Pure of Heart

Chapter 4



The trolls hadn't tried very hard to cover up their tracks, so he was sure he was still following them. How they moved so quickly puzzled him immensely. Yes he had lost time at the outpost, but he was sure to be moving faster than they were. In any event, he had to stop. His horse needed rest, and so did Calyn. Although she didn't say anything, he could sense that she was dozing and starting awake again.



Meleager saw a cluster of buildings nearby and saw it was a hunting lodge. He approached carefully, waiting to see if they were friendly. A lot of them weren't. Some were with the Horde and others, he had heard, were populated by werewolves. He didn't sense any danger though, and the alliance flag let him know that he could rest here.



“We got no room in the main building I'm afraid,” the head man told him, “but there's a loft in the stables you can sleep in. Its pretty comfortable”



“That will be most excellent,” Meleager answered with a nod and a smile, and he headed off to the stable.



It was warm enough certainly, and would be sufficient for a night. Calyn slid off the horse as soon as he had stopped and climbed up the ladder to the loft. When Meleager finished stabling his horse he started up after her, but a voice from behind stopped him.



The head man was there, with two bowls of soup.



“We always have extra, and I figure you'll need a good meal.”



Meleager thanked him again, and then climbed up the ladder carefully. When he reached the loft, he saw she was wrapped in her cloak and drifting off to sleep. The smell of the soup roused her though, and she opened an eye and smiled.



“Smells good,” she said sleepily, “like what my mother made.” She looked sad at the thought, and ate her meal in silence.



He watched her eat, concerned. She must be exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and really should not be with him. He again entertained the thought of leaving her in the hands of these people, but it evaporated when licked some soup off the side of her mouth. She would find a way to follow him, he decided. Best he kept an eye on her.



They finished up and he left to clean the dishes and return them to their owner. The head man was outside, smoking a pipe. He gave the paladin a friendly nod and they spoke briefly about the area, the weather and recent events.



“The trolls yer looking for moved passed us without us really seeing them. We could hear'em though,” he shuddered, “or rather their captives. We lay low and hoped they wouldn't bother us. Cowardly I know but,” he shrugged.



Meleager smiled reassuringly at him, “Do not think on it, these trolls are well armed and capable of great acts of barbarity. Better to let those used to fighting to deal with them.”

The older man nodded, “We thought that's what those Forsaken were doing around here, but they haven't moved,” he pointed to the west, “they've been camped there for a few days. Haven't really bothered us, but I'll feel better when they move on.”



Meleager looked out and could just make out a camp fire. He wasn't particularly fond of the Forsaken, they were after all, undead creatures, but they were also fighting against the Scourge. After the events at the Wrathgate though, many in the alliance felt that they were out to get everyone, and should be dealt with . Meleager wasn't so sure. After all, many of them had been driven out of the Undercity until the rogue Apothecary and Demon were slain. Still, he didn't trust them, but if they hadn't bothered the civilians, he could live with them nearby.



He bade good night to the head man and went back to the stable. Calyn had fallen back asleep, and he carefully removed his armor to not wake her. He then wrapped himself in his own cloak and fell asleep.







It was deep night when a sound awoke him. The first thing he noticed was the cold, which was bearable in the stable, but he knew it must be absolutely icy outside. He kept perfectly still, straining to hear what had woken him. It was dead quiet outside, even the wildlife was silent. Then he heard teeth chattering and realized that Calyn was cold and that must have been what woke him.



He rolled over and could see in the gloom her outline shivering slightly. Small whimpers were escaping her throat, and he thought that maybe she was having a nightmare as well. Quietly he crawled towards her and put a hand on her shoulder. She was definitely cold, and having a bad dream. He could hear her whimpering and breathing hard.



Gently, he shook her, whispering her name. She stirred slightly but did not wake. He tried again, shaking a little more firmly. She opened her eyes and looked around her slightly panicked, until she saw him looking down at her.



She threw her arms around him with a sob and cried into his chest while he hugged her close.



“I dreamed...I was back at the camp...”



He shushed her gently while stroking her hair affectionately. He could feel the stirring within him, and made himself ignore it. It was true that he desired her, but it would be wrong to act on it while she was in such a state. He instead wrapped both their cloaks around them, so they could be as warm as possible, and comforted her until her sobs ceased.



For a few long moments, he thought she had drifted back off into sleep, but then he felt her hands moving up his neck and through his hair. She lifted her face up to his and kissed him fully on the lips. He didn't resist, and any thoughts of resistance or leaving her behind were not present. He pressed her close to him, taking in her smell and the feel of her skin on his. His hands wandered up and down her back.



She was making small moans against his mouth, while his tongue ran along hers and into her mouth, feeling the warmth inside. One of her hands moved to his chest and then under his arm to his back. She lifted her upper leg and wrapped it around his, pushing her body closer to his. He was aware of his own arousal, and knew she must be aware of it too. Her moans became more insistent as she tugged on him, wanting him on top of her.



He obliged and rolled onto her, much to her satisfaction, judging by the way she opened her legs to him. She raised her hips to his as her hands when under his shirt. Her cold hands on his back made him gasp sharply, but he found the sensation pleasurable.



He kissed her neck and collarbone, while his arms snaked under her, raising her up to him. His own hips were grinding against hers, his erection pressing into her even through their clothes. She gasped and moaned into his ear, her own arousal evident.



“Please,” she whispered, “please make love to me.”



He was ready, and willing. He thought of nothing else but her body, about being inside of her, about her breasts, her lips and the parts he had yet to see. There was nothing to stop him from making love to her all night.



Nothing except the scream anyways.



It was ear splitting in the heavy darkness of the night. A woman, just outside.



Meleager jumped up and grabbed his sword, telling Calyn to stay as he rushed outside. The cold shocked him, especially after being so warm a moment ago. He ignored it and took in the scene outside. Several people were coming outside, also having been roused from their sleep. There was an older woman on the edge of the encampment screaming, and Meleager ran to her.



She was standing over the body of the head man, who had a dagger in his throat, his pipe laying by his side. Meleager knelt next to him to see if he could be saved, but as soon as he touched him he knew it was far too late. He had been dead awhile, his skin was even icier than the air, and his limbs rigid and unmoving.



The hysterical woman was taken inside and some of the men went back into the lodging to get their clothes on so they could search for the murderer, thinking it had just happened. A few stayed behind, waiting for Meleager to share his thoughts.



“He's been dead awhile, probably around dusk.” He realized with a start that he had been talking to the dead man himself, probably minutes before he died.



“His wife was saying he hadn't come to bed, and she went looking for him,” a pale young man said.



Meleager nodded and looked at the dagger that was lodged in the dead man's throat. He wasn't an expert on crime scenes, but he could take a few guesses based on what he was looking at. The old man hadn't tried to run, so he probably either knew who was attacking him, or hadn't seen him. The dagger looked familiar, and a nervous feeling in his stomach was beginning to stir, suggesting that he should be worried.



There was a sudden commotion on the other side of the camp, and several men were shouting over the sounds of a fight. Meleager ran over to see that a few of the men who had been looking around had happened upon one of the Forsaken nearby. The undead was trying to fight them off, but wasn't having much luck with so many men on him. They were trying to kill him, Meleager realized, and he rushed in to put a stop to it.



He pulled two of the men off and shouted at the others to stand down. They backed away, surprised, and scowled at him in anger.



“It killed our head man!” one of them shouted, and the others joined in.



“We don't know that!” Meleager answered. The Forsaken was standing behind him, and he found he was repulsed by it being so near. But if it was innocent, he wouldn't let it get torn apart.



“It was skulking around! Just as we found the body! What more proof do you need?!”



“Your head man was killed hours ago, he's already cold and stiff. The killer wouldn't be hanging around all that time.” Meleager kept his voice even and calm. Reason had to win out here, shouting wasn't going to get him anywhere.



There was a murmur among the men about this fact.



“Then what was it doing here?!” one of them demanded angrily.



“Following an intruder in our camp,” a gravelly voice answered from behind him. Meleager turned and looked at the Forsaken, who was wiping the blood from his face with his bony fingers. He could make out how loose the flesh was on his skull, and how the scalp was detached in several places. His jaw was exposed and when he talked, Meleager could make out the movement of the muscles. It was not a pretty sight, and he had to admit, he did look like a monster who should be put down.



“I was on watch, and saw a shadowy figure outside our camp, I was following it when this all started.”



Meleager then saw that it had two dagger sheaths and both daggers. The designs on his were different from the one that killed the head man. Suddenly Meleager remembered where he had seen it before. He held it up for the men to inspect and said, “This is the kind of dagger the Trolls of Zul'Drak use. There's a large group of them heading north even now. This morning one of them caused a fire at an outpost south of here.”



He let it sink in before adding, “The Forsaken didn't kill your head man.”



Most of the men look deflated, while a few looked at him with anger. They had wanted to kill the Forsaken regardless of the truth, and were angry to be so denied. After a few moments, they left to tend to the dead man and his wife.



Meleager turned to the Forsaken and said, “you and yours may want to leave here, tonight if possible.”



He nodded, and then regarded him with curiosity. Meleager tried to look into his eyes, but he could tell that they were somewhat detached from the body and moved in a decidely unnatural manner.



“Thank you,” the Forsaken said, before disappearing into the night.



Meleager heaved a tired sigh, and realized how cold he was. He hastily headed back to the stable and saw that Calyn was standing at the door, wrapped in her cloak, waiting for him. He gently touched her elbow and ushered her inside and back into the loft.



“We'll have to leave as soon as dawn comes,” he whispered and she nodded.



They lay down together in their former space, wrapped in each others arms and cloaks. Calyn kissed him before curling up in his arms, and drifting off into sleep. Meleager didn't sleep the rest of the night. It wasn't just because of his concern about the angry men, but also with the growing idea that there was a troll out there who seemed to be following him, watching him. For what, Meleager wasn't sure, but he had an nervous ache in his gut about it.









As dawn approached, the Commander of the burnt out outpost was watching the road nervously. Surely the fort would've been able to send help by now right? But there was no sign, not even of the messengers she had sent out. She had a bad, bad feeling about this.



The sun was rising over the frozen land when she heard the sounds of an approaching group, large one too. She breathed a sigh of relief before a worrying thought occurred to her. It was coming from the wrong direction. She went out to the road and looked around, trying to see who was coming.



They turned a bend in the road, and she could see the red flag of the Horde over the dozen orc warriors on wolves. She was apprehensive, but not as worried. Even though things were tense, it was doubtful that they would be attacked. She moved off the road and waited to see if they would pass or stop.



They rode up to where she was standing and stopped, their leader looking down at her through his helmet. She swallowed hard, and tried desperately to not look scared.



“Good morning,” she said, “ah, can I help you?”



There was an awkward silence, and she found she was getting nervous. What did they want?

She became aware of people coming out of the unburned buildings behind her, curiously looking out to see what was happening.



“Um, as you can see, we had a fire, so um, if you're looking for food or whatever, we don't really have anything to give you, and ah...”



Still nothing. She was really getting annoyed.



“Dammit-” was all she could get out before she felt a sharp pain and a sickening crack in her head. She fell to the ground, her ears ringing insanely. She could see people panicking around her as the orcs rode into the remains of the outpost, bellowing with enraged bloodlust.



The screaming dulled into a soft hum, as her vision became blurred with a white light...and then nothing.