Ascent into Empyrean

Waking up was no pipe dream. Head pounding, Lathan groaned and pressed hands over his aching eyes. Chains at his wrists clunked against each other, and he froze. Chains? No! It'd been ages since they'd been taken off. He opened his eyes, franticly grabbing at his wrists - manacles – and neck, collared again. Feet? The same.

"Blot!" he bellowed, struggling up. It had to be the ogre. Unless it was Kaggol. Had the goblin come to get him back? Had he finally found someone willing to pay the seventy gold he wanted?

Blot appeared from the darkness, his lumbering gait as recognisable as the mumbled running commentary. "Blot need gold. Blot get gold. Blot go home."

Oh that did not sound good. Already feeling nervous, Lathan's worry ratcheted up when Blot tugged him to his feet and started off down the hill. Having no idea where they actually were, and being on the end of the chain, Lathan had little choice but to follow, but he refused to do it silently. "Damn it, Blot, it's the middle of the night! This couldn't wait? And why the chains? I told you I wouldn't run. Come on, Blot, I thought you were my friend."

He nearly got hauled off his feet for his pains. "You come! No argue!" The ogre's face was set in a scowl and, given that he'd already been knocked out once, Lathan decided that right now discretion might just be the better part of valour.

They walked for what felt like miles, though most probably wasn't. Given little choice in the matter, Lathan stumbled along behind. It was a struggle to keep up. His head was throbbing and when he prodded his face, he could feel a bruise forming that stretched from brow to chin.

A strange rushing noise rose above the other night sounds, which after a while, Lathan realised was the river – the huge one that ran alongside Orgrimmar. That gave him some clue as to where they were at least and he gained some comfort from knowing Blot wasn't leading them straight out into the wilderness.

Somewhere ahead a light glimmered through the trees and, as they grew closer, it resolved into a bonfire, not unlike the ones at the company work camp. But rather than the silence of hardworking labourers sleeping, this one boasted harsh voices raised in song and laughter.

A really bad feeling uncurled in Lathan's belly.

"Eh, Blot, where're we going?"

Another sharp tug. "Blot make money from elf."

Oh crap. "How?"

No answer. The fire was close enough now for Lathan to see orcs and trolls, their faces bestial masks in the guttering light. As they came closer, the small crowd opened up and some called out in greeting.

"Hey, ogre!"

"Wha'choo got for us, man?"

A single twist of the arm and Lathan was spun round, dangling inches off the ground by his wrists and close enough to the fire to feel the heat of it.

"A leetle elf!"

"How much you want, Blot?"

"Twenny silver a go. An' no cheating!"

Hands reached out, grabbing at bits of him he never wanted grabbed. Lathan kicked at them, the movement making him swing in Blot's grasp. "Get off me!" he yelled.

"It's a boy."

"Hey, a hole's a hole, ya. Pass 'im over."

Cackles and hoots of laughter rang out around the fire and Lathan panicked. What he'd been doing of an evening with his friends was consensual and even pleasant. What this gang wanted was something different. Something he doubted he'd survive. And he probably wouldn't go prettily or well. In fact if this lot got their way, there was a good chance he'd die a screaming and bloody mess.

He lashed out with his feet again, this time aiming for Blot and specifically the ogre's loincloth-covered crotch. The first time he missed, but the second - bullseye! Blot bellowed in pain and promptly dropped the chain. Lathan managed to land on his feet, tottered a few steps, almost toppled into the fire, and took off at a fast shuffle, fully intending to keep running forever.

Of course he was never going to be that lucky. He'd taken no more than ten steps when a massive arm grabbed him round the waist and swung him off his feet. Damn it all, this was getting annoying. It wasn't as if he was particularly small; loads of sin'dorei were shorter than he was, it was just that these other races were so stupidly huge.

"I said! Get! The Hell! Off ME!"

He hadn't intended any harm. Hadn't even attempted to cast a spell. Didn't even realise he had enough magic left in him to do it. But apparently he had and did. Pure magic exploded out of him, blasting everyone within a fifteen-yard radius. Laughter turn to howls of pain, somewhere close by someone screamed while another started chanting in a high-pitched panicked sort of a way.

Now freed from the arm that had been holding him, Lathan fled towards the black on black rocks that lined the edge of the river. Given the choice, he'd rather throw himself into its racing currents than face what was behind him.

The second attack, when it came, was magical rather than physical. One moment Lathan was shuffle-hopping along as fast as he could persuade his legs to go, and the next he was walking calmly back towards the fire with absolutely no control over his own body.

A figure loomed out of the gloom. "Elf," it whispered as he drew near. "Me feasted on your kind when the Lich King came. Hunted 'em as they ran, me did."

Even if he hadn't recognised the voice, he certainly did the stave. Glowing crystal, skeletal hand. Lathan stared at it, now realising it had five fingers, not a troll's three. And his mind conjured up images of fleeing refugees being picked off in the night and their remains used in foul rites. Or worse.

Like last time, the crystal flickered and, as he watched, grew slowly brighter until he could just make out the tiny figure of a sin'dorei female, translucent and hardly visible. Somehow she seemed to sense him and reached out to him, her mouth forming words that he hadn't a hope of understanding though he recognised them as pleas for help. He'd like to have answered her, helped her, but what could he do?

But she was beautiful and tiny and so like Sassi that he had to try. He reached towards her with his mind, wanting to touch, wanting to see. His fingers twitched.

The troll slammed his staff into the ground. The figure screamed, hands going to her head, her voice audible and terrible as flames sprang up around her writhing body. The troll grabbed Lathan's hair, hauling him towards the fire. "Remember dis. Elf make good strong mojo. You listen hard an' you listen good, else it be you in dere too."

In there? Lathan swallowed thickly. He didn't want to end up trapped in some troll's stave for all eternity.

XxxxxOO0OoxxxxX

As they got closer, Lathan suddenly realised exactly why he'd heard yelling when he'd fled. His spell, whatever it had been, had effectively blasted the bonfire apart, driving shards of burning wood into the group gathered around it. Most injuries seemed to have been minor, a bit of singed fur here and clothing ruined there, but over the far side of the fire an orc sat stoically while another carefully dripped something over the massive burn down the right side of his body.

Lathan stared at him, revolted and yet at the same time fascinated by the damage. Half the orc's beard and hair were gone and one eye glared blackly from a sea of crimson. The burn stretched down his neck and several deep scores, each one rimmed with blackened charred flesh, pitted his chest and shoulder. It looked awful and had to hurt terribly.

Lathan felt a pang of compassion until he remembered exactly what this gang had had in mind for him.

And now he was back in their grasp.

Panic broke through the final layers of the spell holding him and Lathan balked, the chains going tight as his feet refused to move and his heart leapt into his mouth.

Of course fighting back did no more than draw unwanted attention and when the injured orc saw Lathan, he roared, lurched to his feet, and charged. Apparently unfazed, the troll stepped forward, levelling his staff and putting his body between Lathan and incoming danger. Lathan stayed where he was, feeling like twenty types of coward but not daring to do more than hide behind his captor.

After a brief scuffle, order was restored and the burned orc reluctantly returned to his seat, shrugging off several restraining arms. His friend grunted something and the snarled reply went along with a smug sneer in Lathan's direction. A smug sneer that did nothing to ease Lathan's worry as to what lay in store for him.

He was still worrying when the bindings of the mind control spell settled around his body once again, initially immobilising him and then sending him trotting compliantly after the troll, out past the bonfire and towards one of several huts sitting behind it. The troll lifted the hide curtain across the doorway and ducked inside; Lathan followed, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the strange green tinged lighting. And then at the equally strange gathering that confronted him.

A huge table dominated the room, around which sat two male orcs, a female tauren and a Forsaken. Blot stood in front of them, swaying slightly, as another orc – this one female - appeared to be draining energy from him.

The tauren flicked a finger at the troll and Lathan found himself proceeding past the table and through another door into a tiny dark room. The door closed behind him, leaving Lathan alone and unable to do anything but breath and blink.

And listen, though there was precious little to hear except drunken singing from the gang outside.

"It's done," the female orc said eventually from the other room. "The memory's gone. He's ready for new ones."

A strange sound followed; an odd crackling and something which Lathan could have sworn was whimpering; then the troll saying, "Done. All he remember is the croc eatin' the elf."

"So we can proceed?" Another female voice. Had to be the tauren.

"It's good, 'cept," a mad cackle came from the troll, "Me better be fixing the elf 'fore you takes him, ya. 'Less you wants 'im exploding on the way."

Exploding? Fixing? Lathan cringed as the door opened but, still under the troll's control, had no choice but to walk out into the room.

There was no sign of Blot. Presumably he was on his way back to the Venture Company and Kaggol with the sad tale of Lathan's demise in the jaws of a crocolisk, leaving Lathan here to face what could turn out to be his very real demise at the hands of mad men.

"I can see why you chose him, Kel'jin," the tauren said. "There's something about him…"

The troll – Kel'jin – answered, "When me saw him, me knew, ya. All the others be shiny flutters but not this one."

"He is oddly plain for an elf."

Now able to see the speakers, Lathan realised that the tauren was far older than he'd first thought. Her black fur was almost entirely grey, her face gaunt and her arms withered. She looked only one step from the grave.

And speaking of the grave, the Forsaken chimed in with, "The plainer the better, for our purposes."

"As you so rightly say, Master Vottrel, as you so rightly say."

The Forsaken was male? Lathan squinted at it. He supposed it could be. He always had difficulties seeing past the rotting flesh and protruding bones.

And what 'purposes' were they alluding to, anyway. And why him? What were they up to?

The tauren spoke again. "Will you need anything to do this?"

"Nothin' but meself and bit of magic. You just be watchin', Elder Merga, watchin' and a-learnin'."

As the troll leaned in, Lathan tried to lean away. It didn't work, of course, but he felt he won back a smidgen of self-respect by even trying. Kel'jin's hand on his forehead felt obscene. Lathan shuddered, revolted by the cool spongy texture of the mossy skin, so alien to what he was used to.

Then the pain started. Searing agony behind his eyes, like his brain was burning from the inside out, and through it he could feel his magic being stolen away. It was like the magister in Silvermoon, but oh so much worse. Finally the pain broke through the binding spell and he screamed, dropping to his knees and gagging as he tried to breathe and for the longest time utterly and completely failed.

He hardly felt the pain stop, it was more a background awareness of a lack of it. In much the same way he only half heard the voices raised in argument around him. The tauren, Merga, was saying something about damaging him and Kel'jin was… Lathan flinched. Kel'jin was arguing that he had to continue if they didn't want him escaping halfway there – wherever 'there' was. If he could have, Lathan would have promised not to try and escape, if it meant avoiding more pain like that. And if it meant avoiding the deep shakes and nausea that went along with total magic withdrawal.

"If not that, then me gotta do summat else, ya," Kel'jin said. "He gotta be controlled somehow. Channels the power somet'ing ferocious, man, and now they got that all back, he gonna be absorbin' it all the damn time. A day or two and he gonna be blowing you's all up."

"Then do something else. He's no use to us a burned out husk!" Someone was getting annoyed. Lathan cheered them on – internally and silently, of course.

"Okay then."

Lathan sensed someone bending him over him and slitted open his eyes. It was Kel'jin, smirking round his tusks again. He'd enjoyed that, the sadistic bastard. He'd known exactly how much he was hurting Lathan and he'd enjoyed every moment of it. If Lathan could have, he would have punched the troll on his long pointed nose.

"So we tryin' summat different."

The troll reached into his robe and drew out a strange figurine about the size of a child's toy that looked to be made of moss and bark and mud. He grabbed Lathan's hand and brought it to his mouth.

"Hold still," he said, as if Lathan had any choice in the matter whatsoever, and bit down hard on Lathan's fingers.

Lathan yelled. Again. Damn it all, wasn't there an option that didn't hurt? He'd gladly promise to behave if they'd just ask.

"A little voodoo." Kel'jin squeezed Lathan's fingers, letting blood drip through them onto the doll. "One drop make it good. Two drop make it better. And three drop – three drop make you all mine."

True to his words, as the third drop of blood fell onto the doll, Lathan felt the bindings around him change. It felt as though someone had adjusted their hold on him, as one did on a knife or sword. Whereas before the hold was tight but casual, not built to last, this one was solid. It was lighter, but there was no escaping it. Forget casting spells, Lathan knew that without Kel'jin's explicit consent he'd not even be casting a fishing line.

Going by the expression on Kel'jin's face, he must have let that show in his eyes. The troll cackled wildly and thrust the doll up in the air. "Me done it! Me caught 'im. No one ever done an elf before!"

Wonderful, Lathan thought as he turned away and clutched his throbbing fingers to his chest, not only was he a disgrace to his family name, now he was an embarrassment to his entire race as well.

XxxxxOO0OoxxxxX


It turned out that 'there' was back in the eastern kingdoms. The following dawn, after Lathan had managed to snag a few hours sleep propped up against a wall, he was back on the same zeppelin that had brought him to Kalimdor. This time, thankfully, he wasn't chained to the balustrade, though passenger class wasn't altogether that much better.

Squashed between Kel'jin on one side and the Forsaken, Master Vottrel, on the other, Lathan hardly dared breathe. Which was fine for the first couple of hours, but after that it got really uncomfortable. Votrell's armour leeched every scrap heat from Lathan's body until he couldn't stop shivering – though that could have been an after effect of being drained of his magic and savaged by an undoubtedly rabid troll.

What he really fancied was a sleep in the sun and a decent meal, though he'd settle for getting off this bench and watching the goblins. It wasn't to be. Instead he sat still, or as still as he could, as clouds boiled past outside and Votrell's armour grew colder and harder and pokier.

"If you value your extremities, you will stop fidgeting!"

"Sorry." Lathan gripped his bitten fingers in his other hand, willing himself still. The trouble was, he was starting to buzz a little, like he did after a fix of magic. It was strange. There was no good reason for him to feel this way.

"Ignore 'im," Kel'jin said. "He don't understand. Not got any magic in 'im, ya."

"Do not tempt me, troll. The light may have abandoned me, but I can weave shadow as well as you."

"Hah! You is like a child playing in the sand." The troll slapped his chest. "When me walk in the shadows, the spirits know me name. They know Kel'jin!"

"And now so does everyone else, you fool!" Votrell hissed as the other passengers turned to stare. "For pity's sake keep your eye on your charge. If I have to stay here a moment longer, I shall not answer for my actions." And with that, he stood up, gathered his cloak around him and strode away.

Lathan kept his head down, staring at the floor. As much as he disliked Forsaken, he didn't want to be alone with Kel'jin either. The troll was definitely as dangerous as he claimed and had a vicious streak that Lathan did not want to experience for a third time.

Unfortunately he wasn't going to get a choice. A few minutes later, the troll started muttering something in a language Lathan didn't understand, and the bindings around him grew tighter. The jitters stopped, at least on the outside, which was a good thing, though Lathan had a feeling that whatever was coming next wouldn't be.

Kel'jin's muttering took on a more fervent edge and darkness began creeping in round the edges of Lathan's vision. Even when he closed his eyes he could still see it, writhing and twisting, almost seeming to call out to him.

"Lathaniol?" A figure resolved out of the darkness, a delicate female sin'dorei, and for a brief moment Lathan thought it was Sassi, until the figure turned and – "Mother!" And there he was with her. In their rooms over the shop. He could smell the bread in the oven, hear wind-bells tinkling on the balcony and children playing in the square below.

"Lathaniol, there you are. I've been searching for you everywhere, my son." She came towards him, smiling happily, holding out her hand. Lathan backed away. "What's wrong?"

"You're dead," he said.

"Don't be silly-"

"I saw you die! At the camp. They came and you died. The rangers saved us."

"Well," she said, "I suppose if you're sure…" Her face melted; the skin dripping away, her eyes falling from their sockets, her jaw twisting loose on one side. She took another step towards him, the movement wafting the stench of rotten flesh ahead of her. "But you should at least give your mother a goodbye kiss."

He tried to get away, tried so hard to escape, all to no avail. She captured his wrists and drew him forwards, cupping his cheek in a skeletal hand and pressed oozing lips to his. Lathan screamed, and the both the scream and the kiss went on for an eternity.

It was Sassi who rescued him. Who took his hands in her soft warm ones and led him away from the horror and back into darkness. She appeared slowly, fading into sight along with a ghostly impression of the waterfall at the centre of Eversong Woods. A good place to fish, Lathan recalled, and an excellent one to hide in when chores needed doing.

They sat a while in silence; Lathan contemplating his navel in an attempt to forget what he'd just experienced, until Sassi said, "You know that wasn't real, right?"

"Course I did!"

She flicked the tip of his ear. "Ok, no need to get your pants in a panic. You just seemed upset."

"Having just been frenched by mother's corpse, I think I'm entitled," Lathan snapped, flapping at her, and then sighed, "Sorry. Though, you're dead as well, so I don't why I'm apologising."

"But I am real, believe me. The troll doesn't know it but when he opened your mind to let in the nightmare, he let me in as well."

Real? It had to be a trick, surely. Sassi was dead, just like mother and father and everyone else he'd ever given a damn about. Maybe it was him. He was the kiss of death or something.

"Lathan, please don't think like that."

She could read his thoughts? Lathan's mind froze and then ran in circles desperately trying not to think of things that his little sister shouldn't see. He failed completely, his brain settling on an image of their half-undressed neighbour, as she'd been the day Lathan had accidentally scryed her.

Sassi giggled, pressing her hand to her mouth. "She would have been so angry with you if she'd known!"

"It was all an accident, honestly," Lathan argued. "I was trying to see inside our place and got the wrong door."

"Oh, Lathan, you are so bad at magic."

"That's exactly what Instructor Antheol used to say," Lathan said. "He probably didn't even miss me when I stopped attending his classes."

"I'm sure he did." Silence fell between them again, on Lathan's part because he was worrying about what to say next. How did you apologise for killing someone?

"It wasn't your fault."

Damnation, he'd forgotten the mind reading thing. "I might not have stuck a blade in you, Sassi, but it was my fault." This he wouldn't have taken away. It was his to have and hold.

For a while she didn't answer, and then she said, "Perhaps it was, a little. But, brother, the magisters and the rangers are the ones who must carry most of the blame. For all of this!" She gestured to the world around them, to them both – her dead and he – well, Lathan didn't have any idea where he was going or why, but he was doing it in chains.

And she was right. What sort of punishment was death for a theft anyway? Yes, the guardian had died and some valuable arcane objects had been destroyed, but that had been accidental. The original crime had simply been an attempt to steal a cheap trinket. To feed an addiction caused by the Prince destroying the Sunwell in the first place! Yes! It was their fault! Not his at all.

"Sassi!" he said, turning to her, wanting to share this stunning revelation. She was already smiling. She already knew.

But as he was about to speak, she interrupted him. "I know, I know. But I can't stay forever and I really need to tell you something before I go."

"Okay."

"It's very important, so listen carefully." She slipped her hand into his.

"I'm listening."

"The zeppelin from Durotar has arrived!"

"What?"

"All aboard for Durotar!"

The darkness faded along with Sassi, leaving him staring at the churning green cloud that passed for a midnight sky over Tirisfal Glades and Kel'jin's perpetually smirking face.

"Wakey, wakey, elf," the troll said. "Sweet dreamin's?"

The obvious reply was no, since kissing a corpse was not on Lathan's list of things he'd ever wanted to dream about, and yet he actually felt pretty good. Realer, more solid, than he had since Sassi died.

Looking Kel'jin straight in the eye, he replied, "Yes, thanks. I feel really great," and had the tremendous satisfaction of seeing that smirk replaced briefly by utter bafflement.

XxxxxOO0OoxxxxX


Master Votrell met them at the base of the tower with two undead mounts in hand. Lathan couldn't help but stare at the beasts and wonder how on earth they didn't fall apart. Had the Scourge raised horses as well as people in Lordaeron? And if not, did that mean that someone amongst the Forsaken was still practising necromancy? Did they have a specialist horse necromancer?

"Up," Votrell said and boosted Lathan aboard the beast. Despite Kel'jin's protests, it was Votrell who climbed up in front, leaving the other mount for the troll.

The chill sweeping in off the lake was frigid. Lathan hunkered down behind Votrell's smaller form and tucked his borrowed cloak higher round his ears as they rode. Thankfully it wasn't far from the zeppelin tower to Undercity and the stone gates soon rose ahead of them, framed by black banners fluttering in the wind.

The first thing that struck Lathan was how obvious it was, since the place was falling down, that the city had been built by cementing small blocks of stone atop one another. Some of the blocks even bore tools marks, evidence that they'd been worked by hand. There were one or two places in Eversong Woods that bore similar marks of construction, but they were trollish places, barbaric and shunned by right thinking people. Now, granted humans were not elves and thus could hardly be expected to reach even the lowly heights achieved by the kaldorei, but still, it was shocking to find such primitive building techniques within what Lathan had always regarded as a bastion of human civilisation. If they lacked the mages themselves, surely Lordaeron had had ties to the Kirin Tor? Why not, then, ask them to raise a city in the proper way rather than rely on menial physical labour.

Still, he conceded as they walked the horses through the outskirts of the city, considering the limits they'd imposed upon themselves, he supposed the humans had done quite well. Here and there he could see where there had been beauty, even elegance of a kind. And as they reached the ruined courtyard outside what he assumed was the old palace, he had to admit that somehow what was left of the city retained a sense of quiet dignity, as though Arthas had destroyed Lordaeron's body but not its soul.

"We're for the Apothecarium," Votrell said as they passed through empty doorways into the deserted throneroom.

"Me thought we seein' the master, ya?" The troll was sounding distinctly sulky, which Lathan chalked up to his own chipper mood after the nightmare.

Votrell pulled his horse to a dancing halt. "Not in Undercity, you fool! I think someone would notice if he turned up here."

"Eh, heh," Kel'jin laughed. "Me never thought of it like that, man."

Votrell sniffed. "As far as I can tell, you never actually think at all. Now for goodness sake keep your mouth shut when we get there. The last thing we need is to attract Faranell's attention."

"Why?" Lathan asked before he could think better of it.

Votrell turned slowly, peering over his shoulder at Lathan as though he'd only just remembered that Lathan was there. Or more likely that he was a sentient being and not just a parcel needing to be delivered. "Because the Chief Apothecary likes to cut things up, and he doesn't often get his hands on elves," he said eventually. "So I would suggest that you also keep your mouth shut."

Lathan closed his with a snap. It was possible that Votrell was exaggerating, but then again, he might not be and Lathan wasn't about to take the risk.

Votrell spoke again, "In truth, perhaps you should do it properly, Kel'jin. There are things below and well…"

Kel'jin's face lit up for the first since they'd left the zeppelin. "Easy done, man," he chortled and leapt from his mount. From the depths of his robe, he produced the voodoo figurine with a happy flourish.

"Is this going to cause a scene?" Votrell asked as he dismounted and yanked Lathan down after him.

"A little. Mebbe."

Lathan was already on his feet and backing away. He had no idea what they were planning on doing to him, but he very much wanted to avoid a repeat of the previous night's events. His fingers still throbbed where the troll had bitten them.

He didn't get very far. Kel'jin crooked a finger at him and though it was the last thing he wanted to do, his feet took him straight back to the troll's side anyway.

"Through here," Votrell said, pushed them through an arch into an area that looked to be a little used passageway. "I'll hold the horses," he said. "Make it quick and try to keep the noise down."

"Heh!" Kel'jin laughed. "That not happenin', ya. The spirits gotta be asked just right, else nottin' doing."

Still sniggering happily, he hooked a hand in Lathan's collar and dragged him further down the passageway. Once the archway was a distance behind them, he pressed Lathan against the wall and hissed in his ear, "Open up you pretty mouth."

When Lathan obeyed, the troll immediately pressed thick fingers inside, sliding them up his tongue, making Lathan gag at the sensation. They were only there for a second, but it was long enough. The troll's mossy skin obviously exuded something, which not only tasted vile but sent Lathan's taste buds into complete overdrive. Within moments saliva poured from his mouth and despite his attempts to hawk and spit, it just kept coming. Coughing and retching, he leaned forward, gape-mouthed, letting the foul stuff drip onto the ground, since there was no way he was swallowing it.

Kel'jin, predictably amused by anything that caused Lathan discomfort, danced away, cackling madly. Brandishing the doll, he approached again a moment later and held the thing under Lathan's chin, and said, "Spit."

Lathan spat, hoping that was the only thing expected of him. No such luck.

"Here comes the fun bit," the troll said with a wicked smirk. Grabbing Lathan by the hair, he spun him round and tucked him back against his broad chest. Then, with a smirk, he gouged a piece the size of a cherry from the head of the doll with his thumbnail, popped rest away in his robes, and held the mossy chunk in front of Lathan's nose. "Down the hatch."

"No-!" Lathan started, but as soon as he – stupidly, stupidly! - opened his mouth, the troll's fingers were back inside, this time poking the lump right to the back of his throat. Lathan squirmed, trying desperately to get free, but Kel'jin simply closed a hand over Lathan's chin and nose, forcibly shutting his mouth, and tipped his head back against the troll's chest, pinning Lathan in place.

Lathan blinked up at him. The troll grinned back and began chanting in his own language.

For a moment nothing happened and then something moved in the back of Lathan's throat. He panted frantically through his nose, trying not to panic. If he panicked, he might choke and he had a sneaky feeling Kel'jin would let him. Oh, he'd probably revive him afterwards, but he'd let him choke first.

The troll's song rose, almost sweetly, bouncing off the surrounding stonework to create strange echoes, until one melody fused with another to become a throng, then an entire chorus. The thing, whatever it was and Lathan really didn't want to know, wriggled in time with the words Kel'jin was singing as though the two were somehow connected. Faster and faster they both went, wriggle and word, the former getting larger as the latter grew louder, both driving towards a crescendo, both pushing towards a perfect terrible harmony until –

"An'yweh!" Kel'jin screeched at the top of his voice and the thing in Lathan's throat exploded like a blob of jelly that clung and stuck, and would shift neither up or down no matter how much he coughed and swallowed and gagged when the troll released him.

Lathan dropped to his knees, poking his fingers down his throat trying to feel something to pull out. There had to be something and yet he found nothing. And slowly the urge to cough was fading, leaving only a faint thick feeling in its wake.

"Tell me you're finished. I think half the city heard that." It was Votrell with the mounts in tow.

"We done," Kel'jin said. "Ask him if you don't believe me, ya."

"Well?" Votrell poked Lathan with his foot.

Lathan lifted his head, ready to launch into a diatribe about trolls and their disgusting superstitious magic. But when he tried to speak, nothing happened. His mouth moved, air came out, but not a single sound emerged. Wide-eyed, he stared from Kel'jin to Votrell, who at least had the decency to look away.

They'd stolen his voice.


XxxxxOO0OoxxxxX



The next part of the journey passed in something of a blur for Lathan. He was aware that their route led down, and down again, through a maze of dimly lit tunnels into the sewers and crypts where the Forsaken made their homes, but the detail escaped him. He was more concerned with trying to make a noise. Any noise.

By the time a few things began to penetrate, he'd ascertained that he could grunt and make an odd high pitched whining noise in the back of his nose. But apart from that, he was effectively mute. What he didn't understand was why. Why had they done it? If they'd just asked, he would have promised not to speak. Hells, if they'd ever bother to tell him what was going on at all, he might even agree to join in! But no. Apparently, it was easier to bespell and compel. And now he couldn't even comment on the smell of the abominations, or complain about the cold emanating from the odd flittering spirits populating some of the lower corridors.

They left the horses on one side of a massive bridge that arched out over a swiftly flowing river of putrid green fluid. The stench, and having to walk under his own power, made Lathan start concentrating and he held his cloak over his face as they crossed, noting that Kel'jin did the same. The smell didn't seem to bother Votrell one whit. A perk of being undead, perhaps? Certainly having no sense of smell would be an advantage if you stayed in Undercity for very long.

With Votrell leading the way, they quickly left shops and stalls behind and came to a steep ramp that wound round a massive contraption that was vomiting more of the green goo. Sitting at the top was a tiny figure, hardly bigger than the walls edging the ramp. A leper gnome, Lathan realised, like the ones owned by some storekeepers in Silvermoon.

"Ganoosh," Votrell called as they drew close. "Where's your master?"

"Oh, oh!" the gnome squeaked, leaping to its feet. "Terrible, terrible timing, sirs. Master is busy, very very busy. The Grand Apothecary is back from Shattrath and all is meetings and meetings and meetings."

"Putress is here?" Votrell looked about nervously. "That we could have done without. Did Bel'dugur leave a message?"

"Yes, yes, sirs, he did. He said to take the package downstairs and put it in the back. No one will see it, he said, because everyone is far far too busy."

"Downstairs, right." Votrell tugged his gauntlets back on. "Kel'jin, how close do you need to be keep control of the elf?"

"So long as me have the doll, he could be in Kalimdor," Kel'jin answered. "Only trouble is telling him what to do when me can't see him to know."

"That won't be a problem. Ganoosh, is anyone downstairs at the moment?"

"No, no, sirs. Everyone is meeting with the Lady. Everyone, everyone."

"In with Sylvanus, eh? It must be important. Okay, Kel'jin, bring the elf, and be ready to finish him on my say so. Ganoosh, you stay here and yell out if anyone comes."

Lathan found himself trotting after Kel'jin and Votrell as the pair hurried down the ramp.

As it turned out, it was probably a good thing that Lathan wasn't in charge of his own legs since, if he had been, he would undoubtedly have taken one look at the laboratories and run as far as he could in the opposite direction. There were bodies everywhere. Some dismembered, some sliced open, some hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Abominations and ghouls. Humans, dwarves and gnomes - both leperous and whole. And where there weren't bodies, there were bottles and vials and steaming cauldrons full of liquid that seethed and stank and could not possibly be healthy.

Finally they were through, into another dark passageway where the sounds of sobbing rose above their echoing footsteps. And a smell. Lathan gagged, pressing both hands to his face to try and mute the stench of too many bodies in too close a space.

"In here," Votrell said, pushing open a heavy wooden door. Inside were stacks and stacks of cages, each one containing a member of one race or another.

This had to be the stockroom, Lathan realised, and each resident was destined for dissection in the chambers of horrors. The cries for help which began as soon as the group entered, died away once the prisoners realised there was no rescue.

"At the back." Votrell pointed.

Kel'jin shoved Lathan towards an empty cage tucked behind the others. "In, in."

Lathan did as he was told, ducking his head to avoid smacking it on the door. As he'd passed through the labs, he'd truly thought his fear had peaked. He was wrong. That had been a mere fluttering in the belly compared to how he felt crawling into this base and foetid prison. The tears he'd been fighting won their victory and sprang to his eyes. Tears for himself, for his whole sorry life up until now. Surely whatever he'd done could not possible deserve this.

"Eh, what's that then?" Kel'jin leaned close, his finger pressing to Lathan's cheek. "You be tearin' up, elf. You no want to be doin' that, man. You not got nuttin to cry about. Yet." He fished in his robe and Lathan braced himself for the doll's reappearance. Kel'jin knew it as well, the bastard, smirking as he produced a tiny white feather which he spun happily in front of Lathan's face. "The gryphon, he be a brave one. Heart of the lion with all the brains of the eagle. This here's off the breast of the mightiest of all of them. Me pappy took it, along with the beast's leetle one, right from inside the aerie itself.

"But that's beside the point. The point is, this feather's got mojo." He touched the tip to the corner of Lathan's eye. "You blood let me hold you body, you spit give me you voice." Hot breath gusted across Lathan's ear as Kel'jin bent to whisper, "Wit' you tears, me have all you fear."

"Are you finished here? The last thing we want are any of those scalpel happy fools catching us."

"Relax, man, nearly done." Lathan's obvious terror was apparently not enough for the troll. Chortling quietly, he tugged the cloak up over Lathan's head and the last thing Lathan saw as it covered his face was the malice in Kel'jin's eyes as he said, "Member the dream on the flyin' machine? That am gonna seem like nottin' by the time me done with you."