One thing had piqued my interest regarding the storm, however, and it was of little relation to the storm itself. Oros’ disappearance during my conversation with Yazham the previous night had yet to be explained. I had arrived this morning on schedule for our daily training session, assuming that he would, as usual, be waiting for me. However, the corner in which he always stood lay barren of shadows. His continued absence in the wake of such an unusual day left me with a profound desire to know more about my elusive teacher. He had not made a habit of abandoning me to my own devices at peculiar times, but there were plenty of hours within the day that we did not spend in the pleasure of each other’s company. What did Mardux Oros do in his spare time, when he was not teaching me the finer points of destruction and the art of evil? I knew already that somehow, he had found enough time to maintain his wanted status within the city. It was also clear what he practiced in his off hours when I was busy learning from other teachers! I had to wonder whether the answers to my questions were better left to whimsy instead of truth.

It was foolish, of course, to presume that a man such as Oros would choose to limit his pursuits to those of pleasure. As he had told me, people such as himself would never be content with their lives. There was always the desire, the drive to reach something above and beyond the current plateau. If I learned from Oros, who did Oros learn from? Could there be any power greater than the one he held? The complete and utter mastery of his deepest heart, mind and soul seemed, to me, to be the ultimate limit of understanding. With that mastery, he could attain anything he desired! I would have traded my deepest secret for the deathlike calm he wore like a cloak, swathed about his body; a shield against all that opposed him. What did he have left to gain? What could Oros still desire that he had not yet been able to attain?

Growing impatient, I made my way out into the Lamb’s common room to see if Oros perhaps had paused for a drink or a chat with some other patron before coming to meet me. It was too early for the majority of warlocks to have made their first excursions into daylight, which was one of the reasons Oros had chosen to pursue my education at such a unique hour, but perhaps some other student of magic had hoped to avoid notice on this unusual morning. The room, however, was empty except for the ever present Jarel Moor, whistling into the air as he polished his beloved bar counter. Pulling up a bar stool in hope of at least passing the time by conversing with Moor, my inquiry into Oros’ location was interrupted by a low howling sound from beyond the Lamb’s walls. The storm was growing to alarming proportions! Moor’s frown had a moment to mirror my own before the door to the Lamb burst open against the force of the wind outside, creaking and groaning as if it were an ancient crone upon its deathbed.

Muttering curses under his breath, Moor launched to his feet in defense of his establishment, his cloak bunched into one fist to keep it from becoming an implement in human flight. His slender yet muscled frame shuddered and bent against the violent wind that thrust past the doorframe and penetrated the Lamb’s inner sanctum. Torches and lanterns unlit in moments, and I found myself closing my eyes to quicken their adjustment to darkness. In the distance, I heard Moor wrestle with the bolt to his door and at last reach a tentative agreement with it; the sound of metal scraping against wood and the sudden lack of rough winds fighting to uproot the entirety of the Lamb needed no further explanation.

As my eyes reached a comfortable happy medium, he lit a match; the small firelight illuminated the portion of the Lamb nearest him. His hair was plastered against his face with a mixture of rain and sweat, and his chest heaved as he attempted to catch his breath from his battle with the door latch. He cast a look in my direction and shook his wet head, droplets of the torrential downpour still raining upon the threshold of the Lamb from his brow. “That’s a fierce storm out there, milady. I hope Your Majesty knows how to dodge heaven’s bolts, or we won’t be seeing him again, I’d wager.” The barest flicker of something approaching a smile danced across his face and was gone again. It was no secret that Moor disliked Oros, but I was surprised by the gesture nonetheless.

A strange feeling crept over my skin at his words. It seemed impossible to imagine that such a storm could have landed upon Elwynn, but it was sheer madness to consider that Oros might not be capable of fending for himself against it. However, I was all too aware that the warlock powers borne from shadow and fire would do him little good against the elements. He was a warrior, a god inside his own skin, but that skin still belonged to a human being; humans could be injured with ease. The absence of his teaching and gruff demeanor seemed all the more poignant when it lay against that fact. If Oros didn’t return, where would that leave me? I would once again be left without a teacher, and without anything that even approached the title of friend. Yazham would falter and fail at the first hint of my insecurity; he had reason to. Without Oros, I was still as lost as I had ever been, that night in the Lamb.

I pushed back my chair and stood, summoning all the courage I possessed in the face of the chaos outside. Despite the fact that Moor had just managed to conjure up supernatural strength to ensure our safety, my concern for Oros’ wellbeing had reached a point where I could no longer be content with idle waiting and wondering. He had never abandoned a training session before, much less arrived late; if he was not here on time, something was very wrong somewhere within Stormwind indeed. If he had friends who would seek him out in my place, I had never met them, and the only other soul who knew of his failure to arrive had less of a mind to his continued health than I did. “I’m sorry to ask this of you, Moor, but please let me out. I have to find him.”

He looked as though I had just announced my preference for edible garbage over his own bar offerings. “Milady, I can’t risk your life out there, not even if you beg me! It’s a madhouse out there, you’ll be killed! And let me just say that I can’t answer a court summons from your family! They’d bleed me dry!”

“Don’t be concerned about my family. I promise they wouldn’t give you as much trouble as you would think.” The weapons I possessed against the storm numbered far fewer than I cared to admit. Oros stood a better chance of defending himself than I stood of finding him, much less offering hope of protection. Refusing to admit that to myself would, at length, do me no favors. However, leaving him to the mercy of Fate was not an option I could choose to accept. He had risked coming to Stormwind, a wanted man, to teach me lessons on many occasions; it was the least that I could do in return for those risks. “Stand aside, Moor. Please don’t try to stop me. I know what I’m getting myself into.”

Jarel Moor was a simple man. He frowned on behavior that reflected in a negative manner upon his establishment, and yet he would take arms against any patron who disagreed, breaking his own standard of tolerance in order to protect the sanctity of the Lamb. His precious Lamb was the basis for a large portion of his decision making. These facts had been reinforced so many times over the course of our association that I had little reason to believe that he would challenge my knowledge of them. I assumed that, given a direct order from a noble lady that frequented his tavern, he would have accepted it without question. To fail in that would have been to court dissent from those of a higher power and station than himself, rendering his safety and tranquility open to attack from outside.

My surprise, therefore, when he moved with slow and deliberate motions to shift his dripping countenance to stand in front of his door, was greater than it might have been from someone who had less experience with him. Any hope of my exit from the tavern was blocked through the weary mass of muscle and stubbornness that made up the form of Jarel Moor. I had not taken weariness or stubbornness to be possible modes for a man such as Moor, any more than I had believed that he would disobey my request. When he at last spoke, his voice seemed quicker and more strained than it had during our prior conversations, as if each word cost him something dear and precious at the moment it left his lips.

“I knew you’d ask the minute I heard that damned wind, milady, and just the same, I knew I’d refuse; yes, even a direct order.”

I opened my mouth to interject, but he held up a gentle yet firm hand to silence my interruption. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. No offense to your judgment, but he’s not worth the time and honor you give him. He’s the kind of man that will use you up and leave you naught but bruises and tears. You would be amazed by how many times I have seen the same sad story play out in this tavern.” His face had taken on an expression of anguish, but he forced himself to continue; it was clear that I had been wrong to assume that he was just as agreeable as any other commoner. “You know the kinds of people he finds here; people like you who just need a hand to give them the strength they need to survive. There’s nothing he can give you that he won’t give a hundred others just like you. He’s already threatened your life once. How far does he have to go before you realize he’s no savior?”

I found myself studying the patterns in the Lamb’s wooden floor, trying to appreciate the full measure of his thoughts before I responded. It was clear that Moor had known Oros far longer than I had; it was also clear that he somehow believed that Oros was incapable of acceptable human interaction with anyone. I had not witnessed any unusual behavior from Oros in Moor’s presence, but it did occur to me that Oros, more often than not, chose to ignore Moor when he arrived at the Lamb. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the behavior went beyond ignoring; Oros did not even see the kind and amiable Moor when he swept past, en route to our lessons in our private back room. Oros was taking advantage of his obvious noble bearing and position to ensure that Moor never got so much as a glimpse into Oros’ personal space, much less his thoughts or aims. It was part of the same game that he had played with the guard in trying to get me into my lessons the day before, and I began to realize that it was probable that he played it with others he encountered in order to prevent detection.

Given this display of self absorption, combined with the more violent aspects of his behavior toward me, it seemed natural for Moor to assume that Oros was just another beast in human clothing, capable of nothing but harm to those around him. The aura that the man possessed was far from welcoming; he radiated authority, solitude and danger just as a torch radiated heat and light. This was not a mere act; I had witnessed the reality and weight of his power firsthand. Moor was too goodhearted and kind to permit the rudeness, selfishness and potential danger that Oros represented to injure his patrons; if given good reason, I assumed that Moor would be content to ban Oros from the Lamb without a second thought, warlock or otherwise. Why he had not taken this step prior to my arrival into Warlock society was a question I could not answer.

However, another thought occurred to me. As a bartender, it was safe to assume that Moor had a genuine knowledge for people’s hearts; at no time were men and women more candid than when they were nursing the bottom of a tankard. It was possible, even probable, that he knew more about Oros than I did. The only other person I had witnessed harboring an attraction to Oros rather than an aversion, was La Salle; I did not need to wonder about what she found attractive! Yet she was the sole member of society that Oros did not hide from, behind his cloak of deception. Had Dane Winslow, La Salle’s demon trainer, been justified when he claimed that Oros used his power against women to capture their hearts rather than avoid them? I had limited information with which to judge the validity of that claim, of course, as I had no way to witness what Oros did when he was out of my sight. The questions I had for him were mounting ever greater in number.

Despite this, however, I did not fancy myself to be the same level of fool that most noblewomen would be in my shoes. The risks of pursuing the darkness at the side of Oros had been clear from the beginning, and I had accepted them with only a moment of hesitation. Oros’ fingers upon my shoulder had left permanent marks upon my skin; I knew the extent of his fury, and I could only wonder at what it could be if he failed to control it. My fear, then, had not been for the darkness, but of Oros himself. If he ever chose to wield the full force of his anger at me, I held no hope for my survival. These were aspects of reality that I could not ignore; I had not ignored them when I agreed to become his student.

At the same time, there were kindnesses in the man that I alone had witnessed, and those acts were the reason I yet wanted to believe in him; had waited for him, on his own terms, to disclose the answers to his mysteries. An evil man would never have approached me that night for anything other than pleasures of the flesh, and any such man would have been dead where he stood. Oros had forced his way into my misery and demanded answers, something that no sane man would have done. Even Moor himself had not shown the audacity to inquire regarding my grief. While I still could not understand in full why he had singled me out for rescue, nor why he had brought himself to such a level of anger and frustration toward a girl he had known for an hour or two, I could understand with ease that such acts could not come from the heart of wickedness. In times such as these, the mad alone cared for anyone outside their own flesh and blood.

Last but in no way least, something else had become clear from Moor’s outburst; his assumption of the relationship between Oros and me had reached similar conclusions to that of La Salle’s. I sought in the deepest recesses of my mind in an attempt to locate some mistaken act on my part that had led others to the misconception that I fancied Oros! The search came up empty, and I shook my head, amusement and frustration at war for my attention. From the passion and desperation ringing naked in Moor’s voice, it seemed that the fancy was neither Oros’ nor my own. Could it be that Moor held more interest in my well being than I had realized? The thought was not a repulsive one, despite Moor’s common blood, but I was not going to take advantage of knowledge given to me in the heat of argument. It would be humiliating to him, both as a man and as a businessman. It was a barkeep’s job to know all about the people he served; most of those in his profession would consider it a cardinal sin to fall in love with a patron, much less tell her so!

Taking a deep breath and composing myself in my mind, I crossed my arms over my chest, meeting Moor’s embarrassed but resolute gaze. “Your concern for my well being honors me, Moor. You have always been a good man since the night I first met you here in the Lamb. That night was the same night Oros found me, and though I know the risks I take, I cannot just abandon him to his fate. He is my teacher, and he is more than that as well. I am not yet willing to call him my friend, but he has gone out of his way to change my life and show me how to find myself. The things he said to me that night, even in anger, were things that I will never cease being grateful for, even if he should ever harm me. You would have found me dead on your street corner, battered by rain and tears and the gods know what else, if he hadn’t forced me to contemplate why.”

A small glimmer of hope registered on Moor’s face at the mention of Oros’ status as less than a friend, but it replaced itself with despair as I continued. I did not cherish the blows that I knew I was dealing him, but that did not make them any less necessary. Perhaps it would take many years, or even the rest of my life, to be able to master the guilt that came with such knowledge; Oros had gained that power tenfold, but not I. “Please, Moor, just let me go to him. I know you mean to protect me, but you do me harm by asking me to accept his death without an attempt at action. I would not ask that level of heartlessness be shown to anyone, wicked or otherwise. Even the damned can’t live without kindness.” It was a lesson I had learned well, having just experienced it for myself.

“The reason I hold his hand is because I know that he can show me the way to let go. He knows how to walk without holding on to anyone, and that is what I need most from him. He’s the only one who knows what I can be, someday. I will leave this place to find him, even if I must pass by force.” It was a threat I had trouble voicing. I had never planned to raise my hand or my mind to a caring citizen, much less Jarel Moor, in the process of finding and understanding my power!

“He’s not the only one who knows you. You’re wrong about that.” A small smile spread across Moor’s face, bringing light to the shadows within. “You’re a fighter, milady. You don’t have to be a shadow puppet or a shadow master to know that.” Despite his kind words, the muscles in his jaw tensed in rebellion. “That’s why I refuse to move. I don’t see many nobles in this tavern, but of them all, you are the only one to show more spirit than a dead man. The fact that you even came back to him, after what he did to you, tells me that there’s something special about you, even if you don’t have the good sense to take that and run.”

He sighed, relaxing his body against the frame of his door. “If I may be frank, I believe he would kill me without a second glance, if for some reason I let you go and he returned on his own. I would rather die by your hand, knowing you understand why I’m standing in your way, than look into his eyes as I die and know the end of the world I live and breathe in. I’m a simple man, and I’d like to die that way, if you don’t mind.”

Silence stretched between us as I agonized over my decision. With every moment that passed, Oros could be suffering further harm. On the other hand, could I justify harming a kind hearted civilian with nothing but the best intentions for my life in order to protect Oros? The man was, after all, a wanted criminal in the eyes of the Stormwind military. It was growing clearer that the answers I sought in regard to his past would not be offered at will. Despite the kindness he had shown me by going above and beyond the normal call of humanity, was I in truth playing the fool when it came to Oros and his ultimate plan? In a flash, it occurred to me that I could always return to La Salle in the event of his death and beg her supervision. Fool though she was in her love life, her power was no lie.

Yet, my mind returned to that night in the Lamb, just as it had so many times before, to the moment when my shoulder was locked in a heated grasp and his tiny eyes shone with a power that hinted at both murder and desperation. For one reason or another, he had reached out to me with everything inside him, calling me back to a world I had abandoned inside my own mind. Even if I did not, in the end, need him, it was unforgivable to consider leaving the act unreturned. Where I was yet a mere shell of a human, fighting to find my way back to understanding, I was still human. It would be monstrous to turn my back on that humanity by allowing a man who had done me no direct harm to die. Moor might have condemned Oros to the status of a monster, but I was not yet ready to do so.

Moor saw the decision in my face. His eyes closed in anticipation of his impending death, and I ground my teeth together in despair. There had to be some way to spare his life! Why did he have to protect me? What was I, but a worthless noble that had blundered into his tavern one night and, unintentional and witless, stolen his heart? What worth could I possess at the cost of another’s life? So many women in my station were used to playing games of the heart and mind; they would have lived for this moment and fallen into the arms of their protector, to be carried away to some castle in the clouds! Fairytales, again, were the sole recourse to explain the damnable storm that had driven all this to happen! In this fairytale, however, nothing would end in happiness. The protector would die at the hands of his beloved, believing still that her heart belonged to another; a demon in human flesh…

A roar, unlike that of the wind, bellowed against the door of the Lamb and brought both myself and Moor to instant and sobering attention. What new chaos had the storm chosen to unleash upon this miserable day? The sounds outside continued to grow stranger by turns; I imagined I could hear flames dancing in the rain, their onslaught unstoppable even as they faded into the cloudy mist. Moor jumped away from his leaning position against the door with a cry of pain, black scorch marks riddling the back of his cloak, and I realized that perhaps my understanding of the situation was, in fact, accurate. For one reason or another, the door of the Lamb was facing a barrage of fiery proportions from the outside. Had lightning hit us while I was lost in thought? Which of the gods wanted us with a passion so great that He would aim for this tiny tavern, deep within the shadows of Stormwind? Flight from the tavern would not be possible after all, and Moor would be absolved of his duty with my death!

The locking bar that Moor had fought with and mastered began to grind against the wood that made up the door. Smoke began to rise from the metal hinges, and within moments they failed, pooling bright molten metal on the floor of the Lamb. Taking a step backward from the door in anticipation, I found myself within the protective grasp of Moor. He had circled around behind me and was poised to whisk me clear of the danger, at any cost to himself. Fear, perhaps, had given him the strength to lay commanding but gentle hands on me; I could not help but liken the situation to the same one that had led Oros to do the same, albeit in a rougher fashion. It also brought back memories of a happier time, as I rested motionless against his chest; a time where two sisters had retreated from a social engagement to play in the windiest part of a castle keep, and the youngest of the pair had been afraid of the wind. The eldest had taken her in her arms for protection, just like this, and wiped the tears away…

No, I won’t die yet! I won’t be like you…

Moor’s muscles turned to steel as the door groaned against the arriving madness. It hesitated mere moments, long enough for both of us to catch our breath, before swinging open, slamming with its full force into the inner wall of the Lamb. The outside of the door was charred almost beyond recognition, and the scent of blazing wood filled our noses without mercy. Smoke and fire leapt at the door and the plants outside; together they made up the outline of something large and tall, with proud shoulders, tattered long hair, and a scowl that, for a moment, painted the creature in question as the very monster he had been named. At its feet stood a glowing twisted entity covered in ash and dust, a feral grin spread across its face in triumph. I didn’t need to hear what it had to say to its master. All that mattered was that Oros, somehow, had returned on his own to find his entry denied. The burning door served as a less grand entrance than the fireplace had at our original meeting, but the shadows it cast in its magnitude outstripped all of the awe he commanded that night nonetheless.

It was a good thing that Moor had taken me in his arms. The combination of smoke and heat mixed with relief and the loss of adrenaline left my knees weak; I found myself unable to support my own weight. Darkness swept across my vision, and I understood that I was going to lose consciousness; a strange knowledge to have as it was happening. My weak noble body should not have been expected to handle such trauma, and the result was not alarming in the back of my mind. I knew I would awaken, given time to recover. The last thing I understood before the shadows claimed me was that everything had worked out after all.

Fairytales, it seemed, were just that.

It started with simple things; an aching head, from all the unexpected summons, or sore feet from human methods of travel. Having a heart toward what was to be my trusted companion, I believed these things without question. What a fool I was to sympathize with his ails! At the end of the month it was clear as dawn where the path that my mistake led me down would end. He would not strengthen my body’s lifeblood against the ill will of others, claiming inefficiency for assisting in combat; he would not assist in battle with his inborn fiery talent, insisting that his power be reserved for extreme emergency. For every refusal and every hesitation, I found myself facing the world and its challenges alone, the powers that I possessed through Oros my one protection. Oros, of course, did little to assist beyond smiling and shaking his head; he had already earned the right to command his minion, and bore no desire to be involved with mine. The man had no heart at all for his overwhelmed apprentice, and his lessons continued at their usual pace.

In lieu of sending me to yet another of his talented masters of the darkness to enhance my education, Oros had chosen instead to train me himself in the more sobering aspects of the warlock gift. The call of corruption was perhaps the largest risk against a warlock’s life, and Oros taught me this with the utmost caution and patience. Never had I seen a more serious and impassable look on his face than when he spoke of this risk and all that it could mean to a weak willed man or woman. It came in the night at first, he said, in the guise of dreams or nightmares. The whispers of failure, of isolation, of despair and denial that so many others took for granted as the harbingers of some repressed love or hatred were in fact the seeds of damnation where a warlock was concerned.

If these echoes of self doubt were not enough to twist a warlock into desperation, the attacks made against their spirit increased by turns. Promises of power, safety, or whatever the warlock most needed or desired came next. At last, visions of long dead family members in the calm of a winter’s day, waking up next to the imaginary sight of loved ones’ corpses just in time to see them resolve into living reality, and even the appearance of savage yet unreal wounds and scars upon a warlock’s body were common methods of mental torture designed to wrest the will from a servant of the shadows.

According to Oros, this call of corruption was the method by which the Nether attempted to pay for the toll taken by the loss of its denizens to warlock support. It was the price that all warlocks paid for the gift of the power they had chosen to wield. In exchange for that gift, it was the responsibility of each and every warlock to master the trials sent to them in an attempt to maintain control over themselves and their magicks. At any time, a Warlock could choose to submit, either by true desire or by desire borne of demonic manipulation, to corruption. Once submission was granted, the Nether gained full control of a warlock’s mind, body and soul, free to manipulate them at will.

The results were, more often than not, catastrophic; they always resulted in the death of what remained of the warlock after the fact, but not before many others had suffered or died at the hands of the demonic puppet. There was no recourse from submission; it was the final act a warlock could choose to perform, and the most reprehensible act that a warlock was capable of. It was, if not the only reason, then the main reason why the Slaughtered Lamb was the sole safe haven for those commanding the shadows within the walls of Stormwind.

As it stood, only those warlocks with sufficient gift in the dark arts would ever feel the pull of the Nether upon their souls. Oros had explained that the beginnings of this often stirred in a warlock just after the arrival of its first true dark companion; the imp. He had inquired with the utmost seriousness into my personal dreams and thoughts to be certain that I was not experiencing anything dangerous. I had noticed an increase in the number of dreams that sent me bolt upright in the middle of the night, shaking and sweating with my fists balled into the blankets for purchase, but I had assumed them to be the product of the risks I was taking and the changes in my life, not demonic intervention.

When he promised in all honesty and all seriousness to slay me where I stood if I ever considered the act of submission, I knew better than to laugh. The power within me was no laughing matter, according to Oros, and neither was the power that he possessed. A greater tragedy would befall the world if he was to give in, and that seemed worth far more mirth. The very idea of Oros submitting to anything or anyone for any reason at all was laughable indeed! He had not asked the promise of death from me; I assumed that somewhere, a stronger warlock than me held that dubious honor very close to his heart.

In honor of my understanding the depths of what could happen to me if I were not always vigilant against the call of corruption, Oros set me to the task of accompanying and understanding my fellow citizens. As I had spent so little time in the company of those of a lower stature than myself, he felt it was necessary for me to have an unflinching look at the world I had accepted as my own. The sad truth, as it related to warlocks, was that many of the poorer citizens turned to the darkness and its power as a last desperate attempt at survival. These warlocks, Oros explained, were the magical equivalent of a double edged sword. They would give their last breath to practice the craft that they had learned, hoping to gain one more copper or one more meal in place of payment for work, but they were also the most susceptible to corruption at the hands of their own fears.

They listened when their hearts and minds cried out that no matter how hard they worked or how hard they tried, they would never be able to survive or provide for their loved ones. They accepted the offer of something greater beyond themselves, something that promised to give answers to the questions that neither man nor deity could hope to solve, without asking themselves first how such a promise could ever be made. If a simple man did not bend to either of these, a simple fit of dark fancy was often enough to convince him of madness, and madness was enough to turn the tide for most souls.

It was a horrible lesson to learn, and my mind rebelled at the thought of anyone being desperate enough to give up their last shred of self control. I had, it was true, been on the brink of giving up my own last shred of life, but life and power were two separate things as far as I was concerned. With the power that I had attained came responsibility for my own life and that of others. If I had ever considered death, I could not now; not without risking countless lives along with my own. Nonetheless, at Oros’ insistence, I agreed to learn what he had to teach me.

The city of Stormwind sponsored many simple jobs for the needy and hungry; jobs that no one other than novice adventurers looking to strengthen their position within the city or starving men in desperate need of a meal would ever take responsibility for. These jobs often employed the use of force in some capacity to rid Stormwind and the surrounding Elwynn Forest of unsavory types; the Defias and their greed, rogue wildlife seeking a higher station than nature provided, or creatures bent on the pursuit of humanity for less noble aims; the kobolds and murlocs. Dirtying my hands with the remnants of manlike creatures with dog or fish accompaniments seemed distasteful, and I had already dealt with the Defias; I chose to pursue the simpler art of hunting, with a more magical option at hand than bow and arrow.

Lest my name and bearing be recognized by members of the Stormwind nobility, the first order of business was to disguise my appearance and come up with a suitable explanation for my position as one of the invisible. Oros provided for this as I had not expected him to; a simple tattered yet tasteful brown robe made from rough material and a pair of worn leather boots were produced from somewhere that he refused to acknowledge. Their fit was almost perfect, and I found myself wondering where he had gained the knowledge of my overall shape and size; warlocks really did know everything, it would seem! I had little trouble adjusting to the itchy material and uncomfortable shoes, but the worst of the change came when Oros insisted that the long hair I had worn since birth was too tidy, not to mention too long, to have served one of the lesser citizens of Stormwind. His options were simple yet unbearable; wring dirt into it, or cut it. I objected as best I could, promising to wear a hood or a head cover of some sort, but he just shook his head; the poor did not have enough fabric to spare for such pleasantries as head coverings. The knife or the earth would have to suffice, and given the options at hand, there was only one choice I could manage to make.

“How, exactly, do you know all of this?” I spat through gritted teeth, unable to watch as Oros crouched next to the fireplace in the Slaughtered Lamb, sharpening his belt knife against a whetstone. “I thought you were as blue blooded as I was.”

He smiled, his teeth flashing white against the firelight. “Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. The point is that I’ve been on my own for quite some time, kitten, and I’ve seen more than my share of poverty. Some things you just don’t forget after you’ve seen them for yourself. I won’t pretend I’ve ever suffered as they have, mind you, but I know hungry eyes when I see them. You’re not a hungry kitten yet; you’re the fat cat with feathers in its mouth.” Standing up, he brushed the dust from the base of his cloak as if to prove his previous point about suffering. “Besides, how am I supposed to pass you off as my slave if you look prettier than I do?”

My eyes narrowed. “Do you know how sick your sense of humor is?”

“I’ve been told a time or two, yes.” The smile never wavered; he was enjoying this! “It’s your career, of course. I wouldn’t dream of standing in the way of your other aspirations, should you decide to occupy yourself in some other fashion. I have places to be too.”

What I wanted to say would have brought a furious blush to any sailor or fishwife’s cheeks, but I forced my anger back. I could always cover my hair with a mourning veil once I returned home, and my family would never be the wiser. Perhaps I would make a point of taking that mourning out into public again, once I was no longer fit to be seen there! “You never had to do anything like this for your training, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. I learned faster.” He laughed, swinging his knife into my peripheral vision enough to reflect the firelight behind the chair I sat in. “Don’t move, kitten, or I’ll make it shorter than we talked about. You wouldn’t like that.”

Rendered into speechlessness by fear and anger, I had no recourse but to close my eyes and grip the sides of the chair. I could feel the smile still on his face as he drew close against my back; the point of his knife rested in a taunt against the back of my neck, its cold tip sending shivers down my spine. He left it there for a second or two, relishing the joy of watching me squirm; it was a very deep regret of mine that I had allowed him to live as long as I had! The knife left my neck and moved somewhere that I couldn’t sense or see through my closed eyes, and I felt my hands starting to shake. If he would just stop taunting me and finish the job before I had time to rethink my decision…

“Are you waiting for me to kill you, my dear? It doesn’t take an hour to cut hair unless you’re noble, I promise you that.”

I opened my eyes with trepidation; the anger I’d harbored had held my attention long enough to keep my mind off the act itself, it seemed. Taking a deep breath, I turned my head to the side; the experiment brought a short lock of my auburn hair sweeping into my eyes. The sensation was not unlike that of a spider falling onto my head from above; I yelped and shot out of my chair in a panic, my hands rushing up to swat at the beast that was my new hair. Oros was laughing behind me still, unable to control his mirth, and I whirled around to stare him down in a cold fury. “You think this is funny, do you?”

He wiped at his eyes, still laughing almost hard enough to prevent speech. “I think it’s funny that you haven’t even seen it yet and you’re already plotting my death, or trying to think of a spell to grow it out, yes ma’am.” Catching his breath, he produced a well crafted hand mirror from a fold of his cloak. “At least look before you lose all faith in me. I rather approve, if you must know, even if I do say so myself.”

“Well aren’t you just the finest warlock hairdresser around, then?” I snatched the offered mirror. “It was so nice of you to use me as your test subject!”

As my eyes swept the area, I caught a glimpse of the fallen strands of my long hair, piled on the floor like so much garbage. My grip on the handle of the mirror slipped in the sweat from my palms; I just knew he had cut more than he promised even though I hadn’t moved! The mental anguish of raising the mirror to my mutilated head and hair seemed above and beyond any that the Nether could have conjured; in that moment it just might have been worth considering submission to the demonic forces just to find the strength to punish Oros once and for all…

I found myself staring into an unfamiliar face; rather, a face that was without question my own, but yet somehow alien and frightening. The wisps of hair that had sent me fleeing my chair were back in place along the sides of my face, and they stopped their descent toward the downward slope of my chin. He had promised shoulder length; this skimmed the limits of that promise at a dangerous proximity. My hair had always been straight since the day I was born, and that had not changed, but somehow in the shape of the new cut, it seemed a little less simple and plain. The ends hinted at unevenness, which I had no doubt was Oros’ handiwork at attempting to disguise my previous so-called perfection; I could not argue that it worked, and worked well.

The worst part of the transformation, however, was not the cut itself, nor the straightness of my hair; it was the fact that my eyes stood out clearer than they ever had before, and despite the wisps of hair that seemed to always fly into my face no matter which way I turned, it was impossible to hide them. I had never realized how much I relied on my hair as yet another shield from the world around me, and with it gone, I felt a peculiar sense of shame, almost nakedness. How would others view me, if I didn’t know how to view myself yet?

“My boots aren’t smoking yet. Is that a good sign?”

Oros’ usual snide tone was still plenty mocking, but the slightest hint of curiosity, perhaps even hope, crept around the edges despite his best efforts. I couldn’t help but smile, and watch as my cheekbones pushed the hair away from my face in a way that they never had before. The truth, as much as I detested the admission, was that I didn’t hate it as much as I feared I would. It was not what I had grown up with to say the least, and not at all what was permissible for a lady of my station; I would have a fantastic chore ahead of me as I disguised it around my family! It was not what I would ever have considered for myself, if given a choice of what should be done with my hair. Nonetheless, I felt that somewhere, in the nervous knot that was my heart, that I could come to terms with it; perhaps even like it, as it grew out. I wouldn’t need to keep it short once my training was complete, of course, and that thought was perhaps more comforting than any other I’d had. My mind was, for the first time, desperate to hold onto some part of my past; a way to go back, if and when I chose to.

“I think I’ll pass for a fresh faced commoner now, that’s for sure.” I handed the mirror back to Oros. “You didn’t kill me, but I still say it’s too short.”

He grinned, putting the mirror away and handing me the remainder of my tattered costume to change into. “You say a lot of things that are wrong, kitten.” The line of his shoulders relaxed just a bit, and I realized that perhaps he had been concerned about how I would react after all. He was so unusual in that; it often seemed as though his words and his actions were not equal in their meaning around me. What he said to my face was patronizing, insulting and cruel more often than not, but when it came down to what he was thinking, it seemed as though he had a heart toward what he was asking of me, albeit a small one. Again I found myself reminded of that night in the Lamb; it had been that way then, too. The words he shouted at me had been penetrating, brutal in their honesty, and they had ripped my self pity and confidence in my anger to shreds, and yet they had saved me, in a sense. I had a feeling that he would never have said them if he didn’t believe that they would reach me in the way they most needed to.

“Well, I’m off to lose about a hundred gold’s worth of makeup, mourning robes and corseting. Wish me luck?” I picked up the pile of clothing he offered and headed for the back room of the Lamb. “This had better be worth the trouble. If I don’t learn something tonight about the state of humanity and how this affects warlocks, I’m going to have more to say to you later.”

“You won’t need luck. You have my illustrious skill and talent behind you. Just don’t call for your imp if you need help dressing. One look at you and the entire Nether will know the size of your…”

A discarded ball made up of my traveling cloak hit him in the face, silencing him as I left. It felt better than anything else had that day.

***

“So this little lady’s your slave, is that correct?”

The uniformed guard standing watch and taking requests at the City Hall peered at my unkempt visage from over the rims of his glasses, leaning forward so far that he came close to losing his nose down the neck of my robe. I could only assume his sight had kept him from experiencing the more battle oriented aspects of serving his city. “I hope you’ve taught her something about how to defend herself. She’s a slight little thing; I’m worried those wild creatures will tear her to bits.”

Oros tugged his wide brimmed hat down over his eyes, shading his face from view. He was, after all, a wanted man, and being in the presence of city officials who might recognize him posed close to as much threat to him as it did to me. “Indeed. She’s a rare hand with magic, you see, and I want her to test what she has learned. If she proves to be unreliable, she’ll do less harm to my grounds if she makes her mistakes elsewhere, you understand.” He laughed, and somehow managed to make the sound a nasal one instead of his usual gruff chuckle. Where had he learned such tricks to disguise himself and others? I would have to ask him later. “If she runs away, she won’t live long without further teaching. You needn’t worry about returning her to me under guard.”

“Are you sure on that, sir?” The guard smiled at me, a lewd look in his eyes that was to be the first indicator of how the well to do and rich looked upon those with less honor and privilege. “She’s a pretty thing. I’d hate for aught to go awry while she’s away.”

Yeah, you’d hate it if someone else got to me first instead of you…

A murderous look crept into Oros’ eyes. “If anything happens to her, you can be sure that I will handle the problem myself, under my own authority. I won’t have the time to wait for you.” The guard took a step backward in alarm before Oros remembered his place. “Beg pardon. She’s the only one of my servants to show any prowess at all, and I’m a bit protective, you see. I do, however, trust her to defend herself as I have taught her.” He smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes. “I would hope that if anyone does try to take liberties, that they are firm of station with their personal deities first.”

The guard swallowed, taking the hint that was intended. “Thank you, sir. And what did you say your names were again?”

“I am Baron Morris Owen, of Owen’s Landing, and this here is Maria. She does not recall the name of her father, so a surname I cannot offer you, I’m afraid. The fool abandoned her as a child, you see, and…”

“Thank you, sir.” The guard cleared his throat after scribbling down the details in question, and it was obvious he cared less than nothing about the sordid details of my fabricated past. Why he should care about the life of one more poverty case eluded me, but it still made my heart ache in realization. I knew that we had similar servants in my own household, but I had never given much thought to their histories myself. They did what was asked of them and spent the rest of their time in silence, and none of us thought to do any more for them. Well, that was untrue; she had always eaten half of whatever was served, claiming a full belly and leaving the rest for the poor, before her death. How perfect she had been, and how foolish I was by comparison…

“You’re all settled. I’ve never heard of Owen’s Landing though, where is that again? I will admit I’m from a small town. I got a job here just to free myself of the solitude. The pay’s better too, of course.” The guard grinned as if I weren’t even present to envy his boasted earnings.
“It’s a small place, not many have heard of it. We’re old money, son. We don’t need the notoriety the way you young folks do.” Oros tipped his hat again, leaving the fellow searching for something to say to regain his composure. “Have a nice day. Be good, Maria. I will see you at supper tonight, I trust.”

With that, he turned on a heel, leaving me to my duties and the guard to ponder how best to entrap me in a compromising position as I went about them. It only occurred to me later in the day how perfect Oros had been at managing the situation; how he had avoided further questioning by attempting to take the conversation somewhere other than the intended direction, and how he had sidestepped the question of where his fabricated home was in the grand scheme of things. It was a mental note about Oros that I would not forget anytime soon.

***

Fury had become the watchword by the end of the day. Not only had I gained a far more intimate understanding of what the less fortunate went through from day to day, lost in the dust and silence of a city raised above them in ego, I had been forced to do so without companionship. While I suffered the slings and arrows of both noble and common contempt, and battled the strength of beasts clinging to hope of remaining upon this mortal coil, Yazham had refused to lift so much as a finger in aid no matter how often it was asked of him. Granted, Oros had taught me enough of the basics for me to be able to defend myself in a sufficient manner when alone, but the sheer perversity of the creature and the lack of interest in assisting me at all left me seething with rage.

As far as I understood the situation, the imp was expected to take some of the workload off of me, and he had yet to do any such thing, just as he had for the entire month of my training prior. If I had not already been on the brink of explosion, it might not have stood out in my mind, but it did, more than it ever had before. It was, at least, no longer a mystery as to how the poorer and weaker members of warlock society could embrace demonic control in order to escape the lives they led. If a demon had told me it could offer me a warm scented bath and a shoulder massage, I might very well have considered it myself.

My teeth were ground together in what I suspected was a permanent growl, in particular to avoid any repeats of the attack laid upon me by that pathetic excuse for a guard. If I ever chose to repent the sins I had committed by befriending Oros, I would be certain without a doubt to report the man’s name and rank to my parents for notice to the King! His mouth had reeked of drink when he thrust it upon mine, and he hadn’t been able to take no for an answer. I could still feel the revolting heat of his tongue in my mouth; at least, until I’d bitten down on it with all the force I could muster. He’d leapt back, cursing me with crude words that I had never heard before, and I’d used the moment to level a spell where it would hurt most. The only thing I could find to grin about was the fact that the man would never try to report me as being a poor worker. He would reap enough joy explaining to his wife why a large portion of his own personal Nether would be covered in scars and blisters for the rest of his life…

I considered telling Oros about my plight, but decided to forgo that level of vengeance. I wanted the man punished, but the violent death I knew that Oros would serve him seemed unfitting. Being forced to live, unable to master or extrapolate on interest in women ever again, seemed far more appropriate to me! When it came to vengeance, there was only one soul in the world left wanting by the time I finished my duties, and that was Yazham himself. Despite my previous concerns about treating the creature as a trusted partner, I began to consider throwing patience and caution into the dark well in which it belonged. It seemed that kindness and trust might have to be dampened by a general fear of pain and death in the end, after all.

Arriving at the Slaughtered Lamb from the main gate to Stormwind City was a chore in itself through the exhaustion I faced. The Lamb had become the safe haven that Oros and I used to hold our daily lessons apart from the eyes of the city guards. Warlocks and their magicks were not altogether unwelcome within the Stormwind walls, but neither were they trusted by anyone with even the smallest margin of sanity. It was always possible for individual prejudice to ban a Warlock from common establishments, even if it were not possible by law; the first guard to support freedom over so-called justice would be the first guard without a king’s pay in hand as soon as word traveled to an important pair of ears. Oros still faced the trial of being a wanted man, and his movements within the city had to be limited and difficult, but this failed to stop him from somehow arriving every day on schedule.

He was waiting for me in our usual private room in the back of the Lamb with a grimace on his angular face; the expression brought all the ferocity I had seen within him at our first meeting to the forefront. At first I hesitated, thinking his displeasure was for me; the last thing I needed was a lecture. He couldn’t have suffered anything close to what I had witnessed throughout the course of my day! However, the lack of an immediate display of temper upon my arrival gave me my answer at a quicker pace than words could have. He had not laid a rough hand on me since our encounter two months ago, but I could read in every line of his body that the impulse to physical violence still resided within his soul. It was, perhaps, the sole restraint he showed with me above all others he dealt with.

I summoned Yazham with a handful of signals that, by now, felt like I had been making them all my life. The demon appeared on cue; he lacked the knowledge of human body language to respond in a wise manner to the situation before him, or perhaps chose to ignore it. His voice spoke out against the deafening silence. “Hey, it’s the Black Master. Killed any demons today?”

Oros leveled a gaze at him that spoke all the words I had wanted to say for the entirety of the month I had spent in his company. He opened his mouth to give voice to a handful of them, but stopped when my own fury intervened. If anyone was going to discipline my minion, it would be me, and he had more than a lecture coming for the hell he had abandoned me to! My staff fell unnoticed to the floor with a raucous clatter as I threw off my cloak in the general direction of a chair and rounded on the minion at my feet. The back of my mind flickered useless thoughts – how ridiculous I would look, screaming at a being no taller than my knees, and how the cloak had just missed the chair – but I ignored them, attempting to focus all of my anger into a manner that appeared threatening. I was not used to throwing the essence of my weight around the way that Oros was, and doing so left me feeling more foolish than imposing.

“I don’t know whether Master Oros has killed any demons today, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll start worrying about the demons I’m going to kill,” I growled, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring down at him. “I’ll start with you. Have you any idea how useless you are to me? I have done my best to treat you as an equal, to consider you in every undertaking that you have accompanied me on. What considerations have you given me? You do nothing but whine and make excuses about why you can’t help me in any way, shape or form aside from sleeping on the job!”

The demon paused, as if to consider my words, but I wasn’t even approaching the end of my rant. “You are a glowing yellow ghost at my feet, always ready to make some snide comment or rude observation, but you never once put your skill where your mouth is. I’m beginning to wonder if I should march you back to Mistress La Salle and tell her that she has offered me a pathetic, inferior and damaged creation with which to practice my craft. I cannot do this without you, demon, I have told you that a thousand times if I have even told you once. I will grow ancient, wither away and die an ugly old crone before you ever bother to raise my expectations of you, and I am beyond tired of waiting!”

Yazham’s eyes expanded to the width of saucers as I closed my argument. “You were brought here to assist me in my quest for power. Unwilling though you may be, your kind is prepared for this form of servitude. Every Warlock in the history of the profession has taken one of you under their wing. You have a duty to support us, just as we have a duty to respect that you should not be mishandled or expected to support battle tactics that your small bodies and simple minds are unprepared to cope with. You, however, have not even attempted to support me with the skills that you are rumored to have!” Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself for the last threat I would have to make. “Either we reach some sort of agreement, here and now, that will be final, or I will send you back to the Nether in a pretty little casket tied with a bow made out of your hide. Are we clear?”

My mind let go of a small portion of its anger, enough to return my awareness to my surroundings. It seemed that Oros had left the room, in a quieter fashion than I had expected from such a proud and angry man. Where had he gone? It was impossible that he had left me to the privacy of my own anger. Oros had borne witness to every outward display of emotion I had wielded since our first meeting, and the belief that this one would be any different was difficult to maintain. Whatever shadow ate at his concealed heart would have to wait, despite my curiosity and concern; anything that troubled Oros had to mean that the source was problematic indeed. What shadow could penetrate the man of fire and brimstone?

A sound, not unlike that of sandpaper sliding across a wooden plank, brought my attention back to Yazham. My fury heightened once again in an instant as I realized the nature of the sound – he was laughing! He was laughing harder than he had ever laughed before, even during times when my spells had malfunctioned or my aims had failed due to inexperience or overzealousness. My teeth ground together as I sought in a blind rage for the location of my fallen staff; I would need it to grind his wiry bones to dust! “That was a poor response, demon. You’ll see what I think of it.”

The creature was doubled over by the time I could see well enough to aim my first spell. A bolt of shadow landed in the general vicinity of his feet, however, which brought his mirth to an abrupt end. “Wait! Wait, Maleva! I didn’t mean to…”

Another streak of shadow sent him flying against the wall. “Please, mistress! Hear me out!”
That earned him a pause. He had never before given me any indication of a proper title, much less lowered himself in any fashion to me. “Out with it. You have one chance to explain to me why I should let you live. I expect you to make good use of it.”

He rubbed his head, which I could believe without difficulty was ringing from his introduction to the hard wall. “It’s not like you humans think, not at all. You’re just too nice, kid.” He pulled himself to his feet, brushing off unseen dust from his limbs. “You think you can win my servitude by asking? I heard your little sob story when we met. You know what that means to me? I’ve lived in the Nether since my conception. There ain’t anybody nice down there.”

His cold chuckle took still more of my fury and ground it to dust. “You can’t be nice and expect to live, not in this world or my own. Just because these people call themselves human don’t mean that they ain’t demons underneath.” His little head lowered a fraction as he spoke. “You’re right that we demons are used to servitude. That don’t mean we accept it without terms. If you ain’t strong enough to give orders, to command that power you Masters are so proud of, you ain’t nothing to a guy like me. You ask for something, you’ll never get it, kid. Take it. It’s the only way.”

“So you expect me to mistreat you?” My voice was smaller than I meant to make it. “That wasn’t part of the deal, as I understood it.”

“Commanding ain’t mistreating, kid. It means you expect results from the people you tell to do something. You tell me to do something, I’ve got my orders, and if I ain’t got the skill to do it then I deserve what comes, yeah? If you ask me to do it, I got every right to say no. You punish me for taking the option you gave me. That’s mistreating.”

With a sigh, I found the chair I should have marked with my cloak and sat down, resting my chin in my hands. How could I have been so naive? Oros’ demon had no qualms about doing as he ordered. In my innocence, I had assumed in the darkest part of my mind that he had mistreated the creature in so gross a manner that it could no longer stand against him. In reality, it was the same strength Oros had always possessed, at work once again to aid him in his quest. He would never have asked for anything if his life depended on it, from me or from anyone else.

“How am I ever going to get through this? I’m such a child; I don’t understand anything! Every time I think I know what to do, every time I think I’ve advanced, I find out I’m still just a stupid kid in the end. Maybe I was wrong to think I could find my way here…”

I didn’t realize I’d spoken those thoughts aloud until Yazham approached my chair. A moment passed before a glowing yellow mass jumped up on my lap and reached a gentle hand up to touch my cheek. “We’re all kids once in a lifetime, mistress. Now you won’t be as much of one.” Removing his hand, he jumped clear of my lap, offering me one of his trademark sarcastic grins. “I’ll do what you order me to do from now on. Just don’t ask. I take any opportunity to say no, just like most of you humans.”

I couldn’t help the smile that crept onto my face. Perhaps Yazham would be more of a friend to me than he would ever know.

“Yazham?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Go tell Jarel Moor to bring me a drink. That’s an order!”

A gruff sound to my side alerted me to the presence of another man I hadn’t seen before; a simple man wearing farmer’s garb that had cleared his throat. At first I mistook him for a farmer in truth, but at his feet chattered a creature just like the one that Oros had summoned within the safety of the Lamb. He smiled down at me and brought his fingers to his brow in a casual salute. “Dane Winslow, miss – I’m the demon trainer for Lady Drusilla. Beg your pardon, but I don’t think they planned for your arrival this soon. You did a fast job, faster than most who come this way manage.”

Take that, Oros! I thought to myself, gratified.

He sensed my thoughts and laughed as he watched me, his eyes gentle. “That one works you hard, doesn’t he? I don’t need to ask. He was a tough one when Dru found him – all refusal and disinterest. Sometimes I wonder why he even agreed to take her trial. He did though, and he did it just as fast as you did. Though I hear reports that say he did it deadlier too.”

A chill ran down my spine at his words. Oros had accepted the very same trial I had? I had been right to fear what Oros might have done in my shoes! “I had to take down three of them. They didn’t give me a choice.”

The kind smile never faded. “Of course you did. Those scoundrels are no smarter than they are handsome, but they’re dedicated. If you didn’t have the strength to face them, knowing what you would have to do, you wouldn’t have the courage to go on learning what Dru teaches. As her demon trainer, I’ve seen many a novice turn and flee.” Then he sighed, leaning back against the wall of the Cathedral. “Your Master Oros, however, thought it would be a good idea to teach them all a lesson. Ten Defias died when two or three should have. Practice, he called it. The Defias have had their guard up ever since.”

I licked my lips, which had gone dry as he spoke. For someone as calm and collected as he demanded he should be, it didn’t sound like his usual behavior. Perhaps he had lost his temper with the Defias, as he had with me? Oros was strong, of that I had no doubt, and I had witnessed his anger firsthand. Had I been even closer to death than I realized? I found my voice enough to respond to Winslow. “I see – though he passed despite his overzealousness.”

“That he did, miss. That he did. I just wonder if it was the right thing to do, letting him pass despite Dru knowing his heart.”

At that moment a sudden shriek cut through the air that sounded as if it had come from the direction of the tent. Frowning, I felt every muscle in my body tense at once. Was Oros doing something to La Salle now, as punishment for her earlier comments against his foolishness? Even if he was, what could my limited power, taught to me by Oros himself, do in turn to stop him? The poor woman had done what he had demanded of her, to teach me and test me in his place, and she would pay the ultimate price for her kindness and acceptance. It made me furious beyond compare.

I heard the demon trainer’s voice behind me saying something, but the rush of adrenaline left his words as nonsense to my ears. I stalked toward the tent, unwilling to maintain the secrecy I had allowed them to keep in my innocence any longer. If Oros was willing to treat his former teacher and friend in such a manner, what was he plotting to do to me, his new apprentice? I reached the tent flap, grabbed for the jeweled hairpin and pulled without warning, jerking the tent flap open with limited ceremony.

The sight inside was not what I had expected to see at all, or even wanted to see – nor did I want to see it again after it was over and the tent flap was secured once more. My face crimson with embarrassment, I left the startled gasps and distracted shouts behind me and fled in the direction of the exit to the graveyard.

Handsome enough to be sure – but it looks like I don’t have to worry about being his plaything now!

Winslow appeared at my elbow as I fumbled with the latch on the gate to the graveyard. “I don’t think you should leave, miss, at least not now. You’ve given them a reason to stop, after all.”

I found myself staring at his chest and not his face; it would be impossible to meet anyone’s gaze for hours in my state! “I gather I’m…the last to know about this?”

He looked sheepish. “I tried to warn you, but you were already halfway there. I couldn’t have stopped you even if I wanted to.” Sensing that humiliation had sealed my wish to speak, he added, “The relationship isn’t a true one, apprentice. I would have you know that before you know anything else about the two of them. I had hoped Oros himself would have warned you, but perhaps he is too lost in the lie, just as she is.”

As if I cared what Oros did in his spare time! However, knowing more about my master couldn’t hurt if it prevented more situations like this one from happening. “Let’s hear it – it can’t be any worse than what I just saw back there, after all.”

His smile turned bitter, an expression that looked uncomfortable on his face. “There are some who say Oros has the ability to seduce those he chooses with his power. He is an impressive man to most people; I am sure you have noticed.” I nodded, and he took a deep breath. “At the very least he has done so to Drusilla, my greatest friend and dearest companion. Ever since the day she knew him for a true Warlock and announced his advancement past her trial, she has ingratiated herself to him. He is the teacher now, and she the student, or so you would believe from the behavior she plies against him. She is no more than a common born child in the arms of a lover when she lies with him; her power is not what it should be, or could be on her own.”

With a sigh he shook his head. “That man has power beyond what we as Warlocks know. I don’t claim he uses it for personal gain, I have never seen him do this with anyone he requires standing with or needs to impress, but he does know his strength. For whatever reason, he allows her to let down her guard with him. Why he does so is anyone’s guess. Drusilla, of course, knows none of this, and believes he is in love with her. Attempts to tell her otherwise have been rejected in a quite violent fashion.” He rubbed his cheek, where I could indeed see the faint remnants of a handprint. Had he attempted to interrupt before I had? “I want you to be on your guard, apprentice of Oros. Know that he has this power, and hold yourself back from it. The last thing I wish is for you to lose your will to be greater than he is.”

The man had just finished speaking when a further unkempt and bedraggled La Salle emerged from the tent, her hair in tangles and her pale skin flushed with embarrassment. Oros followed soon after, looking much as he always did. Even in the midst of passion he was a stone, it would seem! I felt his gaze bear down on me, but I couldn’t manage to greet him – every greeting I could think of, when laid against the actions I had witnessed, would seem crude or sarcastic. I could use this knowledge against him, I realized in my panic, to take him down a rank or two, but somehow the understanding that he would not take such attempts without anger silenced my urge to wave them in his face. He had not, despite my fears, harmed La Salle, but that did not mean his tolerance for personal insults had grown either.

The demon trainer was quicker on his feet than I was. “Lady Drusilla, Master Oros; your apprentice has completed her task, it seems. You’ve picked a good one.” To Oros he added, “Just as fast as you were, I believe. She has learned well.”

La Salle cleared her throat. “Indeed – thank you for greeting her, Master Winslow. You have done well, Maleva. The book, if you please?”

Her palm reached out to accept the book, and the first thought that flashed through my mind was in regard to where that hand had just been. Furious at my inner sarcasm and embarrassment, I set my jaw and handed over the tome in all its mold covered glory. “Here is your copy of Powers of the Void, as requested. A bit the worse for wear I’m afraid, but the ability to remove mold from book covers is not part of my learning at this time.”

She laughed at that, some of her anxiety dispelled by the shift in subject. Had she been worried about how I would view her beyond this moment? If that were the case, perhaps she knew and understood more of the game that Oros played than Winslow led me to believe. Those who believed beyond a shadow of a doubt in something never questioned or considered what others would think of them for doing so; that much, Oros had taught me well. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll clean her up once you and Master Oros have departed. This, I might add, can happen as soon as I’ve repaid you for the tome.”

A moment passed as La Salle drew herself up to her fullest imposing height. A veil of shadow passed over her body as she murmured a handful of words in a tongue I could not comprehend. No longer was she the embarrassed and nervous woman I had caught in the act of passion; she was garbed in the seamless armor of her erudite soul once again. The sight of it reminded me of why I had come in the first place; to learn something that Oros could not or would not teach me on his own. What gift did she plan to impart on me for the murders I had committed, and would it be worth it after all?

The veil of shadow parted, shifting without effort and sliding into place around my body with each word of the chant. Once it surrounded me and had enveloped me from head to toe, she spoke one final word. The word sent a shiver of unknown origin throughout my body, leaving me with a slight headache and a racing heart; the tingling sensation of power and growth invaded my veins and passed within a moment. Its passing heralded the dissipation of the shadowy veil as well, and I stood facing La Salle again, feeling somewhat cheated by the fact that I felt no different overall. Had the magic rejected me?

“You’re all set, Maleva. Now you have a friend to aid you in future. Keep him close, mind you – simple servitude is not his strong point.” La Salle smiled. “The imp is one of the more frustrating denizens of the netherworld, but he is also rather useful when he chooses to be.”

Realization began to set in at her words. Oros had shown me the signs necessary to summon demons a thousand times before. I had studied their execution and form alone, every night when he returned me unnoticed to my home. It was this moment he had prepared me for, and the time to use that knowledge, it seemed, was upon me. The manifestation of my new status as demon summoner was not physical; it lay within me, and the sole method of bringing it into the open was to summon a demon of my own.

***

The demon breed known as the imp was the same as the creature I had met at the feet of both Oros and Winslow. According to Oros, there were two ways to command a demon. The first involved sheer force of will bent into domination, producing an enemy enslaved, not an ally to be trusted. The other method involved grudging respect, and was far more difficult to attain from a being that would be no willing participant in this world. However, if I could avoid the former, I would. The way to attain the control I wanted would not be through the sacrifice of another’s freedom; it would defeat my own purpose in life to place another into my shoes, even one as insignificant as a demon. My imp would have to respect me – but I would also have to respect him as well. A partnership this would be, above all else.

Taking a deep breath, I found the courage at last to look at Oros. The corners of his mouth twitched with a suppressed smile; could he be proud of my accomplishments? It was too much to hope for, but drawing on the power within that smile and all that lay behind it, I steadied myself and began the sequence of hand signs that would lead to my first portal into the netherworld – my first summoning. Let Oros think what he would at that! I had surpassed even my own meager hope for success, and that was more than enough for me.

At the last practiced movement of my fingers, a wide tunnel of shadow flared up from my body and out into the graveyard. Within moments, a glowing figure no taller than my shin had replaced it.

The imp was small for its kind, featuring the beady eyes that all imps seemed to share. It peered up at me, its dark eyes sharp and wicked, with an intellect borne of another time and place. The hazy yellow fog that resonated from its twisted body proved warm to the touch as it reached my senses, and the smell that accompanied it was not unlike a wet dog. It opened its mouth to speak in the same scratchy and sarcastic voice that I had heard from Oros’ demon, its forked tongue slithering to a tune that only it could hear. When words at last formed, all of my prior awe faded instead to weariness and frustration that added itself to the store I had already earned from the long and challenging afternoon.

“I got up for this?”

Respect, it seemed, was the order of the day, and it would have to be earned indeed! The guffaw that echoed from Oros behind me just served to make the lesson that much more solid! Meeting the imp’s gaze, I bowed my head in simple respect. “You did indeed. Welcome to my world, handsome. It’s not much compared to yours, but it smells a lot better, I’d wager.”

The creature chortled, but still maintained a distance from me, as if sensing my will to befriend it and disliking the notion. “You must be the kind of girl my mother warned me about.”

“That I am, and worse. Do you want to know who I am?” I took a deep breath. “I am a coward. I’ve been running away from my family, my name and my duty for longer than I care to admit. I am innocent. The world outside the walls of my keep is new and strange to me. I am angry. I vow to protect others from suffering the sorrows that I have borne in my young life. I am alone. Those who kept me alive have passed from this world into yours. I am…pathetic. However – through all that, I am willing. I am willing to understand your world, and the powers that rule it. I am willing to risk every small blessing that I have to find the power that my teacher has promised me. I am willing to grow. To do that, however, I require your aid, demon from the netherworld. My name is Maleva – Maleva Greymourne.”

It was a sea of admittance that left me trembling inside. I had not even been so open with Oros, that night in the Lamb. He might have seen the tears of grief spent from the loss of my sister, but never had he heard the depth of my will voiced to an outsider. Somehow it was easy to talk to this being from the netherworld; what could it know of human sorrow or failure? To my chagrin I had forgotten that Oros and La Salle were still present, watching the exchange with curious eyes. They knew of my weaknesses already; why did they care to hear about them again? Turning my back to them in an attempt to shelter the small field of privacy that the imp shared with me, I studied it and waited, my own curiosity intermingled with hope that it would understand, and agree.

It considered my words, its head cocked at a strange angle to study facets of me that I could not comprehend. At last it nodded, its head bounding up and down with the same quick and careless movements that seemed to be another common trait of imps. “You’ll do. Just don’t expect me to do all your fighting for you. You’re the student here – I’m just on vacation.” It sidled up to me, a gnarled hand offered in greeting. “You humans can’t manage to speak our language, so I’ll make it simple for you; I’m Yazham.”

La Salle placed a hand on my shoulder from behind. “The bonding between demon and master often takes weeks. Don’t think that he’ll make it easy on you. Acceptance is not obedience.” I didn’t need to see her face to sense the glare she had aimed at the demon. “These gifts from the netherworld are useful indeed, but beware their sense of humor.”

Yazham laughed, a grating sound echoing from somewhere deep in his throat. “Is that any way to speak to me? I have phenomenal cosmic powers, lady!”

She snorted, removing her hand and retreating to stand near Oros again. “Good luck, Maleva. You’ll need it with this one.”

I didn’t hear what she whispered to Oros in turn, but the grin on his face suggested that a likeness had been made to my own temperament. I chose to ignore it until later – Oros still had punishment left to suffer for his earlier ignorance of my requests! Nodding to Yazham, who seemed to be growing impatient for some action, I bowed my head to La Salle. “Thank you for the lesson. We should leave you to your reading.”

Her wistful smile was for Oros, not for me. “Indeed. I hope to see you again, but if I don’t, I trust your learning will grow as you do – in leaps and bounds. You will be a credit to your teacher, and to me as well.”

Embarrassed by the praise, I followed after Oros, who was making his way toward the graveyard’s exit without a word in parting to La Salle. I couldn’t understand why a partnership as close as theirs would be as easily forgotten, but the words of Dane Winslow echoed in my head. Perhaps it was as he had claimed; they were not true lovers, and thus could not express the kind of grief that would accompany most partings. Perhaps Oros, as cold as he was, didn’t believe in goodbyes at all. Perhaps there was something I didn’t know. It just further served to place a growing distaste in my heart for the kind of relationship they practiced. In the end, what good was companionship without trust and respect? Even the demon at my feet, trailing along behind me in the forest clearing, had understood that simple law of life.

I made a solemn promise to myself as we left the forests of Elwynn and returned once again to my home, the setting sun behind us. The loss of my sister had been so agonizing because I had been so close to her; but in the end, that closeness was what I desired to have again more than ever. Perhaps the demon could fill the void in my heart with his training, or perhaps the new power that I was attaining, little by little, would do it instead. One thing was clear; should I ever find a human being to replace the love that my sister had given me, I would not shy away or remain at arm’s length. That kind of lie was even more cruel than the one I told myself; the lie about how much I hated the only person I had ever loved and lost.

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.

Why my sister was chosen by its whims I could not understand; why she’d agreed to those whims was even more impenetrable. All I knew was that the combined memories of furious hatred and unspeakable grief had left me sick, both in body and in heart, for the year and a half since her death, and every visit I’d promised her I would make drove me deeper into a sickness of the mind. No more could I stand at the shoulder of her tomb and sob for my own loss; I had to leave, and leave at once. Anywhere would have served; but the Slaughtered Lamb was where my feet carried me at the end of my flight.

Rumors were rampant about the place; about how no self-respecting citizen would ever dare to traverse its commons and come out alive, much less as a tolerable member of society. Perhaps that was the reason I chose the Lamb of all places to run, though it would take time for me to come to that realization. The more inconspicuous, the more silent, the blacker and more alone the setting, the better the choice for me in the fog of my mind, and the Lamb was all too happy to oblige. The rain ushered me in at a rapid pace, and I threw off my dripping cloak at once upon greeting the threshold, blinking into the darkness that flooded the commons.

With time my vision acclimatized to the limited light flickering from the lanterns and torches that provided the patrons a dim glimpse of the drinks they carried against the encroachment of their own sorrows and little else. One of the three patrons bothered to acknowledge my entrance; with a hearty “‘Ello there mistress – might ye be lookin’ fer a good time, then?” and a nasty laugh that set every hair on my body alert, he saluted me with the backside of a tankard and tipped it forward, splashing the majority of it down the front of his already stained tunic rather than into his mouth. I was gone from his attention in the span of a heartbeat as he shouted for another drink to replace his faulty one.

My weary and sodden feet led me to a table in the far corner, unoccupied by drunkards, fellow grievers, or anything else save a small flickering lantern casting a shaded light across the surface of the table. Within moments I realized that another person had taken notice of my arrival; the bartender rose from his stool behind the bar and made his way in my direction, stopping once to admonish the drunkard that had spoken to me and then realize the futility of his speech. He arrived at my table and nodded to me, pulling a tablet of parchment from his back pocket and producing a quill from behind his ear. “I hope you’ll pardon Jhim, milady. He’s got sorrows that no one knows, and with the amount of rot-gut he tosses back I’m not sure I’d like to know them in the end.” A careless smile spread across his face. “But enough on that – what’ll you have? A fine lady like you deserves better, ma’am, no disrespect meant. Our fine establishment here does its best, but the Keep has better.”

I turned my face to him and watched as he let out an involuntary shudder at the sight of my reddened eyes, sweaty countenance, and dripping hem. His eye had been for the cut and fabric of my robe, not for me, and he was very mistaken if he thought I was going to accept his groveling on a night such as the one in question. “Let us make a bargain, barkeep. If you agree not to lick my soaking, aching feet any more than you already have tonight, you may serve me the most expensive shot in your arsenal and I will pay my tab without complaint. Are we agreed?”

He let out a full-bellied laugh in response, his eyes the merriest thing in the entire world against the tragedies laid bare in his establishment. “Pardon me, lady. No licking tonight, I assure you. If you want to be treated like the lowest tavern scum I’d be glad to do that for you too. Anything you ask.” He turned to fill my unusual request, adding, “Besides, with His Majesty here who needs one more high-born to please?”

At first my mouth went dry – the boy Wrynn, in this place of all places on this night of all nights? What could a child king want from a tavern rumored by most to be damned? However, as the bartender made his way back to his station, my wandering gaze settled on another man in the tavern that seemed to fit the bill of nobility. His robe and cloak were of fine and powerful makes, and the adornments he wore on his neck and fingers heightened the sense of command he seemed to carry even from my seat behind him. He stood before a small fireplace in the rear of the tavern, his broad shoulders making a proud and dark line against the flickering flames. His dark hair lay unkempt and careless past his shoulders, blocking his face from view.

The other remarkable things I could discern were the markings that had been branded up the length of his bared arms in black ink. The strange designs were ones I had indeed seen in my learning from her, damn her intelligence and wisdom to the darkest reaches of the Twisting Nether! Those designs would have raised any eyebrow in the world in any other place but this one, where nothing seemed to matter but sorrow, money and the reigning rot-gut. Demonic etchings were something you showed to no company but your own if you expected to survive the night.

With feigned disinterest I studied him out of a need to stare at something other than my own table or my own person. As time passed, I realized he was making small but graceful gestures with his overlarge hands as the shadows from his signing swept across the floor. The bartender approached my table, left the drink I requested and returned again to his bar without interruption as I watched the strange and powerful figure, trying to ascertain the nature of the grand pattern his hands wove. My sister would have known what he was attempting to do; her infernal knowledge of everything had seemed to reach to impossible lengths! If she’d just had the time to teach me before she had gone and gotten herself murdered…

My fist came down hard on the table to halt my wandering memories at the same moment his signing ceased. He whirled around to locate the source of the noise that split the silence, and in that same moment my gaze locked dead with the result of his unintelligible designs – a glowing and twisted entity at his feet that reached up to the middle of his calves. The warped thing babbled in a language I couldn’t fathom, tugging at its master’s robe and pointing in my general direction with a ferocity that excited my sense of survival; if a fight was going to break out I had no time for such pleasantries – drowning my sorrows was far preferable.

It occurred to me that running might have proven foolish anyway against this foe, for now it was obvious the nature of his power and signage. He was a Warlock, the bane of humankind and the unwelcome no matter where he followed or led; and the creature at his feet was nothing more than a summoned demon from the depths of the netherworld. I began to question where I had fled on this night of all nights; what civilized place would allow a demon summoning in public? Yet sure enough, the bartender studied his dishes with a clear deliberation, and the other patrons were too drunk to even notice the glowing menace as anything more than the result of excessive intoxication.

My gaze slid from the twisted being on the floor to its master’s face. His study of me was equal in depth to my own study of him, and he conducted it through tiny owlish eyes that seemed to glitter with a threatening fire. The lines on his darkened face were sharp and thin against the musculature of his body, and it seemed as if a smile had been too afraid to cross his wide lips since the day he was born. Cruelty and hatred were the mistresses of this man who commanded demons; and content he was to be seen in their company.

After enough time had passed that he determined I wasn’t going to attack or run for the authorities to report his actions, his alert stance faded into his previous proud one, and the beast at his feet ceased its pointing. Dusting his massive palms on the material of his well-made robe, he picked up his belongings and began to head in the direction of my table, creature in tow, his intent to discuss the unusual happenstances of our meeting written in every assured movement. Unable to leave in a fast enough fashion to escape him, I lifted the forgotten drink on my table to my lips. Sociability on this night with such a questionable pair would require the aid of a good drink.

He reached my table and pulled back a chair, not stopping to ask if he was welcome. In one deliberate movement he swung the chair around and sat backwards in it, his robe forced to bare his legs which were swathed in a pair of comfortable pants beneath his robe. The demon next to him filled the silence with chatters and cackles, switching between staring at me with its beady eyes and checking on its master to assure itself that no orders had been given during its preoccupation with me. The Warlock’s gaze again sought mine, and the barest hint of a smile crossed his cruel lips when he found it. “I am Mardux Oros – should you choose to forget that name I would not blame you. In fact I’d recommend it – and I will be glad to do the same for you once this night is over. I assume you too would prefer to forget you were ever here, milady.”
The inflection of his voice said that he knew my lineage was good, despite the current state of my being. It was also obvious that he intended to have my name, at least for the purposes of this conversation. He was a master at commanding, and I was in no mood to lead.

“I don’t know who you are, of course, since I just forgot – but the name’s Maleva. Maleva Greymourne. Charmed I’m sure.”

The smile on his face widened just a hair. “We understand each other then. Good. Greymourne you say? What’s a good little girl like you doing in a place like this so late at night? Bad things happen here, or so I’m told.” The demon cackled at his feet, and he laughed in response, a low soft chuckle that sent shivers down my spine. “You might just see something you aren’t supposed to, and then where would we be?”

“Dead I suppose. Though the one everyone would miss is already six feet under. They’d just hold a quiet service for me, if even that.” I took a long drink from the glass at my table. “You dabble in the netherworld I see; guaranteed I’d run into you or her after a time, and we all know that’s the last thing I’d want.”

Again that low chuckle resonated in his throat. “What an impressive temper. As with most who suffer from an unhealthy dose of ignorance, loss has made you bitter.”

I set my glass down a bit harder than I expected to. “And you have the right to question my intellect and behavior why? I should think I’m the one that ought to be questioning why you have any business with me. I thought people like you had bigger and so-called better goals at hand than mouthing off to some high-born who’s worth less than this drink and cares even less than that. If I was going to turn you in I’d have done it already, so why are you still here?”

“You’re a powerful woman, milady Greymourne; I can tell you that much by looking at you. You may look like a drowned kitten dragged from the well right now, but I sense there’s more to it than that. If we got you cleaned up you might even be pretty. I can see the threat of a powerful and beautiful woman; I’m no fool.”

The glass creaked as my hand closed tighter around it. “Look, if you’re just going to make advances, I’ll do the leaving instead. I already got that from the drunken fellow over there.” I gestured toward the drunk, who had fallen asleep in a puddle of outpoured rot-gut with a blissful smile on his face. “No doubt he’s dreaming about what I didn’t give him as we speak.” Oros laughed again, amusement open on his face, and I shook my head, tired of the direction the conversation was moving. “I might have been powerful someday. Now I’m just a failure, and I’ll never be anything more than that with my teacher dead and buried. The family agreed to pay to have her taught, not me. I’m just the one left behind. If you want to kill me there’s nothing stopping you.”

All traces of sarcasm and mirth vanished in an instant from his angular face and haunting eyes as I spoke. “You haven’t reached your true potential yet. Few mages do.” His demon chattered again, and he glared at it in order to gain a measure of silence, which he received after a short bout of grumbling from the creature. “You’re half trained, which makes you even more powerful – and dangerous. You know just enough to get yourself in trouble, my drowned kitten. What if I could teach you how to harness your power combined with all that anger you have locked away and become stronger than you ever could before?”

“No thanks. I’d rather just die if you can manage it.” I finished my drink and saluted him with the empty glass. “The reason I learned this much was because she thought I could. And then instead of remembering that, she went and left me.” Despite my best attempts at hiding them, tears came unbidden to my eyes, much as they always did when I was forced to remember her and her abrupt death. “She didn’t care about me or my power, so why should you? I don’t even know you! For all I know you could train me and then kill me so you’ll just have twice the power for yourself!” I didn’t know much about Warlocks; my sister’s training had never strayed into the forbidden out of a fear of exposure, and my overwrought emotions and anger were bringing forth accusations that made at best marginal sense. “Get lost, Oros. Please just get lost. All I want is to be left alone for one damned night in a thousand and you’ve already ruined that.”

When I looked up at him his eyes were blazing again, almost compelling me to look into their depths. Unable to look away from the fury and the power I felt resonating from his gaze, I met him stare for stare in an attempt to challenge his unnatural hold over me. If it were magic he used to attain my undivided attention, he would soon learn the error of his ways! As the mental challenge lay between us, however, I began to realize that the power he held over me was no magic; it sprang from a far more basic and natural grounding. Since my birth I had learned how little control over my life I held in my own hands, and the realization had come to gall me since my first suspicion of it. The man before me radiated power and control – be he demon or man, it was clear to me that Mardux Oros would never suffer such a failing of command with regard to his own path in life. He made life the way he wanted it, and didn’t care what others thought of him for doing so.

The darkest part was that through it all, he’d found a place where he was accepted. Here in this tavern, this strange place where demons could be summoned and no one looked up; he was at home and chose his own destiny. Me? I was here for the rot-gut. I was no better than the drunken man, sound asleep in his spillage, looking for solace at the bottom of a tankard. Reviled by these allegations inside my own head, I attempted to rise from the table and exit the Lamb, but one of Oros’ overlarge hands shot out and wrapped itself around my wrist, halting my flight. His grip was so tight that it hurt; in a sudden flare of anger I brought my other hand around to hit him with every ounce of strength I possessed in my tired and soul-weary body for trying to impede my freedom, but he was ready for that too and caught my other wrist mid-strike. It seemed he knew more about physical fighting than a noble-bred brat as well as how to live his own life, which just added insult to injury.

“Listen to me, you damned noble she-devil, and you listen well,” he snarled, thrusting his face so close to mine that I could smell the remnants of his own drink intermingled with the scent of his breath. For a stunning heartbeat I recognized true and undeniable fear in my own heart born from the anger in his voice, and I wondered if my demand to die had once and for all earned me my deepest and most selfish wish. “Power requires sacrifice, that’s the way of life. To gain, you must give up something that’s dear to you. But in my line of work, there are no sacrifices that you don’t order!” I tried to twist my wrists free of his mighty grasp, but Oros was not about to release me from his rage so soon.

“I’m telling you that what happened to your sister will happen to you if you continue the path you’re on, learning her skills in her place like the good little girl you are. Your power will burn you out in the end, fighting an enemy you don’t even understand! If you do nothing, as you’re trying to convince me is best, and go to die a quiet death, you’ll have no power at all! What good is that to you? You don’t want that life; you’re too strong and too proud for that. You want the power to command yourself, don’t you? You hate me right now for holding you here when all you want to do is run away; don’t even try to deny me! Every time you run away, that desire to control, to create order, to demand the attention you deserve, goes unchecked. You can’t get what you want by dying, my kitten. That won’t help anyone. If I thought it would, I’d put you out of the pathetic fit you call misery right now – I don’t have to sit here and listen to you whine. I’d just rather not lose a gifted and talented soul with such underlying potential to the useless power that is Death. I can give you the control you want, if you’re willing to command it instead of sitting here telling me you’d rather die!”

He thrust me away from him, and I fell back into my seat with a crash, my back aching from the impact. Whatever gentleness Oros displayed in his summoning, he had none of in his normal dealings! He returned to his own seat, breathing hard and resting his head in his hands, attempting to gain some measure of control over himself. Over his bowed frame I glimpsed the furious sight of the barkeep, his muscles taut and his face like a thundercloud; it was clear that the man intended to intervene in this disturbance within his establishment, and I doubted my ability to tolerate another unwelcome savior.

Meeting his gaze, I made every effort to shake my head in an unobtrusive manner, hoping to avoid Oros’ realization of the barkeep’s involvement in our situation; something in my mind whispered that he wouldn’t be able to control himself a second time should he aim his fury at a simple barkeep. The man frowned, chivalry and wisdom at war behind his eyes; at last he sighed, perching once again on his barstool. I didn’t need the ability to read minds to know what he was thinking. High-born nobles and their games; it seems blue blood must come from the lack of oxygen in their brains!

When Oros could again lift his gaze to mine, the rest of his violent anger dissipated at the sight of my face, which had gone white at the thought of my own sudden demise by so great a power as the one he commanded. “I’m sorry; I don’t control my temper very well. People like us just need power to survive. Without it, we die, and what good are we then? I’d rather know that I could help someone of your power survive to make use of it. If not for this power I’d be where you are now. You’re not as alone as you think you are.” In an acid tone he added, “And it looks like you don’t want to die after all. If you did you wouldn’t be shaking right now.”

I shifted my gaze to my hands and, reluctant, came to the realization that he was right. I was shaking like the noble-born weakling that I was in truth. Whether my reaction stemmed from the depths of the dark majesty and power that resonated inside him, or from the complexity of the sudden imperilment of my life despite my original wishes to die, I couldn’t be certain – but he was right. He was right about a lot of things; there was no sense in denying it further. The desire to control my own destiny and the destinies of those around me was compelling to say the least. All my life I’d been a puppet for someone else; for my parents first, and then for the court, and last of all for my sister, though her love and teaching gave me a reason to live. What had I to lose by accepting the power to control, if indeed it gave me the freedom that Mardux Oros had? I looked down at Oros’ demon, who had managed to remain silent throughout his master’s outburst. It watched me back, a twinkle in its eye. It was obeying its master – why shouldn’t his claims be true, then? What had I to lose if they weren’t?

Taking a deep breath to compose myself, I clenched my hands into fists to steady them against the shaking. “You realize that if anyone finds out I’m doing this, you’re a dead man and I’m off to the asylum.”

He smiled again, and it was a cruel smile more than one of mirth. “Rest assured, my kitten – I will never be a dead man, even if someone does find out about us. With this power I can stop all those who challenge me, and make them beg for my mercy. I will be doing the killing – make no mistake on that. I control who lives and who dies, not them.” He stood up and I stood with him, and he offered me a hand that seemed too gentle for the violence spent just moments before. “Come now, my kitten, my lady…let us go to your first teaching.”

For the first time since my sister’s death, I had come home, even if home had become a stranger in a strange land determined to open my eyes to the world just beyond and beneath my own.