Warcraft - Lord Of The Clans Part 15

Of course, she did not eat at the table in the great hall with Blackmoore. He would not dream of having a servant girl sit beside him in front of his n.o.ble friends.Good enough to bed, not good enough to wed , she thought, recalling the old childhood verse. All the better tonight.

"You seem a bit preoccupied, my dear," Tammis said to his daughter as they sat together at the small table in their quarters. "Are you . . . well?"

The slightly strained tone of his voice and the frightened look her mother gave Taretha at the question almost made her smile. They were worried that she was pregnant. That would help with her deception tonight.

"Very well, Da," she answered, folding her hand over his. "But this fish . . . does it taste all right to you?"

Clannia prodded her own fish in cream sauce with her two-p.r.o.nged fork. "It tastes well enough, for being Randrel's cooking."

In truth, the fish was fairly tasty. Still, Taretha took another bite, chewed, swallowed, and made a slight face. She made a bit of a show of pus.h.i.+ng the plate away from her. As her father peeled an orange, Taretha closed her eyes and whimpered.

"I'm sorry. . . ." She rushed out of the room to her own quarters, making noises as if she was about to be sick. She reached her room, on the same floor as her parents', and made loud noises over the chamber pot. She had to smile a little; it would be amusing, were the stakes not so high.

There came an urgent knock on the door. "Darling, it's me," called Clannia. She opened the door.

Taretha put the empty chamber pot out of sight. "Poor dear. You look pale as milk."

That, at least, Taretha didn't have to feign. "Please . . . can Da have a word with the Master? I don't think. . . ."

Clannia colored bright pink. Although everyone knew that Taretha had become Blackmoore's mistress, no one spoke of it. "Certainly, my dear, certainly. Would you like to stay with us tonight?"

"No," she said, quickly. "No, I'm fine. I'd just like to be alone for a bit." She lifted her hand to her mouth again, and Clannia nodded.

"As you will, Tari dear. Good night. Let us know if you need anything."

Her mother closed the door behind her, and Taretha let out a long, deep breath. Now, to wait until it was safe to leave. She was next to the kitchens, one of the last places that settled down for the night.

When all was still, she ventured forth. First, she went to the kitchens, placing as much food as she could lay her hands on into the sack. Earlier today, she had torn up some old dresses for bandages, should Thrall need them.

Blackmoore's habits were as predictable as the sun's rising and setting. If he started drinking at dinner, as was his wont, he would be ready to entertain her in his bedchamber by the time dinner was over.

Afterward, he would fall into a slumber, almost a stupor, and there was very little that could rouse him until sunrise.

She had listened to the servers in the great hall, and ascertained that he had, as usual, been drinking. He had not seen her tonight, and that would put him in a foul mood, but by now, he would be asleep.

Gently, Taretha unlocked the door to Blackmoore's quarters. She let herself in, then closed the door as quietly as possible. Loud snoring met her ears. Rea.s.sured, she moved steadily toward her gate to freedom.

Blackmoore had boasted about this many months ago when he had been in his cups. He had forgotten he had told her about it, but Taretha remembered. Now, she went to the small desk and opened a small drawer. She pressed gently on it, and the false bottom came loose in her hand, revealing a tiny box.

Taretha removed the key and returned the box to the drawer, closing it carefully. She then turned toward the bed.

On the right side, a tapestry hung on the stone wall. It depicted a n.o.ble knight doing battle with a fierce black dragon defending a huge pile of treasure. Taretha brushed the tapestry aside and found the room's real treasure - a hidden door. As quietly as she could, she inserted the key, turned it, and opened the door.

Stone steps led down, into darkness. Cool air bathed her face, and a scent of wet stone and mold a.s.saulted her nostrils. She swallowed hard, facing her fear. She did not dare to light a candle.

Blackmoore slept deeply, but the risk was far too great. If he knew what she was doing, he'd have her flogged raw.

Think of Thrall, she thought.Think of what Thrall has faced. Surely she could overcome a fear of the darkness for him.

She closed the door behind her and was suddenly standing in a blackness so absolute she could almost feel it. Panic rose up in her like a trapped bird, but she fought it down. There was no chance of getting lost here; the tunnel led only one way. She took a few deep, steadying breaths, and then began.

Cautiously, she descended the steps, extending her right foot each time to search for the next one.

Finally, her feet touched earth. From here, the tunnel sloped downward at a gentle angle. She recalled what Blackmoore had told her about it.Got to keep the lords safe, m'dear , he had said, leaning over her so she could smell his wine-scented breath.And if there's a siege, well, there's a way we can be safe, you and I.

It seemed to go on forever. Her fears battled with her mind for control.What if it collapses? What if after all these years, it's blocked? What if I trip here in the darkness and break my leg?

Angrily, Taretha silenced the voices of terror. Her eyes kept trying to adjust to the darkness, but with no light whatsoever, they only strained futilely.

She s.h.i.+vered. It was so cold down here, in the dark. . . .

After what seemed an eternity, the ground began to gradually slope upward again. Taretha resisted the urge to break into a run. She would be furious with herself if she lost control now and tripped. She pushed forward steadily, though she could not help but quicken her pace.

Was it her imagination, or was there a lightening of this dreadful darkness? No, she was not imagining it.

Up ahead, it was definitely lighter. She drew closer and slowed. Her foot struck something and she stumbled forward, striking her knee and outthrust hand. There were different levels of stone . . . Steps!

She reached out a hand, moving upward step by slow step until her questing fingers touched wood.

A door. She had reached a door. Another horrible thought seized her. What if it was bolted from the outside? Wouldn't that make sense? If someone could escape Durnholde by this route, someone else with hostile intentions might be able to enter the same way. It was sure to be locked, or bolted. . . .

But it wasn't. She reached upward and pushed with all her strength. Ancient hinges shrieked, but the door swung open, falling flat with a loud bang. Taretha jumped. It was not until she lifted her head up through the small, square opening, the light seeming to her eyes as bright as day, that she breathed a sigh of relief and permitted herself to believe it was true.

The familiar smells of horses, leather, and hay filled her nostrils. She was in a small stable. She stepped fully out of the tunnel, whispering softly and rea.s.suringly to the horses that turned to look with mild inquiry at her. There were four of them; their tack hung on the wall. She knew at once where she must be. Near the road but fairly far from Durnholde was a courier station, where riders whose business could not be delayed changed exhausted mounts for fresh ones. The light came through c.h.i.n.ks in the walls. Taretha carefully closed the trap door in the floor through which she had entered, and hid it with some hay. She went to the stable door and opened it, almost blinking in the full, blue-white light provided by the two moons.

As she had surmised, she was on the outskirts of the small village that encircled Durnholde, inhabited by those who made their living off tending to the needs of the fortress's inhabitants. Taretha took a moment to get her bearings. There it was, the cliff face she had, as a child, imagined to be so like a dragon.

Thrall would be waiting there for her in the cave, hungry and perhaps injured. Buoyed by her victory over the dark tunnel, Taretha raced toward him.

When he saw her running over the crest of the small hill, her slim figure silver in the moonlight, Thrall was hard-pressed not to let out a shout of joy. He contented himself with rus.h.i.+ng forward.

Taretha froze, then lifted her skirts and ran toward him in return. Their hands met and clasped, and as the hood fell back from her tiny face he saw her lips were wide in a smile.

"Thrall!" she exclaimed. "It is so good to see you, my dear friend!" She squeezed the two fingers her own little hands could hold as tightly as she could and almost bounced with excitement.

"Taretha," he rumbled affectionately. "Are you well?"

The smile faded, then returned. "Well enough. And you? We have heard of your doings, of course! It is never pleasant when Lord Blackmoore is in a foul mood, but as it means that you are free, I have come to look forward to his anger. Oh. . . ." With a final squeeze, she dropped Thrall's hands and reached for the sack she had been carrying. "I did not know if you were wounded or hungry. I wasn't able to bring a great deal, but I brought what I could. I have some food, and some skirts I tore up for bandages. It's good to see you don't need - "

"Tari," Thrall said gently, "I did not come alone."

He signaled to his scouts, who had been waiting in the cave, and they emerged. Their faces were twisting into scowls of disapproval and hostility. They drew themselves up to their full height, folded their arms across their ma.s.sive chests, and glared. Thrall watched her reaction carefully. She seemed surprised, and for a brief moment, fear flitted across her face. He didn't suppose he could blame her; the two outriders were doing everything they could to appear menacing. Finally, though, she smiled and strode up to them.

"If you are friends of Thrall, then we are friends also," she said, extending her hands.

One of them snorted in contempt and batted her hand away, not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to throw her slightly off balance. "Warchief, you ask too much of us!" one of them snapped. "We will spare the females and their young as you command, but we will not - "

"Yes you will!" Thrall replied. "This is the female who risked her life to free me from the man who owned both of us. She is risking her life again to come to our aid now. Taretha can be trusted. She is different." He turned to regard her fondly. "She is special."

The scouts continued to glare, but looked less certain of their prejudgment. They exchanged glances, then each took Taretha's hands in turn.

"We are grateful for what you have brought," said Thrall, switching back to human speech. "Rest a.s.sured, it will be eaten, and the bandages kept. I have no doubt that they will be needed."

The smile faded from Tari's face. "You intend to attack Durnholde," she said.

"Not if it can be avoided, but you know Blackmoore as I do. On the morrow, my army will march to Durnholde, prepared to attack if needed. But first I will give Blackmoore the opportunity to talk to us.

Durnholde is the center of the camp controls. Break it, we break all the camps. But if he is willing to negotiate, we will not shed blood. All we want is to have our people freed, and we will leave the humans alone."

Her fair hair looked silver in the moons' light. She shook her head sadly. "He will never agree," she said.

"He is too proud to think of what would be best for those he commands."

"Then stay here with us," said Thrall. "My people will have orders not to attack the women and children, but in the heat of battle, I cannot guarantee their safety. You will be at risk if you return."

"If I am discovered missing," Tari replied, "then that will alert someone that something is going on. They might find and attack you first. And my parents are still there. Blackmoore would take out his anger on them, I am sure. No, Thrall. My place is, and always has been, at Durnholde, even now."

Thrall regarded her unhappily. He knew, as she could not, what chaos battle brought. What blood, and death, and panic. He would see her safe, if he could, but she was her own person.

"You are courageous," said one of the scouts, speaking up unexpectedly. "You risk your personal safety to give us our opportunity to free our people. Our Warchief did not lie. Some humans, it would seem, do understand honor." And the orc bowed.

Taretha seemed pleased. She turned again to Thrall. "I know it sounds foolish to say, but be careful. I wish to see you tomorrow night, to celebrate your victory." She hesitated, then said, "I have heard rumors of your powers, Thrall, are they true?"

"I don't know what you have heard, but I have learned the ways of the shamans. I can control the elements, yes."

Her face was radiant. "Then Blackmoore cannot possibly stand against you. Be merciful in your victory, Thrall. You know we are not all like him. Here. I want you to have this. I've been so long without it, it doesn't feel right for me to keep it anymore."

She inclined her head and removed the silver chain and crescent pendant. Dropping it in Thrall's hand, she folded his fingers over it. "Keep it. Give it to your child, if you have one, and perhaps I may visit him one day."

As she had done so many months ago, Taretha stepped forward and hugged Thrall as best she could.

This time, he was not surprised by the gesture, but welcomed it and returned it. He let his hand caress her golden, silky hair, and desperately hoped that they would both survive the coming conflict.

She pulled back, reached up to touch his strong-jawed face, turned and nodded to the others, then turned and purposefully strode back the way she had come. He watched her leave with a strange feeling in his heart, holding her necklace tightly.Be safe, Tari. Be safe.

It was only when she was well away from the orcs that Tari permitted the tears to come. She was so afraid, so dreadfully afraid. Despite her brave words, she didn't want to die any more than anyone else did. She hoped Thrall would be able to control his people, but she knew that he was unique. Not all orcs shared his tolerant views toward humans. If only Blackmoore could be persuaded to see reason! But that was as likely as her suddenly sprouting wings and flying away from all of this.

Although she was human, she wished for an orc victory - Thrall's victory. If he survived, she knew the humans would be treated with compa.s.sion. If he fell, she could not be certain of that. And if Blackmoore won - well, what Thrall had experienced as a slave would be as nothing to the torment Blackmoore would put him through now.

She returned to the little stable, opened the trap door, and stepped down into the tunnel. Her thoughts were so full of Thrall and the coming conflict that this time the darkness bothered her hardly at all.

Taretha was still deep in thought when she ascended the stairs to Blackmoore's room and eased the door open.

Abruptly, dark lanterns were uns.h.i.+elded. Taretha gasped. Seated in a chair directly opposite the secret door was Blackmoore, with Langston and two rough-looking, armed guardsmen.

Blackmoore was stone cold sober, and his dark eyes glittered in the candlelight. His beard parted in a smile that resembled that of a hungry predator.

"Well met, my traitor," he said, silkily. "We've been waiting for you."

NINETEEN.

The day dawned misty and foggy. Thrall smelled rain in the air. He would have preferred a sunny day, the better to see the enemy, but rain would keep his warriors cooler. And besides, Thrall could control the rain, if it came down to that. For now, he would let the weather do what it would.

He, h.e.l.lscream, and a small group of Frostwolves would go ahead. The army would follow behind. He would have preferred to utilize the cover provided by the trees, but an army of nearly two thousand would need the road. If Blackmoore kept scouts posted, then he would be alerted. Thrall did not remember such scouts from his time at Durnholde, but things were very different now.

His small advance party, armored and armed, moved steadily down the road toward Durnholde. Thrall called a small songbird and asked it to look about for him. It came back in a few minutes and in his mind Thrall heard,They have seen you. They are racing back to the keep. Others are moving to circle behind.

Thrall frowned. This was quite well organized, for Blackmoore. Nonetheless, he knew his army outnumbered the men at Durnholde nearly four to one.

The bird, perched on one of his ma.s.sive forefingers, waited.Fly back to my army and find the old, blind shaman. Tell him what you have told me.

The songbird, its body a golden yellow and black and its head bright blue, inclined its blue head and flew to execute Thrall's request. Drek'Thar was a trained warrior as well as a shaman. He would know what to do with the bird's warning.

He pressed on, feet steadily moving forward. The road curved, and then Durnholde in all its proud, stony glory loomed up before them. Thrall sensed a change in his group.

"Hold up the flag of truce," he said. "We will observe the proprieties, and it may prevent them from opening fire too soon. Before, we have stormed the encampments with ease," he acknowledged. "Now we must face something more difficult. Durnholde is a fortress, and will not be taken easily. But mark me, if negotiations fail, then fall Durnholde will."

He hoped it would not come to that, but he expected the worst. It was unlikely that Blackmoore would be reasonable.

Even as he and his companions moved forward, Thrall could see movement on the parapets and walkways. Looking more closely, he saw the mouths of cannons opening toward him. Archers took their positions, and several dozen mounted knights came cantering around the sides of the fortress to line up in front of it. They carried lances and spears, and halted their horses. They were waiting.

Still Thrall came. There was more movement atop the walls directly above the huge wooden door, and his heart sped up a little. It was Aedelas Blackmoore. Thrall halted. They were close enough to shout. He would approach no farther.

"Well, well," came a slurred voice that Thrall remembered all too well. "If it isn't my lil' pet orc, all grown up."

Thrall did not rise to the bait. "Greetings, Lieutenant General," he said. "I come not as a pet, but as a leader of an army. An army that has defeated your men soundly in the past. But I will make no move against them this day, unless you force my hand."

Langston stood beside his lord on the walkway. He couldn't believe it. Blackmoore was rip-roaring drunk. Langston, who had helped Tammis carry his lord to bed more times than he cared to admit, had never seen Blackmoore so drunk and still be able to stand. What had he been thinking?

Blackmoore had had the girl followed, of course. A scout, a master of stealth and sharp of eye, had unbarred the door in the courier's stable so she would be able to emerge from the tunnel. He had watched her greet Thrall and a few other orcs. He had seen her give them a sack of food, seen her embrace the monster, by the Light, and then return via the no-longer-secret tunnel. Blackmoore had feigned his drunkenness last evening, and had been quite sober when the shocked girl had walked back into his bedchamber to be greeted by Blackmoore, Langston, and the others.

Taretha had not wanted to talk, but once she learned that she had been spied upon, she made great haste to a.s.sure Blackmoore that Thrall had come to talk peace. The very notion had offended Blackmoore deeply. He dismissed Langston and the other guards, and for many paces outside his door Langston could still hear Blackmoore cursing and even the sound of a hand striking flesh.

He hadn't seen Blackmoore again until this moment, though Tammis had reported to him. Blackmoore had sent out his fastest riders, to get reinforcements, but they were still at least four hours away. The logical thing to do would be to keep the orc, who had after all raised the flag of truce, talking until help arrived. In fact, etiquette demanded that Blackmoore send out a small party of his own to talk with the orcs. Surely Blackmoore would give the order any moment. Yes, it was the logical thing to do. If the count was right, and Langston thought it was, the orcish army numbered over two thousand.

There were five hundred and forty men in Durnholde, of whom fewer than four hundred were trained warriors who had seen combat.

As he watched uneasily, Langston saw movement on the horizon. They were too far away for him to detect individuals, but he clearly saw a huge green sea begin to move slowly over the rise, and heard the steady, unnerving sound of drums.

Thrall's army.

Though the morning was cool, Langston felt sweat break out under his arms.