Give me a straight fight any day." Metheius nodded in agreement.

As they approached the crossroads, Malkus froze, raising a hand to halt the column. Metheius' blue eyes gazed at him in silent question. "We're being tracked, General. Someone is following us."

Metheius nodded to his men to draw swords, and he did likewise. His mohawk-crested skull darted around as his eyes moved to detect movement. He had twenty men with him, all veterans of Northrend like him. Eight, maybe nine, he thought, silently listening. He glanced at Malkus, who seemingly agreed with his assessment. "Probably no more than ten. Worgen. Damn Bloodfang. He doesn't seem to want to give up..."

One of the Forsaken troopers screamed as a blade entered through the back of his neck and ripped upward, cleaving his skull in half. The ghostly-white fur of Liam Branscombe became visible. Two more fell in rapid succession, and dark-furred "siblings" of the worgen assassin entered his vision.

Suddenly, as he watched a huge crow descend from the sky, Metheius understood. Zherron! Lashing out with icy chains, he pulled the Packleader to him - but Zherron shifted quickly, his staff in hand as he cracked the general in the skull, causing him to stagger. "Kill anyone who stands in your way!" he shouted. "Bring Artimus back intact! We'll want to plunder his brain!"

As more worgen charged in, two rapidly-fired arrows pierced Zherron's shoulder. Ripping them out, not caring about the blood oozing from the wounds for the moment, he glared at Malkus as he shifted into his ursine form and backhanded the Forsaken hunter with a huge paw. Malkus backflipped in the air and landed on his feet, notching another arrow - this one dipped in poison. A thrown glaive from behind Zherron - from the hand of one of Branscombe's fellows - cut right through the bow, cleaving it in two. The hunter drew his paired swords, rolling quickly despite his chain-mail armor at the next thrown blade.

"Eidan, we have him! The mages await!" shouted Branscombe. Three worgen were rushing away, carrying the unconscious death knight on their shoulders.

"Go, Liam! Get him to Stormwind! Now!" The Packleader crushed Malkus' breastplate and cracked several of the rotter's bones with another swipe. Metheius chose then to thrust, stabbing Zherron in the shoulder again. With a roar of pain, Zherron swiped, sending the Forsaken general flying into the grass in a crash of armor. Disarmed and disoriented, Metheius could only watch as Zherron - bleeding from his shoulder, assumed his humanoid form and sprinted away. "Better luck next time, rotter!" he shouted as he and his packmates ran for the rendezvous point.

Eight worgen and fifteen Forsaken were fallen. Metheius knelt next to the fallen form of Malkus, the ragged remnants of his soul burning with rage. The young hunter had been his best - the man who had been his voice to the troops. Now...he was dead.

Sekhesmet would not be pleased. But Metheius would deal with that soon enough...

----

Teleported back to Stormwind with the aid of a Gilnean mage, Zherron finally collapsed, the adrenaline wearing off and the blood loss finally taking hold. Branscombe knelt next to him and bound his wounds as best he could. As the Packleader drifted into unconsciousness, his packmates taking him to the Cathedral for treatment, Branscombe turned to one of his fellows.

"Go to Lord Saavedro and Commander Stoneheardt at once," he said. "Tell them that we have a gift for them."

Varan Metheius felt his entire body wracked with agony as he slumped to his knees before the shadow priest. "I should know better than to let someone with no tongue run my errands," the priest said darkly. "Having to peel through your mind like a rotting onion is an experience I would rather NOT have to repeat! Why the Dark Lady keeps you around, I have no idea."

The icy blue eyes glared daggers. He smiled coldly. "Still have not lost your spirit, Varan. I admire that. But failure will not be tolerated." He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing. "Master Trolodon."

"Ya, mon?" A troll in skull-emblazoned robes, wearing the colors of the Dark Lady, stepped forward. At his side was a felguard, and Metheius suddenly understood. Shadow men keep company amongst themselves, he thought.

"I suspect that the worgen may soon retrieve their healing friend. I want you to watch them, and see where they go. Will they go southward through Khaz Modan back to Stormwind, or will they go west, through Silverpine, back into Gilneas? We will need to know where Zherron's lackeys hide in order to flush them out."

"How you suppose we be figurin' out da difference between dem 'liberators' and da Shadowhowls?" the troll warlock asked. "Not as easy ta figure out what worgen works fer who, mon."

The priest nodded thoughtfully, conceding the point; Crowley's Gilnean Liberation Front still wandered the ruins of Gilneas. "You've had a look at some of the ring leaders. Zherron, Branscombe, Kynes, Maggard. If you see any of them, you will know who you're dealing with."

"Suppose I shoulda thoughta dat," the troll admitted. "And if dey be goin' to Stormwind?"

"Let them, but inform me at once." He raised his hearthstone. "You know how."

"Gotcha, mon. Dark Lady be watchin' over ya now."

The priest nodded as the troll made his way out. Metheius gazed at him in silent bafflement. "Trolodon - the name he has chosen for himself, not entirely sure why - is a renegade from the Echo Isles. Apparently, the Corruptor picked him up as an apprentice...but the damnable orc's been missing for weeks. So he's ingratiated himself to us. He hopes that maybe he will be granted our immortality in exchange for service - proof that we Forsaken come in many shapes and sizes." He smiled.

"Father." He turned to see Euphrati, his daughter and chief enforcer, walk up to him. "The Baron is in Stormwind, but I think we may have an easier way of reaching him. The Kirin Tor has a warrant out for him, and it's possible - given the...minor nature of his crimes in Stormwind - they may send him to Dalaran."

"Hmmmm...the Kirin Tor have declared themselves neutral in recent days, even if those rats around the crater in the mountains still claim to serve the Alliance. It would not be too much of a stretch to see Forsaken there, even with the stigma of the Wrathgate." He chuckled. "Oh, this is rich. They've played right into our hands."

"The Violet Hold is a lot better protected than Stormwind's Stockade, Father. How do you propose to get him out?" Metheius admitted the girl had a point.

"No prison is impregnable, child. The Stockade, the Arcatraz, the Violet Hold, Tol Barad...it's a matter of knowing the system. And as I aided in the...defense of Dalaran during the war with Malygos, it just so happens that I do." He turned to Metheius. "How many men do you have available?" He nodded to the quill and parchment nearby.

Metheius took the pen and scratched down a notation. More than three hundred, Father Sekhesmet.

"Good. Take thirty of them and accompany me to the zeppelin landing outside Brill. We're going back to Northrend." He turned to his daughter. "Care to join us, Euphrati, or do you have something else in mind?"

"I figure I didn't get enough of the place the first time," Euphrati replied, grinning.

Sekhesmet of Stratholme smiled as he gently placed a hand on his daughter's head. "Then let us ride for Tirisfal. There is much to prepare for."

((Loving this. You've got talent.))

"Saavedro of Stratholme here as you requested, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Dismissed." Field Marshal Sir Oren Tanis gazed levelly at the paladin as he entered. "Saavedro, I have just heard the most disturbing rumors, and I would like you to dispel them for me if at all possible."

"Of course, Oren. What can I do for you?"

"For starters, you can start by showing a little damn respect for the military of this city, Saavedro - starting with me. This is Stormwind, and you have no say here beyond the knighthood you were granted by Regent Fordragon during the return-of-Naxxramas hysteria a few years back." The paladin was taken aback by the tone. "So you can start by addressing me as Field Marshal or sir. Whatever influence you have with Hearthglen," and at that the young general nodded at Saavedro's tabard, "will not avail you here...because when last I looked, Varian, not Fordring, was King of Stormwind."

Saavedro was dumbfounded. "What the hell is going on? I receive an urgent summons to see you here at the Keep, and you snap at me. What happened?"

"Am I of the understanding that you are attempting to completely ignore Commander Stoneheardt's involvement in the Artimus Devaneaux affair, Saavedro? An affair that, by the way, you should have been reporting to him about, not the City Watch?"

"The military has no say in the matter, Oren, and you know that."

"Don't we? And that's Field Marshal or sir, Knight Saavedro. I will not warn you again." Tanis' single eye glared coldly at him; the other was an engineered implant to replace the one lost in Icecrown Citadel. "So you are telling me that the prosecution of traitors to the Alliance is a matter for the City Watch, which is assigned to be a police force for this city, and not for the Army, which is to defend the entire kingdom and the Alliance?"

"I can explain --"

"I do not need your explanation. I'm not an idiot, my youth compared to you aside. Let's examine the evidence, shall we - a Knight of the Ebon Blade in service to the Alliance is seen working in concert with the Forsaken, who when last I checked WERE THE FEL-DAMNED ENEMY...and a champion of the Argent Crusade, also in service to the Alliance, is trying his damnedest to sabotage any effort by the Alliance military to bring the traitor to justice, working clandestinely with his own private militia to keep the traitor alive, instead of kill the bastard like he deserves. Have I left anything out?"

"Now wait just a Light-damned minute --"

"Silence, Saavedro. You're lucky Varian likes you and your service to the Alliance has, up til now, been exemplary...or you would be on the block right next to Artimus. You have a knight's commission in the Alliance military, and now I am giving you a direct order: You are to recall Packleader Zherron and anyone else you have guarding the man, and you are to turn him over at once to the First Stormwind Regiment. Artimus Devaneaux will be tried by a military court for his acts of treason against the Alliance."

Saavedro was horrified. Artimus would be as good as dead if he allowed this! "Don't you see Narnicka is too emotionally involved to be an impartial arbiter? And how are you going to explain to the Kirin Tor --"

"I do not have to explain a damn thing to the Kirin Tor. They're not part of the Alliance, and the charge of treason is far greater than that of attempted murder. Rhonin has enough sense to understand that." Tanis' expression softened. "I thought you did too, Saavedro."

"He is not doing this willingly, dammit!" Saavedro screamed in desperation. "He is under mental coercion! I can prove it!"

"Maybe. But in the long run, no one will care about the fine print. What they see is Artimus Devaneaux threatening priestesses and paladins, and working with Forsaken. We can offer proof and counter-proof all we want. The evidence is clear-cut enough." Tanis shook his head. "I'm sorry, Saavedro. The King's law is clear. If he is found guilty, he will die."

"You may as well execute him now, then! That's what Narnicka has been drooling over ever since the incident with Genevra! An incident where he didn't even lay a hand on her! Yes, she's his wife and all, but --"

"Enough!" Tanis' glare returned. "You have your orders, Saavedro. Now, will you carry them out, or will you be charged with treasonable disobedience?"

Saavedro's jaw clenched. Tanis had him by the balls, and he knew it. "I will discharge my duties as ordered...sir."

"Good. Then you are dismissed."

Eidan Zherron left the meeting with Narnicka both confused and somewhat surprised. Up to maybe ten minutes ago, he was of the belief - as Saavedro had been - that Narnicka was out for blood. Indefinite detention was nearly unheard of - but it was occasionally done. The trouble was KEEPING him detained. But, he mused, that's his problem now, not mine...at least, not for the moment.

Narnicka had asked him to tell Saavedro to meet with him at some point, and to assuage his fears about Artimus' fate. Zherron was not entirely certain what the paladin was after - did he want to save Artimus because he was his friend, or did he want to plunder the death knight's brain to find some way to get back at Sekhesmet? Or something else entirely?

Paladins! Can't get a straight answer with any of these libram-thumping loons!

Marshal Tanis' stern words had been a rude awakening - Saavedro had tried throwing his weight around, but the Marshal showed him he had no real weight to throw. And so he was put in his proper place - subject to orders from men who outranked him. Men like Tanis. Men like Narnicka.

"I'll let him stew," he said to himself. "Maybe it'll be a lesson in humility, one he needs to relearn..."

Walking into the gardens of Stormwind Keep, he assumed his flight form and screeched as he took to the air.

Not this time, Master...NOT THIS TIME!

With a burst of Light, Sekhesmet of Stratholme was thrown backwards against the wall, crashing into a bookshelf. The noise brought the Deathguards running. "Father Sekhesmet, what happened?"

"It's nothing! Back to your posts!" the shadow priest snapped. He stood and straightened his robes. "NOW!"

The Deathguards bowed and made their way out. Too bad we don't mind the cold, he thought. I'd let those idiots freeze to death. He stepped onto the balcony and gazed out over the snowy glades of the Dragonblight. Venomspite was still here, and still operating. Best to keep these things away from the capital.

Genevra has proven far more resilient than I anticipated, he thought. And Saavedro...much more powerful. He picked up a small flask and tapped it thoughtfully, swirling the greenish liquid. No matter. I have more tricks up my sleeve...

After leaving Stormwind Keep, Amendera Kynes returned to her room at the Lakeshire inn, where she had stayed while watching Genevra. Though she had been sent there by Zherron, she had not worked for him ever since his drunken tirade during Narnicka and Genevra's vow renewal in Dalaran. She had occasionally run errands for Saavedro, but Saavedro had his own agenda.

Zherron had talked about serving the Alliance - where the hell did that come in? It seemed he held onto his vain dream of a Gilneas reborn, and the Forsaken would just go away. Amendera, lauded for her good sense (most of the time), knew this to be folly, especially after what had happened in Lordaeron...the Forsaken played for keeps, and they had all the time in the world to do so.

Sighing, Amendera removed the Gilnean tabard from her armor and gazed at the emblem. She knew, as Zherron refused to admit, that the only way Gilneas would be a free nation - in the Alliance again - was with the help of Stormwind. Marshal Tanis, her mentor, had said as much himself.

Gently folding the tabard, she tucked it away in the dresser. She would meet Narnicka that night at the Keep without any strings attached - as a soldier of the Alliance, no more, no less. And maybe, she thought, we'll go after that snake priest...

It was an unfamiliar sensation, the invasion into her mind. Genevra rested at her Lakeshire home, reflecting on just this. It was more than a simple intrusion, it was something more. There had been more than just the foul forsaken at the other end of the mind link, and it troubled her.

That they were able to sever the stands that bound Artimus to Sekehsmet was a great feat; that he was so powerful, powerful enough to reach out to the priestess after her connection to Artimus had ceased made her stomach turn.

There were more questions than answers to be had. As she slept she heard the sickly sweet voice of Sekhesmet rung in her ears.

Artimus could not believe his sudden good fortune. Released conditionally...the condition being that he fight for the First Stormwind Regiment in battle against the Forsaken. That, he was more than happy to do.

NO ONE makes a meat puppet out of me and gets away with it! he thought. I will strangle the bastard with my own two hands when I find him!

As he exited Stormwind Keep, he halted as he saw Saavedro approaching. The paladin's eyes suddenly widened as he saw the condition of the man - in his full gear. One thing he noticed was that he was not wearing his Ebon Blade tabard anymore. "Artimus."

"Saavedro...it's good to see you." The Baron looked hesitant. "I do not ask for your forgiveness, as I cannot forgive myself. Not yet. But...your counsel would be most welcome."

Saavedro gazed at him silently. Then he nodded. "Come with me." He stepped into the "saddle" of the custom-built mekgineer's chopper that the paladin had built himself, using blueprints he had purchased in Valiance Keep. He opened up the folding sidecar. "Get in."

"Where are we going?" Artimus asked as he seated himself in the sidecar. "I'm under conditional parole - I'm not to leave Stormwind until Narnicka gives me leave."

"Then we will go to my home in the Cathedral District. Hang on." Riding out from the gates, Saavedro quickly navigated through the city streets, the engine roar echoing in the evening moonlight. The trip was relatively quick, arriving right outside Saavedro's home in the Cathedral District. As they entered, Saavedro poured a hot cup of tea for himself - the housekeeper had been forewarned of his return. "So, conditional parole?"

"Yeah. Basically, stay in Stormwind until I'm needed by Narnicka's regiment to go kill Forsaken. Surprisingly generous, considering the charges."

"And the penalty."

"Yes, and the penalty." Artimus raised an eyebrow. "So what's the deal? Haven't you caused enough trouble with the military yourself?" He grinned.

Saavedro had the good grace to smile. "Perhaps. But there are a couple of things I want to give you. First." He opened a large chest and brought out a large sword, forged of saronite.

Artimus recognized it immediately. "That's Worgensbane...Metheius' sword! How did you get it?"

"During the operation to capture you," Saavedro explained, "Liam Branscombe - Zherron's chief assassin - brought me this. He says the good general went flying after getting slapped by a large bear paw. You can use it how you wish - I don't know much about rune magic."

Artimus examined the blade with the eye of an expert. "Doesn't look like he carved any into it...but there is an enchantment on it, I can probably remove it at a runeforge, if I ever manage to get to one."

Saavedro nodded. "There is...one another thing I'd like to do. I had to ask Highlord Fordring, and he seems amenable to the idea, even with your past crimes. The Ebon Blade's time has come and gone, for the most part...but he is willing, if you are too, to accept you." The paladin removed the tabard from his armor and put it onto Artimus', while the death knight stared in surprise. "Kneel, and give me your blade."

Artimus went on one knee, as Saavedro held out the sword hilt first. "Do you, Artimus Devaneaux, accept your role in this?" the paladin began formally. "Do you swear to atone for the crimes committed under the compulsion of evil? Do you promise to avenge your disgrace in the eyes of your comrades with the blood of the enemies of Light? Do you pledge to do honor to the Grand Alliance and the Argent Crusade?"

The Baron gripped the hilt tightly. "On this matter, and by this weapon, I swear."

"Then rise, Artimus Devaneaux, as an Argent Crusader - sworn to uphold the tenets of honor laid down by our Highlord, and sworn to the protection of the kingdom and Alliance you serve." Saavedro's brown eyes gazed solemnly. "Never make the mistake I did, Artimus - never forget that while you also serve the Crusade, your allegiance is to the Alliance. Fordring knows better than to have those duties conflict. In this case, I think there will be no issue." The paladin placed a hand on Artimus' shoulder. "You will be sent to fight Forsaken, as you have said...in time, I think it will eventually come to war between Undercity and Hearthglen." He nodded to the tabard. "If Narnicka asks, tell him it is from me...and it will not affect your duties to him."

Artimus inclined his head. "Thank you, Saavedro." He gave his old comrade a curious glance. "You won't mind if I rip Sekhesmet's head off if I find him first, will you?"

"No, Artimus, I won't. I will feel reassured that someone finally did, even if that someone isn't me."

(very nicely done. great story.

"Are you out of your mind, Stoneheardt?!" Marshal Ulrich loudly protested, standing from his desk.

Narnicka was standing in front of the Marshal's desk, hands folded behind him back. "Sir, I do hope you understand wh--"

"Why you would let that lunatic loose on the streets of Stormwind?!"

Narnicka's mouth snapped shut at the interruption. He'd known the moment he let Artimus Devaneaux go, he'd be up to his neck in trouble with the Marshal unless he could get in his words to temper the man's anger. So far, no dice. "Sir, you're as aware as I am that the First has been having publicity issues thus far. My attempts to handle dangerous enemies of the Alliance have been perceived as some form of personal vendetta by many, since I've been dealing with people I'd already known. Letting Artimus go sent the message that I am interested in the Alliance's security, moreso than my personal desire to have the man diced for what he's done."

"Possessed? You realize how easy it would be for some whackjob to waltz in the city, do what he wants and say that some cultist made him do it? How does this say anything to the public other than that they should be hiding?" The Marshal replied, at least having calmed down from his initial outbursts.

The gold-plated officer sat back down in his chair, rubbing his temple. He either regretting being that aggressive with Narnicka, or he had one killer headache. Probably the latter. Either way, it seemed he wasn't as willing to chastize Narnicka as he had been a moment before, so this all needed to be on the table. Quickly.

"The word is out that Artimus was possessed. We had an ordained member of the Cathedral say for absolute certain that the Forsaken priest who had a hold of Artimus' mind had entirely lost control. So not only did he claim to be under another's control, we had a priestess confirm it. This knowledge is public, and holding him would have meant some really serious allegations of personal bias entering the picture. We don't need any more of those hacks trying to hamstring us with those kinda words," Narnicka explained, his tone remaining rather level. "I didn't particularly enjoy setting him loose, but please understand my hands were completely tied."

The Marshal remained quiet a moment, which inspired a moment of hope in Narnicka that he wasn't going to need cottom stuffed in his ears, after all. "This better not come back to haunt me, Commander. You keep a close eye on Artimus. He so much as looks at somebody wrong, end him. And I mean it."

Narnicka nodded his head firmly. "Yes, sir," He responded confidently, though he knew that Artimus wasn't going to be in any more trouble. The man may be a few bolts short of a handful, but he wanted to make up for what he'd done even as much as Narnicka wanted him to.

As Narnicka exitted the Marshal's office, he stifled a sigh, motioning one of the Keep's guards over. "Get this letter to Private Amendera the moment the enters this Keep again."

Private Amendera,

Your first assignment as a member of this regiment is to keep an eye on Artimus Devaneaux. Inform me to anything that looks off to you. If he tries to leave the city, send for reinforcements on the hearthstone should you be unable to stop him yourself.

Signed,
Lieutenant Commander Narnicka Stoneheardt
First Stormwind Regiment

"Damn him, damn him...DAMN HIM!" Sekhesmet slammed a fist on the workbench, causing the bottles and jars to rattle. "Damn the Alliance military anyway! Always interfering with our work to secure our empire...just like in Gilneas and Andorhal, for all the good it did them." He turned to Metheius, who was standing in the doorway. "And our agents in Acherus?"

Metheius shook his head. They had already been executed.

The Blighted Father weighed in his options. "Alright. This is still salvagable...the priestess is ripe for the plucking. She dabbles too much in powers she cannot control and does not understand. The fool thinks she can tangle with ME in the powers of the shadow...yes, she will make an ideal replacement. If not...then we send Euphrati, the only person who has never failed me." He glanced at Metheius thoughtfully. "But first...I find it kind of tiring to be talking to myself whenever you're in the room, Varan. Your friend Malkus can still be salvaged..." He raised a small dart launcher on his wrist and fired once into the general's neck.

Metheius staggered against the wall, slumping to his knees. Sekhesmet smiled pitilessly. "Paralytic agent used for renegades. It'll wear off in a couple hours. More than enough for my colleagues and I to complete the work on your jaw." He gestured to the much more attentive Deathguards who'd been standing at the door. "Put him on the table, and bring me the boy's head. The good general needs a jaw transplant."

"Released?" Oren Tanis was dumbfounded. "All on shadow priest mumbo-jumbo?"

"That's the word. Stoneheardt's head will be spiked on Traitors' Gate once the death knight shows his true colors, right next to Saavedro's." John Fielding, Tanis' second, shook his head as they walked through the Keep's gardens. "But he seems sure the man's no danger."

"I don't suppose Stoneheardt bothered to mention the fact that the priestess of the Cathedral was his wife? He talks about avoiding accusations of personal bias, and yet he brings in his wife in an attempt to exonerate a man who, not two weeks earlier, he had been demanding the head of on a silver platter!"

"I wonder what Fordring's take is on the fact that he's now running around with Argent colors," Fielding said thoughtfully. Tanis glanced at him in surprise. "And that he was supposedly seen with Saavedro after his release." The general snorted. "Saavedro...bah. Damn fool should have stayed away."

Tanis was silent on that topic. He had counted both Saavedro and Artimus...well, maybe not friends, but comrades, certainly. Saavedro had saved his, Tanis', life from the Corruptor after the fall of the Lich King - the act that had left his closest comrades to believe him dead. "Saavedro respects Fordring a great deal, John. I can't believe he'd induct someone into the Crusade - especially someone with Artimus' reputation - on a whim."

"Nor should you, Oren." Tanis spun around to see the stoic figure of the draenei farseer Jaeden'laek, leaning on his talbuk-head staff. Standing at his side was Battlelord Velenkayn, his runesword held against his shoulder. Both wore the colors of the Hand of Argus - and both were heroes of Northrend. "The Light does not forsake its champions."

"Artimus Devaneaux? A champion of the Light?" Fielding snorted. "Surely you jest, Ambassador."

"I do not jest in such matters, General." The farseer's gaze was cold as he turned back to Tanis. "I would have words with you, young oathbreaker."

Oathbreaker? Tanis reeled at the accusation. Then he remembered: Sorrow Hill. The pact that he, Artimus, Jaeden'laek, and Taeril'hane Ketiron had made over the "grave" of Saavedro when they believed him dead. The pact to uphold honor among all things. Ketiron was dead, and Artimus...Tanis was still not sure. "Dismissed, General," he said at last.

The general nodded and retreated. Both draenei gazed unblinkingly - the shaman's expression solemn, Velenkayn's one of contempt. "I am forced to wonder if you have forgotten our vows, Oren," Jaeden'laek began without preamble. "You would forsake your brother-in-arms for the sake of politicians and armchair generals?"

"This pathetic excuse for a man seems to be an armchair general himself," the Battlelord commented with a sneer. He and Jaeden'laek had fought through the entire elemental war, largely side-by-side, while Tanis had remained in Stormwind after an abortive expedition into Gilneas - one that had seen him routed by General Metheius. "With no respect for the men who put him there."

"Wha --"

"You owe Saavedro everything, Oren," the farseer interrupted. "Your rank, your heroic status, your life. And you would dispense of him and his counsel merely because you now outrank him? You would be nothing but a lieutenant guarding the Stockade without his intercession with King Varian to allow you to join the Valiance Expedition. It pains me to see you have forgotten gratitude."

"He tried to aid a traitor --"

"He tried to aid a soul in anguish, whelp!" Velenkayn snapped. "You know full well what Sekhesmet is capable of! You saw him in Northrend, and you know that the powers at his disposal are real - you fought the Scourge, and they had many like him! Do you deny the evidence of your own senses, boy?"

"How dare you --"

"Velenkayn speaks harshly, but he speaks the truth," Jaeden'laek interceded. "You underestimate what Sekhesmet is capable of, at your own risk."

"But what of Saavedro? He tried to --"

"While Saavedro believed he had the best interest of Artimus at heart while attempting to foil the military's efforts to arrest him, he had little faith in Narnicka Stoneheardt's ability to see reason. He will not be so quick to exclude the young commander again." Jaeden'laek gently put a hand on Tanis' shoulder. "If you cannot trust in his counsel anymore, Oren, trust in mine. Let this play out as it has begun. The Baron may yet redeem himself."

Tanis sighed. "Alright...I will let it be. For now. But if he steps out of line again, we will have no choice. Understand that."

"I do. But think carefully. Your colleagues have closed minds, thinking only of their ranks and perceptions of order. But you must follow Narnicka's example. Open your mind." Jaeden'laek bowed; after a moment's hesitation, so did Velenkayn, before the two draenei left the gardens.

Watching silently from the library door, Saavedro nodded to himself before turning back to his archaeological study.

Inducted into the military of the Alliance, pledged to defend against all enemies, foreign and domestic. And what do I get? Babysitting duty for a loony death knight!

Amendera Kynes was half-tempted to curse the fates. But in all fairness, she knew, she had to curse herself. She asked to join the Regiment. She knew there would be orders involved, and she may not necessarily like them. Like in this case. Word had come down from Narnicka himself that she was to be the one watching Artimus Devaneaux while he was held on parole in Stormwind. He had remained at Saavedro's Cathedral District residence ever since the paladin had taken him there himself.

Having spent nearly a year with Zherron and the Shadowhowl, she picked up on a few things...like how not to draw attention. Even after all this time, she largely remained with her "mask" on whenever she was in Stormwind. Only in battle did she let her true face - the true face of many Gilneans nowadays - show. Given that she was relatively short and slender in her human guise, she knew how to hide in plain sight.

Another point in her favor was her usually cool head and good sense. She knew what was required of her in this job and she knew the risks involved, and she had told Narnicka so when he interviewed her. Though the atmosphere was somewhat informal - the chatter among the other troops in the Regiment was proof enough of that - it was still Alliance military, and they were all subject to orders...as she was here. So she would follow the order given, and maintain a surveillance on the death knight.

That didn't mean she had to like it.

((Note: This post will be written from the viewpoint of one of Mialera's soldiers, a young soul hunter by the name of Alysse))

Goddess' will be done.

She had heard of the Great Shadow that fought against the Alliance, his rage echoing past the nether when he found his prey eluded him. Goddess heard his target, and heard just what occurred to one of the escaped enemies. Goddess wanted this escapee back.

Why not work together, she had said? Someone with the same goals in mind, she believes. Goddess may be wrong, but Goddess' will be done.

Stepping through the city is not difficult. I can hear the voices in my head, a choir, singing where they are; souls to feast upon... but Goddess was firm, and I cannot devour now. Not until I return.

I was not noticed. I was a shadow, an incorporeal shade that floated from one stone to another, barely visible to the naked eye. The power of these voices is incredible. I'm nearing where he is, now to listen for him. Goddess said his was uni-

There.

Such a voice he has, what notes his essence strikes... a symphony within one man. For my message.

Approaching him, evading his guards and kneeling before him, I speak quickly, my voice echoed with the songs of dozens hiding within me.

"Great Shadow Sekhesmet. I am Alysse, the Chanting Soul and master scout of our great Goddess, the Queen of Souls. She has taken note of your actions, and she has seen what you hunt. She sends me with a message of aid; we will help you reacquire the disobedient knight..."

And here I rise.

"So long as you help us acquire a traitor of the Forsaken."

A letter is written and addressed to Marshals Ulrich and Tanis, the senior officers involved in the matter of Artimus Devaneaux. Both bear the seal of Dalaran, and are delivered by Caro'thel Vendross, designated as the Kirin Tor's courier and representative in this matter.

As he walks through Stormwind's streets, Vendross battles his doubts; he has seen the text, and believes it to be overtly hostile. The Kingdom of Stormwind is probably the largest military power in Azeroth, equalled only by the forces of Orgrimmar and the Undercity. What the Kirin Tor is thinking, Vendross doesn't know; it smacks of a declaration of war to him.

It has come to our attention that Baron Artimus Devaneaux has recently been released on a conditional parole by the First Stormwind Regiment, without any trial regarding his charge of numerous counts of assault against citizens of the Alliance, as well as treason against the Alliance, as he has been confirmed by multiple sources to have been in the company and employ of the Forsaken. We are also aware that the Forsaken shadow priest Sekhesmet of Stratholme is widely believed to be behind the recent erratic changes in the Baron's behavior in the past two months.

While we are willing to accept the extenuating circumstances behind Lord Devaneaux's crime, we wish to re-emphasize that the warrant for his arrest, on the charge of attempted murder of the priestess Nynra Lirann Lightheart within the Underbelly of this city, remains in effect. We are therefore formally requesting, as we have several times before now, the extradition of Lord Devaneaux to Dalaran to stand trial for that crime.

While I am sure that you will deny the Kirin Tor's right to justice, and believe that your law supercedes that of Dalaran, I wish to remind you both that Dalaran is also a sovereign state, that takes crimes against our citizens just as seriously as you do. The fact that Dalaran is no longer a member of the Alliance does not change that in any shape, fashion or form. The attack against the priestess in this city's precincts demands proper justice and a full hearing of the evidence under the law. Our right to justice has been denied by the arbitrary decision of a mid-ranking officer of your military, with no authority from his superiors or his King to do so, to release him from custody without proper trial, simply on the word of a priestess who happens to be his wife. The matter smacks too much of personal attachment to the criminal, and bias in his favor as a result.

Your government's beligerency has left us with no choice: If Stormwind's security and military authority - the proper authority, as in yourselves, not your misguided subordinate and his farce of justice - continues to ignore the repeated demands for extradition, the Kirin Tor has empowered the bearer of this message to act as its representative, to take this matter directly to King Varian himself.

You mistake our neutrality for weakness, or even irrelevance, in your law. Allow me to disabuse you of that notion right now. We are more than capable, and indeed willing, to take a firm stance in this matter. If you do not allow justice to be done, we will take the necessary steps to ensure that it is.

Do not mistake this for a threat - threats are illogical, and oft untrue.

This is a fact. Justice will be done.

Signed this first day of the sixth month.

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

As he reaches the gates of Stormwind Keep, he comes to a decision. He suspects something is wrong here; Rhonin would not have authorized this, especially not as blatantly threatening as it was worded. And Inar was a level-minded man; he would not have written this. Not without coercion.

Could it be true? he thought. Could the Baron have been possessed? If so...could Inar be possessed?

Vendross stands there for a moment, envelopes in his hand. Then, he smiles to himself, as a prayer - oft-used by the humans and by his own people, in some form or another - came to mind. Elune grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

He takes the two letters, but not to their intended recipients. The first, he delivers to Stormwind Keep, giving it to a member of the First Stormwind Regiment with a request to take it to their commander, Narnicka Stoneheardt; on the envelope, he writes, "Possibly coerced by shadow priest?"

The second, he takes to Dalaran, directly to Rhonin himself.