Ascent into Empyrean

"I can't believe we walked right past him. Maybe he's related to one of those primitive kaldorei."

"Unlikely, mistress. More likely he's just a sneak thief."

Voices faded and swelled, their meanings lost and then found again as Lathan slowly surfaced. Nausea churned in his gut and his head throbbed.

"Well, either way he's never going to raise the reserve that Vassen put on him."

Valessan and Kaggol, Lathan recognised their voices. So much for his escape attempt.

"No more than fifty, mistress, and that being optimistic with the markets in their current state. And with my retrieval fee to add."

"Well thanks, it's not like I was losing enough on the deal already. Argh! Who would've thought one small ugly elf would be so much trouble."

"Pity he's not younger. There's places down the Drag'll pay good money for younglings."

Like the vultures that'd descended on Eversong after the war with handfuls of sweets and empty promises. Lathan shuddered; he'd been too old even then but Sassi had drawn more than a few interested eyes.

"At this point I'd offer him up on the street myself if it made a few silvers – Oh, put them over there, Blot. And wake him up."

Still only half conscious, Lathan suspected nothing until he was yanked from the ground and tossed into freezing water. He thrashed, panicking, not able to breathe, but to no effect. He couldn't move, couldn't surface. His hands found flesh clamped to his shirt and he shoved at it with all his might, knowing this was what was holding him under. It might as well have been stone for all the impression he made, and just as his lungs failed him, just as he tried to take that last watery breath, he was hauled skyward, choking and heaving into the air. And to the sound of Valessan and Kaggol laughing uproariously.

He had time to drag in one desperate breath before he was plunged under again. This time he kicked out, catching Blot – it had to be Blot holding him – and feeling the beast flinch before his legs were grabbed and pulled together in one meaty paw. Held at neck and knees, immobilised with no chance of escape, the fight went out of him. Opening his eyes, he stared up through the water, just able to make out Blot's huge figure against the cloudless blue of the sky, and for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few days, he waited to die.

In a strange way, he was almost glad. It would be a relief to be able to stop fighting. Sometimes it felt like that was all he'd been doing his entire life. Fighting to survive the Scourge and then the terrible withdrawal after the Sunwell was destroyed. And later, fighting to keep food on the table and Sassi out of the hands of those with an unhealthy interest in her.

But you failed, didn't you. Failed her and let her die, and now you want to escape like the coward you are. Death is too good for you.

No! Surely, surely he had suffered enough?

Apparently not. At the last moment, as his life was starting to fade, Lathan was dragged from the water and this time dumped on the ground.

"'Gain, mistress?"

"No, Blot, I think he's learnt his lesson. And point him the other way, for goodness sake!"

Water streamed from Lathan's mouth and nose as he coughed and spewed, spitting up what he could and swallowing more. Despite the hot sun, he was shivering, his shirt and pants clinging cold and wet to his body. Finally, when it seemed like there was nothing left to come up, he swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and shoved feebly at the strings of hair plastered to his face.

Not that he was given long to recover.

"Now he looks like a drowned rat instead of just a rat. Honestly, Kaggol, I am at my wit's end as to what to do with him."

"The dark iron's might pay a bit. Get through bodies they do and always in the market for more. Could ask around. For a fee, o'course."

"Of course. Do what you can then." Lathan heard the rustle of Valessan's robes as she moved. "I'll leave him here with you. Blot, do put those on properly before he decides to run again."

Before Lathan could react, Blot grabbed his feet, tugging hard enough to send Lathan sprawling. He kicked out, but Blot had the drop on him, snapping shackles, like the ones already on his wrists, round first one and then the other ankle. Then he hitched the chain between them to the one between Lathan's hands. Finally he picked up a metal collar and waved it in Lathan's face. "No run with collar on."

"No run at all, if he knows what's good for him," Kaggol added. "I'll not be so careful with me club next time." He gestured to a nearby collection of wagons and boxes with straw between them. "Hitch him to the wheel, Blot, and dig out a scrap of bread and cheese since the mistress'll be paying."

"O-kay, boss."

"Right, there's ledgers and accounts to be seen to, so I'll see you in the morning. A fresh day ripe for fresh profit." Kaggol chortled, rubbing his hands together as he strutted off.

Lathan closed his eyes as the collar clicked shut around his neck. Though much quieter than a cell door, the sound felt infinitely more final.


*

Over the next two days Lathan discovered something very important about Orgrimmar - daytime temperatures meant nothing. As a child, he'd slept out under the stars with only a blanket between himself and the elements, and thus hadn't been terribly worried at the prospect of doing so again. Unfortunately nights in eternally autumnal Eversong were distinctly balmy when compared to Orgrimmar. How a city, which spent its daylight hours baking under an unrelenting sun, could become such a freezing hellhole at night was impossible for Lathan to comprehend.

Shivering under a pile of straw – the closest he'd come to a blanket since neither Blot nor Kaggol seemed to think he needed one – Lathan wished he had more control over his meagre supply of magic. He could warm himself up, maybe. Cast a small light, or do something to make the bread he clutched in his hand, edible. The remains of the half loaf he'd been given was stale enough to mistake for a rock but he forced it down anyway since he'd been left in no doubt that this was all he was getting. Apparently Kaggol was having no luck shifting his 'unwanted merchandise' and had decided to forego any further expense, like proper food.

A dry crumb caught in Lathan's throat. He coughed, curling an arm protectively round his ribs at the movement. That was the other thing. What had started as a dull ache in his chest the first night was ramping up and now even breathing normally was becoming a problem. The shivers came and went, and sweat prickled his brow and wet the back of his shirt. The cough started up again and this time didn't stop. Pressure built in his head until it felt as though the top would explode and still he kept coughing. Not able to breathe, he rolled onto hands and knees, head hanging and one fist thumping on the ground in frustration as he fought to inhale. When it came, it came with a whoop of air rushing in, making him see stars, and cough again and again. The cycle continued, choke then gasp, choke then gasp, but slowing, calming, until he almost had a handle on it.

*Smack* between his shoulder blades.

He hit the dust nose-first to the sound of Blot yelling, "Blot fix! Unstick lump!"

"Argh! Stop hitting me you great idiot," he gasped. "I'm sick, not choking on something." There he'd admitted it. He was sick, for the first time in his life in a way that didn't involve magic, and he was terrified. The only sick people he remembered were those who got the Scourge plague. Though this was probably more due to being half-drowned than any plot by the Lich King.

"Sick?" A huge face with squinty eyes and bulbous nose appeared in Lathan's field of vision. "Why elf sick?"

"Because elf got held under that hell-fired water until he nearly drowned, you imbecile." If he could have, he would have shouted. As it was, the chastisement came out as a croaked half-whisper.

"Blot's fault elf sick?"

He looked kind of sad, but Lathan wasn't in the mood to mollycoddle. "Yes, it's Blot's fault and Blot'd better do something about it before elf dies and Kaggol puts Blot up for auction instead." Blot looked stricken and vanished quickly enough to make Lathan's throbbing head spin. He rolled over, tugged his chains free and rested an arm over his closed eyes, willing the world to stop spinning. It was so unfair. All of it was so unfair.

No, it's not. You deserve all of this. Your greed, your inability to manage your addiction was what killed her. Anything that happens to you is true and just punishment.

He might have passed out, he might have actually slept, but whichever it was, it felt like only moments later that he heard Blot saying, "Here. Here. This way. Hurry."

"I's hurryin', mon. Keep yoh hair on. Heh, not that you's got any."

Lathan cracked his eyes open and peered into the darkness. It'd sounded like a troll, but he couldn't see one. Then light flared. He blinked, and immediately flinched away from the face pushing into his - yellow cat-slitted eyes, garishly tattooed and glittering with malice, mossy skin and a smirk framed by huge curling tusks.

'Forest troll!' Lathan's brain blared as it leaned closer and sniffed at his neck. Ancient enemies of the sin'dorei.

"It got de coughing sickness," the troll said, pretty redundantly as far as Lathan was concerned. Even an idiot could tell that.

About to point this out, he took a breath and that was all it took to start him off again. As the spasms shook him, Lathan rolled onto his side holding his ribs and pushing his face into the dirt, not wanting them to see the tears that filled his eyes.

Thankfully, the worst of it soon passed, leaving him wrung out and shaking. He shuddered as something hard and bony brushed against his cheek. The troll's stave, topped by a skeletal hand clasping a sickly yellow crystal. Something flickered deep inside it, something that seemed familiar, that tugged on Lathan's mind. He peered closer trying to see. It was… it was… something wonderful, something terrible… something…

The world dropped away leaving him floating, at peace for the first time in so many many days. Cushioned in warmth, he drifted, oblivious to everything until a stab of pain like he'd never felt before shafted into his chest.

He screamed, trying to arch away from it only to find hands holding him down. Gurgling in agony, he stared at the bone handle sticking out of his body, momentarily unable to grasp what he was seeing.

He'd been stabbed. The troll had stabbed him. That damnable beast had bewitched him and then stabbed him in the chest! Fingers dancing near the haft, he gazed up at the troll's face.

"Like me toy, do ya?" the troll chortled, flicking Lathan's hand away and wriggling the knife free with a revolting sucking sound.

Somewhere in the background, Blot was panicking, yelling something about fixing the elf not killing it. Lathan couldn't agree more.

The troll had other ideas. "Eh, stop yo frettin', woman," it said. "I 'ad to make a hole to let da bad stuff out." It winked at Lathan and ran its tongue up the bloody blade.

Lathan took one look and retched, partly from revulsion and partly from pain. The troll didn't stop him from moving. In fact it helped him roll over and while he was turned, grabbed his shirt and tore it up the seam. Lathan tried grabbing at the parts to pull them back together, but with a hole in his chest, his arm wouldn't move properly.

"Please," he gasped and heard the troll laugh again. Then something cool and soft brushed across his ribs, something cool and soft and wet, which closed over the hole and began to suckle. The troll's mouth, he realised, skin crawling at the touch. It was sucking his blood, like those vampiric bats in Ghostlands. And it hurt. By the desecrated and decimated Sunwell, it hurt so very much.

Panting in agony, Lathan squirmed, unable to get away from either the troll or the sensation. But slowly, somehow, the revolting drawing feeling began to outweigh the pain and through them both, Lathan felt tendrils of healing power tracing over and through him. The troll was a healer. Of course the troll was a healer, why else would Blot have brought him when Lathan was sick? And what did Lathan know about the way trolls healed each other anyway. Maybe sticking in knives and sucking blood were all part of how they did things. And maybe he'd misjudged and wrongly accused and maybe he hadn't seen malice in the troll's eyes or heard it in his laugh.

And maybe, just maybe, he wasn't going to die.