For the majority of those making their homes near the capital of Stormwind, the illustrious Northshire Abbey served as both a landmark and a place of study for those cutting their eyeteeth upon the world of the arcane. It offered a transient home to scores of scholars as they traveled to and from their daily lessons lost in their own brand of wonder at the knowledge contained therein. It was a rare day when an overeager student would fail to attract the scowls and switches of his superiors. Less rare were the days when some poor fool, disgusted with his inability to master his craft at a rate pleasing to those superiors, would attempt to end his life by leaping from the bell tower window near the height of the spire. Life within these stone walls was cruel for those that embraced it, but the excellence of knowledge that could be gleaned over a matter of months and years kept the majority of students from averting their eyes.
I was to be one such student, or so Mardux Oros decided. A week had passed since our initial meeting at the Slaughtered Lamb, and I had pleaded with him to spare me the rigors of proper schooling. Without the family blessing in the form of monetary overindulgence, the expense of a tutor promised to bring a swift end to my pursuit of command. Furthermore, my noble lineage assured that my name would bring errant visions of gold to any tutor worth the weight of his books. The sight of the Greymourne legacy on a class register would more than earn my family a scented letter written in ink richer than blood, welcoming me to the Abbey with all haste; it was a risk I couldn’t afford to take against my role as the grieving sister of the deceased. I was too entrenched in the path I had chosen to court the discovery of what I opted to learn in my free time.
Oros had chuckled in response; the same ghost of a low chuckle with an air of warning that continued to make my blood crawl with anticipation of the power that gave him such confidence. He insisted I would not be enrolling, but he wanted to introduce me to a friend of his. How a creature such as Mardux Oros could gain audience with the respectable scholars and clergy of the Abbey was beyond my comprehension, but I put forth every effort to suspend my disbelief as he led me from the basement of the Slaughtered Lamb and beyond the gates of Stormwind City, guiding me each step closer to the Abbey and my unwilling fate. He had not given me pause to doubt his intentions beyond his initial moment of fury that night within the Lamb; I trusted his word regarding my anonymity as much as I would any other he spoke.
He paused a short distance from the entrance, just far enough within the safety of the surrounding Elwynn Forest to shield our presence from the view of the Abbey guards. At my questioning look he shook his head, his great mane of black hair a blot of pure darkness against the sunlit glade. “We’re not going inside. They won’t be so welcoming if they notice my face.” Something that might have been a smirk approached his face and fled before I could assure myself it was there. “I’m a bit…notorious here, for reasons better left unspecified,” he added by way of limited explanation. “We’re taking the back entrance. Step lively before they see us.” My lips parted in an attempt to inquire as to the legal status of the maneuver he was suggesting, but before sound gave voice to my thoughts he swept in all his majesty forward – at a rate that no man should have been able to withstand! It took every ounce of my limited strength and stamina to follow him close enough to keep him within sight.
When the rush of movement ceased, I found myself gazing upon a small graveyard, littered with broken graves and tombstones, ill treated by time, tears and careless hands. Toward the rear of the expanse of toppled stones and ruined dirt was a woman, slight and pale as new fallen snow. She knelt in the dirt, invisible but for the top of her head, studying something on the ground amidst the long raven black tresses that swept into her eyes. At the sight of Oros she stood, brushing grave dirt off of the hem of her simple blood red robe. He nodded in greeting, the casual greeting of a master among equals, and approached her with his usual confident stride. I had no option but to follow or be left behind.
Pulling air into my lungs in a desperate attempt to catch my breath from the rapid flight through the trees, I threatened Oros under my breath with every personal harm and injury I could conjure up if he refused to pause a moment. If I was to meet this woman, I wanted to do it while calm and composed, not ruffled and frantic from exerting myself! The threats might well have been silent for all Oros acknowledged them, and before I could even brush the sweat from my brow I was standing unprepared and flustered before the woman in question.
Her sharp eyes slashed into my skin as she examined me from head to toe with military precision. I brought my gaze to level with hers, trying to ignore the assumptions I knew she was making against the unkempt sight of the apprentice before her. What did Oros think to gain by bringing me here, to a place like this? Who was this woman with eyes like the sharpest dagger and why was it so important for me to meet her that Oros could not spare even a moment for vanity? It occurred to me that Oros had no need for vanity; despite the run through the forest he was still the imposing mountain of pride and power that he always was, untouched by the difficulties of daily life. In comparison, I couldn’t even control my body, let alone command a power as great as his! When the woman’s unflinching countenance softened into a smile backed with a chuckle, I realized my hands were clenched in tight fists. Oros would suffer long for this!
“I see Master Oros has found a new victim.” Her voice, in contrast to the sharp angles of her face and body, sounded like the high chime of bells. “You may have need of the Abbey clergy when he’s through with you.” Oros nodded and stretched as if he’d woken up from a long nap instead of rushing through the length of Elwynn – as if he needed to make his point any clearer! His silence, however, at least prompted the woman to continue. “I must admit I wonder what he sees in you. Too slender you are to serve as his companion, and too fragile for the brand of magic we possess; why then, are you here?”
I wasn’t aware that my anger could surpass the hatred I felt for Oros at that moment, but I realized in that instant the depth of that underestimation. A “companion” indeed! If Oros was looking for a plaything, a mere girl to trifle with and claim conquest upon, he was in for a grave correction! He had never made mention of such intent at the very least. Rather than answer my glare or respond to the woman’s clear challenge to his interest in me, he took a casual seat among the ruins to watch the conversation play out. It was another insult he would pay for after the fact!
Fragility, by the other hand, was not a claim I could invalidate. It was Oros who claimed he could see the power lying dormant within me; the uncontrolled potential when, once harnessed, would equal or rival his own. To myself, the vision was still of the fragile highborn that I was, damaged beyond measure from a length of grieving and an unwillingness to reach beyond the meager limits I set for myself. With a glare as frigid as I could manage, I looked up into the woman’s black eyes and shrugged. “Ask Master Oros that question, not me. He hasn’t seen fit to tell me why I’m here either. It wasn’t a pleasant stroll in the woods, I assure you.”
“I don’t want to hear from Master Oros. He has already proven himself, far and beyond the majority of fools that come and stand before me. The questions I have are for you, my dear. If you do not possess the strength to stand before me and answer to the best of your ability, I have no business with you beyond this moment. I’m not here to teach children. I’m here to teach those with potential; those who won’t bend and break upon the first threshold of power.” One of the woman’s graceful hands slid to her hip, and her head shook in a clear dismissal. “Rely on others for your answers and you will see no power in this life, from me or from anyone.”
My first reaction was a further surge of irritation, but within moments the sensation had passed. The woman’s words were disturbing in their accuracy, almost as much as Oros’ had been that night in the Lamb. Could it be that the Warlock gift of intelligence lay in the understanding of souls as well as in the taking of them? Nevertheless, I knew I didn’t have the answer to the initial question of why I was standing in a ruined graveyard with an ethereal alien of a woman that had no qualms about destroying the last shred of faith I had in myself. “Very well then – I am here because Master Oros told me I should meet you. I presume that means you can help me in some way, or perhaps teach me something that Master Oros cannot.”
She nodded, her expression softening a trace. “That’s more like it. Maybe there’s hope for you yet, girl. If not, I have to assume that Master Oros has brought me a fool, and that has not happened since the day he stood before me himself.” Oros coughed, studying the scattered dirt beneath him with a meek expression ill at ease with the line of his grand shoulders, and I allowed myself an inner laugh at the expense of his comfort. It was reassuring to know that he had not always been the self-assured pinnacle of greatness that he projected, and even better to know that I was in the company of the woman who had cured him of his flaws. At last her hand reached out for mine in acceptance. “I am Drusilla La Salle, the so-called Master Warlock of Northshire Abbey; pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Maleva Greymourne. The pleasure’s mine, I’m sure.”
Her face shifted into its prior stillness at the sound of my surname, but not before a slight expression of panic fluttered within her eyes. “Greymourne – daughter of Haelie and Paullin Greymourne I presume?” At my surprised look she shook her head. “Your family donates to the Abbey. Just last week their contributions bought a new arsenal of training blades for the novice warriors. The din from the clanging day after day gives me a headache even on the other side of the wall. I suppose the trainees will enjoy them though, or at least they will until some idiot lops off a finger or two in training.” After a pause she added, “I hope you won’t think your name will earn you any special treatment. I didn’t count on Master Oros bringing me someone of blood. Nobility doesn’t mean a thing in our line of work. If you think this will be easier because of your name, we will need to clarify that before I can teach you anything at all. Souls know no title.”
I couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped my throat. “Being free of that name would be a blessing. It may be my birthright, but it is not who I am and never has been. My sister was the Greymourne heir, not me. As far as I’m concerned my name ends with Maleva. Besides, the fewer that are aware who I am the better – if my family knew I was participating in something like this, I am sure that we would all be placed in rather unpleasant situations. This is our secret, and you may rest assured I won’t be talking to anyone that I don’t have to regarding my teaching.”
A look passed between Oros and La Salle that I couldn’t decipher, an unusual cross between displeasure and relief that left me wondering whether there had been more to that question than I understood. Before I could formulate any sensible questions, however, La Salle had resumed her study of me. “It appears that Master Oros has taught you the basics. I can read the shadows within your heart, and I know he has trained you in the use of them. We need not waste time on pleasantries then.” Glancing down at the spot in the dirt where Oros and I had come upon her, she frowned. “I would test you, Maleva. I have a task that should be simple enough, if you’re willing. You will learn what Master Oros has brought you to study in the process, I’m certain.”
At my nod, she continued. “I have been looking for some new material to study myself. All the books at my disposal are property of the Abbey, and I’m afraid they make for quite dreary amusement. If I must read one more word of The Arcanist’s Cookbook you shall find me mad and raving in the halls!” A disgusted snort punctuated her words, and I noticed a stack of discarded books in the dirt she had examined. “There is a tome, known by our kind to possess knowledge that is essential for every Warlock to commit to memory. One of the students in the Abbey – or should I say, one of the washouts – left a few days prior with it in his possession. Unless I miss my guess, the fool was headed to make friends with that ox-brained Defias commander; what was his name again?”
Oros had recovered from his prior embarrassment, and took immediate action to restore his arrogance. “Garrick Padfoot. For someone who’s been teaching here since my infancy, your memory retention is lacking.”
A cold, impassive glare served as response, freezing Oros where he stood before returning to me. “Indeed – his name is Garrick Padfoot. I expect that imbecile of a student dropped the tome and left it to rot somewhere in the camp once he gave his promise of obedience to the Defias, and I want it back. You will have to steal it of course; the Defias will expect someone to come for the stolen property I am sure. Consider it a ransom on a hefty store of dark knowledge that would benefit us, and you, by its return. You can find the Defias camped out in the vineyards nearby.”
It sounded like a task well suited to my limited power. I had the means to defend myself; Oros had taken great pains to teach me the skills necessary to summon the darkness that stirred within my soul and command it as a weapon. I would be more than a safe match against any fool, in particular a fool who had more of an eye to his coin purse than to his own welfare. If he proved to be as inept as La Salle made him out to be, I might not even need to use my power at all. Nodding, I turned toward the direction of the orchards I could make out between the distant trees. “I’ll see that the tome returns to you, Mistress La Salle.” Stretching my aching muscles in an attempt to restore their confidence, I glanced at Oros, who had mastered the art of drawing demonic runes in the dust throughout the conversation. “You heard the lady, let’s get moving.”
He paused for a moment, surprised, and then let out a laugh that made his shoulders shake – the most humor I had ever witnessed from him at one time. His eyes continued to laugh as he calmed himself and spoke after a time. “What makes you think this is my job? You’re the one being tested here, kitten. I’m just along for the ride.” He smiled at La Salle, who had picked up the books in the dust in an untidy stack and was beginning to make her way to the rear corner of the graveyard where a sturdy tent had been erected against the elements. “Come back when you’ve got the book – Drusilla and I have plenty to catch up on while you’re away. With the way you walk we’ll have time for tea and dinner besides.”
An angry retort died on my lips as I strode away, unaware that my every step matched Oros’ regular ferocity as I did. Oros thought I was slow, did he? Perhaps he was correct in that as well. Ever since our first meeting in the Slaughtered Lamb, it seemed as though my every move was forced or dictated by Oros himself. For the first time I had the opportunity to move at my own pace and to command the length at which this task was to be completed – I could prove him wrong if I chose to, and the satisfaction present in wiping that self satisfied smirk off of his mocking face would be worth every blister and every strained muscle!
I didn’t know he watched me with a half hidden smile until I had disappeared into the trees beyond his sight, and then lifted himself from the dirt to follow after La Salle, his teacher and friend.
***
Locating the tome itself proved to be the simple part of the task laid before me. It took all of ten minutes to survey the orchard grounds, the majority of which were littered with various ranks of Defias members, and discover a moldy tome with a black and crimson cover lying discarded on the ground. The former owner had taken liberties with his new station; stacked around the book were bottles of expensive local wine, handmade by the Abbey and used in majority for sacramental purposes. Shaking my head at his overindulgence, I continued to observe the three Defias footmen in residence at the camp surrounding the tome.
They were bored and aimless, and their idle chatter was of little concern to me; the more they felt the urge to take a break, to abandon their post for a cheap thrill or simple pleasure, the easier it would be to get my hands on the tome in question. However, my wait proved to be a longer one than I had anticipated. Half an hour passed before I began to give up on my initial plan of maintaining secrecy; still they had not succumbed to the urge to fall asleep or to walk away from their duty! I had never guessed that the resolve of a handful of thugs would be so hardy.
With a sigh and a shrug, I closed my eyes and felt for the shadows within. If secrecy was not an option, I would be forced to rely on the dark brand of violence Mardux Oros had shown me; the mere hint of true power he allowed me to witness as a new student of the shadows. These offensive maneuvers he had shown me first, and instilled in me the knowledge of how to summon them at will with limited effort; should I ever find myself in a situation where I would be forced to defend my life and my power against the ignorant or the self-righteous, he claimed, I would need them sooner than I realized. I had not yet become confident in the knowledge that taking the lives of others would come as inseparable kin with Oros’ chosen power, and for a moment I hesitated, unwilling to reach out and slay these simple men at arms; with the speed and simplicity awarded me by Oros’ harsh training, I would be upon them like a sudden storm at midnight, and they would be helpless within my grasp.
They are criminals, I thought somewhere in the back of my mind. If I do not take them, the justice of the people or the justice of this land will, and I will lay odds that my brand of justice is swifter and kinder than theirs. It’s better for me to do this, and do it soon.
Combined with the knowledge that La Salle or Oros, in all their majesty, would have been a far crueler fate for the Defias minions to meet, I found my confidence and stood, stepping out from the trees surrounding the camp. I was in the open air now, standing before their tent as calm as a summer breeze, and it took them less than the span of a heartbeat to acknowledge the unfamiliar presence in their midst.
“Looks like the Abbey’s sent us another meal, mates – and a pretty one at that, gourmet even! Let’s bring her down.”
The speaker found himself surrounded by a glowing violet miasma in response. He clutched at his chest, clawing at his heart, which beat the loud staccato rhythm of a drummer against his will. Without warning he screamed in terror and fled, his will remaining at large; the spell enveloping him would ensure the continued natural response of fear for long enough that I could deal with his mates. The other two Defias closed with me, each raising his blade to attack; I did my best to dodge and block their onslaught, using the meager knowledge I had gained from the self defense training that every Greymourne was expected to undergo in their youth. A simple knife such as the one I bore could be used by even the weakest of nobles to turn a killing blow. It occurred to me that Oros might have considered the possibility of physical combat earlier in my training, and I made a mental note to demand such training at my earliest convenience!
Several blows at once, however, were not capable of being deflected by a single knife. My teeth ground together as I felt my foes’ daggers slice into the fabric of my robe and then deeper into the unscarred flesh beneath. Unaccustomed to injury as I was, it was all I could do to hold my ground despite the sight and flow of my own blood. I had never been the sort of child to scream at every little bump and scrape, but biting my lip was beginning to weaken as a failsafe for keeping quiet. Proper medical attention in the foreseeable future would be a must, and the thought of submitting myself to a healer who would ask plenty of questions I could not answer brought my rising adrenaline to a boil within seconds.
Harnessing the pain from my wounds, I combined it with the anger I had built up against my family, my teacher, and the battle I was facing; gathering it into my power as fuel was effortless. Fire surrounded my palms as I locked gazes with the first of my attackers and flung every flickering flame in his direction. The magical fire caught and held, and the smell of scorching leather filled the air as the thug wailed in agony. He dove into the dirt and rolled, attempting to disperse the flames, and soon realized the futility of his actions; he was burning in a sea of embers and no one, least of all Mercy, had plans to save him. He was gone from my attention in a moment; the fire would claim him without any further direction from me, of that I was certain, and I had no wish to watch as it devoured his flesh.
The final thug, witnessing the horror that possessed his friends and comrades, thought better of standing against me and attempted to flee toward the safety and protection of his peers and commander. I was prepared for that eventuality and spun to face his retreating back. Shadows and secrets flowed through my body and into my fingers where they pooled, ready for use in an instant; I aimed their full force at the Defias thug. He reeled as dark vapors reached and overtook his flight, settling into his body and soul like a second skin. Twice more I fired, the shadowy blasts coming easier with each strike, and the man fell to the ground, his eyes wide with terror. In moments his movement ceased to continue, and my attention returned to the fleeing man – the last of my targets.
Drawing up my courage, I readied myself to land one of the trickier spells that Oros had taught me. Curses were powerful spells that took many years for even learned Warlocks to master, and the use of them was not for the faint of heart. With my energy focused, I spoke the words of the curse in a hollow whisper, a whisper the Defias heard in his soul; he whimpered, knowing his end was near. The fear spell broken, he turned to me and reached out a hand in treaty, but it was too late to stop the chain of events set in motion by my curse. He fell, writhing, and I turned my face away, wishing I could close my ears to his pathetic cries for help. At last the camp was silent, and the tent awaited my approach.
Dusting off the tome’s jacket and clearing away as much of the mold as I could manage, I held it away from my shaking and exhausted body to avoid staining it with my blood. Attention to my wounds would have to take precedence over speed, it seemed, now that my adrenaline had faded and the actuality of what had happened was beginning to set in. I had not suffered any grievous injuries, but the combination of multiple light ones offered more than enough concern on their own. Feeling dizzy from the flow of blood, I made my way into the forest again, seeking a quiet place to lick my wounds without a second glance at the fallen Defias whose lives I had ended. These men had already paid the ultimate price for their selfish aims and cruel intentions, and I had borne witness to the justice that claimed them in response.
***
Several strips of expensive shift later, I leaned back against the comforting solidity of a tree trunk and sighed. My training, it seemed, had not been worthless! In my youth I had often wondered at the neccessity of my inclusion in the family lessons. The acquisition of a keen eye and quick hand to subvert assassination was gained early in the Greymourne family. Basic first aid training came with the territory, and I had not expected to require my own training at any point in my shadowed life! Most nobles my age had never even seen human blood, much less spilled any of their own; the patients I had shared an infirmary with during my lessons were to thank for that small mercy. If not for my family’s gross insistence on self preservation, I might not have survived the encounter.
What danger had there been surrounding my life until now? My sister, of course, had everything to fear – she had discovered that the hard way! My parents had the loss of their wellbeing and reputation to fear in turn. If I were to suffer an ill fate, who would be the wiser? Who would grieve, left behind in my place? That luxury was for people like her, who gained friends with every smile and sowed favors with every step. However, now that I had managed to staunch the flow of blood and patch up the worst of my wounds, I was beginning to see the wisdom in my study. Death now would seem an insult to my new line of study.
Nevertheless, despite everything I had been through – the rush through the forest, the meeting with La Salle, and the battle with the Defias – I had emerged victorious. The book at my feet was in the best condition I could make it without the aid of a talented scribe, and soon I would be placing it in the hands of its rightful owner once again. I had done something, on my own, to heighten and pursue the power I sought, and I had to admit that the feeling was more than alluring. Had Oros been pleased with the trial he had completed for La Salle? It was a safe guess that he had not required medical intervention for his wounds – knowing him he would have left a trail of blood in his wake getting back to La Salle early!
Chuckling to myself, I got to my feet and stretched my sore and tired muscles, readying them for one final journey back to the Abbey graveyard. It was time to show him what I was made of – stronger and sterner stone than he had ever believed.