The Kor'kron guard's helmet concealed his face almost entirely as he stuck out his hand to pay the goblin. He was so heavily armoured, Doskariss couldn't tell how old he was, and with the helmet, couldn't read his features.

She couldn't tell if he recognized her. Though she was amazed anyone had, after so many years.

The goblin took the pouch, and opened it close to his chest, giving its contents a quick check. He nodded.

The Kor'kron motioned for Doskariss to rise, and she did. She outstretched her arms, and the chain between her manacles dangled between them. The guard took hold of it. He nodded to the grunts who had been flanking the goblin. They were less armoured, and generally considerably dirtier and worn - so was she. It had been a long trek from Stonard, and accomodations aboard the goblin's zeppelin had not been very luxurious.

The Kor'kron guard was supported by two others in identical armour, one man and one woman. The woman stepped forward, and accepted from one of the Stonard grunts the chain leash that was connected to Shadowrun.

The darkwolf was in a foul temper, though he rarely wasn't. The leather muzzle around his snout did little to help. But he was still too weak to do anything. He didn't give the guard any trouble.

The two Stonard grunts and their goblin pilot retreated into the zeppelin tower.

"We're finally rid of that old hag," she heard one mutter to the other.

In her prime, Doskariss had been a beauty. Her strong jaw, smooth face, and sharpened tusks had won her many a stray glance. She sighed, remembering her youth, or what she could of it. That had been years ago. Decades ago. She didn't even know what year it was.

"Do we walk too fast for you?" the guard holding her chains asked in a gruff, thick voice. It was still hard to place his age.

"I am keeping pace," Doskariss assured him. He nodded.

She guessed he was too young. She guessed he didn't know who she was. No orc would be considerate of her, treat her as a respected elder, if they knew. Nor would she want them to. She didn't deserve it. She deserved nothing.

It didn't take them long to reach the gates of Orgrimmar.

Cities were a thing largely unknown to the orcs. They were, of course, familiar with the concept. The orcs had toppled many cities of the draenei on their homeworld of Draenor, and had vanquished the city of Stormwind. But in her day, the orcs had dwelled in smaller villages with their clans. Orgrimmar was a massive, walled thing. The architecture was orcish, there was no mistaking it, and the red banners flapping in the dry wind bore the symbols of the Horde and of several orc clans she knew. But these were like orcish trappings draped over a draenei. It was familiar, yet foreign. Glorious, yet tame.

Her step did not falter.

The Kor'kron led her and Shadowrun down a well-trod path through the city, and many eyes turned to watch her. They were orcs by vast majority, but there were many other creatures here as well. The goblins were the only things she recognized straight away, though there were beings that looked like blue-skinned versions of the forest trolls who had joined the Horde after she had fled. There were others, too. Large, fur covered men and women with the heads of bulls and cows; she could even swear she saw what looked like humans, though moribund.

What had happened in her absence?

The Kor'kron gently picked up the pace, and Doskariss complied, only too willing to be out of these strange gazes. She glanced a moment at Shadowrun, but he seemed to be keeping stride, as well.

Soon, they came to a large fortress nestled snugly in a valley. There were more Kor'kron there, some holding position, others meandering about on patrol. Though the hold was impressive, what drew Doskariss' gaze was the giant tree across from it. The tree was misshapen, but had not been cut or sculpted. It was almost as if it had been directed to grow in such a fashion. Chained to it was a mighty plate of armour, scorched and cracked, covered in strange figures and faces. Atop it was a gigantic skull with two tusks, like that of some mighty elekk. Coupled with the skull, the tree took on a strange shape, resembling a creature. It was a creature Doskariss had seen only once before. A creature she wished to never see again.

"Your animal will remain with me outside," said the woman who held Shadowrun, drawing Doskariss' attention back.

Her heart skipped a panicked beat. Doskariss bowed before the guard. "He may become agitated. I beg of you, please don't hurt him."

The guard snorted, glancing to her comrades. "What kind of orc begs?"

Doskariss did not rise. "I have no need for pride. But please, whatever becomes of me, do not harm him."

The woman sighed. "Very well."

Doskariss stood upright, and nodded her thanks. The other two Kor'kron led her into the Hold. They passed through several chambers, each with a number of orcs, sometimes accompanied by the troll-like creatures and the bull-men, until finally they came to a large, round room. A large throne stood at the head of the room, flanked by flaming braziers and adorned with icons of the Frostwolf Clan. Before it, addressing the orc in the throne, was a tall, slender creature, perhaps a strange breed of human, with pointed ears and glowing green eyes. In the throne itself sat...

"Durotan!" Doskariss cried. She fell to her knees so abruptly that the chains slipped from the guard's hands. She kept her head low. "Vengeance is yours, Spirit. I will accept my punishment."

The human-like creature had turned to glare at her, and others had looked, too. The room was full of orcs and other creatures, all wearing heavily-decorated trappings and other signs of status. The orc in the throne wore armour of black metal, studded with brass. It looked remarkably similar to the suit of armour worn by the Doomhammer.

Looking at him, she could still see much of Durotan, but much too was different than she remembered. That face, in Doomhammer's armour, formed a dichotomy of everything that had reason to hate her. Doskariss lowered her gaze, ready for whatever death this spectre had in mind.

"I am not Durotan," the orc's voice was low and strong, if mildly annoyed. "I am called Thrall, Son of Durotan."

Doskariss' face flushed emerald, and she got to her feet.

The woman before him turned back, rolling her jade eyes. "As I was saying, Warchief, our forces would complement-"

Thrall raised a hand. "I beg pardon, Dawnsinger, but that will be enough for now. I'm afraid I must deal with this matter immediately."

She sighed. "As you wish it, Warchief. I shall return on the morrow."

She turned and swept gracefully past Doskariss and out the way she had come.

Thrall stood. On his feet, he looked just as imposing as Doomhammer had. "You knew my father? I wasn't told that."

"Not personally, no," Doskariss shook her head. "But I saw him, on many an occasion. He... I was aware of his demise."

Thrall looked at her critically, then nodded to the Kor'kron with a sigh. They saluted, turned as one, and left.

The Warchief's dazzling blue eyes narrowed. "Tell me why you returned." He almost snarled at her. "Tell me why I do not hang you in the street."

Doskariss sighed. "Thrall, Son of Durotan, I have no reason why you should not murder me in any manner you see fit. I deserve far worse than any punishment any mortal agency can conceive."

Thrall beckoned her closer. Doskariss glanced at the observers surrounding her. Many orcs, some in the garb of shaman, others dressed as warriors. A tall, crafty-looking blue troll. They were silent, but did not shift gaze when she met theirs.

Thrall stepped forward, and looked at her with a glare that would brook no disobedience.

Doskariss rose to her feet and approached the Warchief. She was about to lower herself to her knees when Thrall grabbed her wrist and hoisted it upwards. "Stand," he commanded. "Stand up straight. Pretend you are still an orc."

Doskariss' shoulders ached as she arched her back, but she had been aching for years. Sometimes, when the loneliness and bitterness had pushed her to the edge of reason, she believed that these were punishments by the spirits, and not just the joint pains any orc would get in old age.

Thrall stood up straight as well, still towering over Doskariss. His face showed a glimmer of respect, for a moment, but it was soon consumed by the fury and spite he no doubt wrestled within himself at that moment.

"Tell me your story, Doskariss. Tell me who you are. Tell me what you have done."

Doskariss felt her cheeks grow hot with shame and embarrassment. "Surely, Warchief, you have been told what..."

"When I give a command, Doskariss, it is carried out. Or have you forgotten the ways of the Horde?"

Doskariss' eyes darted about. "Surely the Warchief knows who..."

"Tell them, then!" Thrall bellowed so loud Doskariss flinched in spite of herself. He swung his arm out, gesturing to the creatures surrounding her.

Doskariss raised her head. "My name is Doskariss, daughter of Grokthamar, of the Shadowmoon Clan. I am one of the only remaining survivors of the Shadow Council."

A roiling of gasps and whispers whirl-winded around the room.

"Enough," said Thrall, and there was silence. The Warchief sat. "Go on."

"There's little more to tell," said Doskariss. "I had a hand in bringing the orcs to the brink of damnation. I drank the demon's blood. I slaughtered in the service of abominations. I helped bring our world to ruin."

"There is much more to tell, Doskariss," said Thrall. "I have heard that you were one of the most powerful females in the Council. I have heard reasons for this. Why, Doskariss, did you rise to such heights within the Council?"

Doskariss hung her head. "The rumours were," she said softly, "that I was one of Gul'dan's most favoured concubines."

More mutters from her audience. Thrall silenced them this time with a mere glance. He then turned to her. "Are these rumours true?"

Doskariss closed her eyes, and said nothing. She so wished that he would strike her. She wished he would throw her to the ground, strike her with his hammer. She wished he would call his friends from around to room to lend their blades, their maces, their axes to the task. She wished to be beaten until she was little more than some soggy rags and a stain on the skin rug at her feet. And she wished she could be alive for it all, and feel the pain liberate her until every fibre of her being slowly died.

Thrall sighed. "Very well. Tell me how you survived the just wrath of Orgrim Doomhammer, whose name this city bears."

"A fitting tribute," Doskariss said with a quiet nod. She drew a deep breath. "When Gul'dan became comatose, we were in a state of panic. Some warlocks attempted to claim power over the Council but many feared Gul'dan's wrath should he awaken. Without Gul'dan, Blackhand was left to his own devices. He wouldn't even listen to the rest of us. I knew that without Gul'dan's guidance he would be open to attack. I would not have suspected Doomhammer. I knew he was a cunning warrior but I never thought he would have discerned our true nature."

Thrall smiled at that.

Doskariss continued. "After Blackhand was killed, we kept our distance. The Council was powerless without a pawn to channel our will. Some talked of assassinating Doomhammer but we dared not act without Gul'dan's assistance, and Doomhammer had been quick to consolidate support from the other clans. Even if we had killed him, we had no orc who could take his place who would continue the arrangement we had with Blackhand. We had to content ourselves to wait for Gul'dan to awaken.

"Doomhammer came upon us with a legion of his best warriors. I was at the Temple of the Damned, though I gather that many of the Council abroad were cut down in their homes. There were many of us there, at the Temple. But we were caught completely unawares. Some tried to fight, tried to prepare spells but it was chaos, there. As many of our own numbers as Doomhammer's were struck down by the spells being cast by the warlocks. Some of us chose to flee. Doomhammer had anticipated that. He had raiders waiting for us. I was luckier than most. I had my hounds. I escaped into the swamp. I remained there." She sighed. "I remained there until some weeks ago..."

"When you walked into Stonard," Thrall finished for her. "Tell me, Doskariss. Why now? What do you hope to gain from returning to us? Do you apologize? Do you beg for the mercy of the Horde? Do you wish to offer me some secret powers or magical trinkets? I tell you now, Doskariss, that I do not accept your apology, that you are unworthy of what little mercy the Horde has to offer, and that I have no interest in your magics."

Doskariss shook her head. "I have gained all I hoped to gain. My wolf, Shadowrun, was attacked, and his wounds grew diseased. I could not repair the damage with my own faculties, so I brought him to Stonard. The orcs there nursed him back to health. I told them who I was, and they made of me their prisoner. They brought me to you."

"So, concern for your wolf led you to risk your life?" Thrall raised an eyebrow.

"Love for Shadowrun," Doskariss corrected, still quiet. "I have spent the last few decades with him, he is to me a son and protector."

Thrall frowned, and averted his eyes. Doskariss haltingly followed his gaze to the great white wolf curled up in one corner of the room. At his gaze, she lifted her head and perked up her ears. Her mouth hung open and she panted with affection.

"I know of love for my comrades in arms, whether of two legs or four. But tell me, Doskariss," he leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists. "Tell me why I should believe you. Warlocks do not know of love. They do not love those who fight at their side, they conquer them."

Doskariss held out her hands. "I cannot tell you this, Warchief." She looked into his eyes. And he looked in hers.

He paused, furrowing his brow. "Doskariss, you told me you drank the demon's blood?"

Her face flushed. "I did." She had hoped he wouldn't notice. She had hoped he wouldn't care.

"Then why, Doskariss, are you eyes not red?"

She paused, licked her lips, withdrew her hands. "I... During my exile, I was forced to give up my magic. Over time. I... the demon's fire was taken from me."

"Taken?" asked Thrall.

"I speak in riddles, Warchief," Doskariss assured him hurriedly. "The magic died. Atrophied like a withered limb."

He eyed her again. After a moment: "Where are your other hounds?"

She cursed herself inwardly. "Other hounds, Warchief?"

"You said you escaped with your hounds, yet you came to Stonard with only the wolf Shadowrun."

"Pardons, Warchief," said Doskariss with a slight bow. "The mad chatter of an old woman, nothing more. Shadowrun is my only hound."

Thrall's gaze narrowed, unsatisfied, but he said nothing of it. Instead, he let out a deep, grumbling sigh. "So, then. What am I to do with you, Doskariss?"

Kill me. Beat me. Lash me to a post and have the children walk by and spit on me. Leave me to die in the sun. Let me starve, let me burn, let me freeze, let me suffer. Nothing you can do to me will ever be enough.

"I am yours to do with as you please," said Doskariss, "but I make one request, not of my own behalf. Shadowrun is old, nearly dead. I would ask that you give him a good home to live out his few remaining days. You will find him... temperamental, but whatever you do you me, I beg of you..."

"I am not going to kill you, Doskariss," Thrall sighed, rolling his striking eyes. "Nor have you killed," he added quickly.

Though Doskariss' heart sank, for she had wanted for years to die, she was surprised to find a faint glimmer of relief stir within her.

Thrall cleared his throat, then spoke. "You owe a debt to the Horde that cannot be paid with merely your blood. Know, Doskariss, that I will find a use for you. You will work to add to the Horde everything you took away. This is an impossible task, but you will attempt it nonetheless. You shall work toward that goal, and draw your last breath trying to attain it, until you finally die in our service."

Another volley of whispers. They died this time with no prompting at all.

"In the meantime, I would have you report to Razor Hill. Gar'Thok will be expecting you. Do as he commands. You may take your animal with you, if he is able."

Doskariss bit her lip. She dared too much. He was showing her so much more mercy than she deserved. She couldn't...

"Begging pardon, Warchief," Doskariss blurted out suddenly, "I have one small request before I go on my way, in the service of the Horde. I have... had, a daughter."

Thrall frowned. "I see."

"She was born here, on this world. I... I am uncertain what became of her. I ask merely where I might inquire further as to her fate."

Thrall leaned in close. "Is she his?"

Doskariss looked at him with a contempt that surprised even her.

"No games, warlock," Thrall growled. "Is the child Gul'dan's?"

"What difference would it make?" Doskariss snapped. "She would have lived her life now without either of us. My choices were my own. Gul'dan's were his. Hers were hers. And if you were to try to harm her for her blood alone I would do whatever I could do to stop you."

Thrall's eyes were wide. The assembly was agape. The only sound was that of the giant wolf's oblivious panting.

A grin crept onto the Warchief's face. "Perhaps there is still some orc left in you."

She sighed, looking away. "It matters not. She's not his."

"I said no games, Doskariss."

The old orc shook her tired head. He didn't understand. "Gul'dan is not the only monster of my era."

The Warchief raised an eyebrow, but did not pursue it. He merely sighed. "Doskariss, while you have been hiding in the Swamp of Sorrows, our people have been put through more than you can imagine. After the humans defeated us due to Gul'dan's betrayal, we were captured, penned up like animals. Doomhammer and I freed them, and I led them here to this new land, and in the fight to save ourselves and our new world, there was much conflict - many lives lost in hearty battle. There was much movement. We were scattered and lost. Many still are. The Blackrock Clan locked themselves away in Blackrock Spire, and have only recently become bold enough to emerge and spread their holdings into the foothills of the Spire. The Burning Blade and its sister clan, the Searing Blade, have also inducted many of our weaker minds into their numbers. Your daughter could be anywhere, Doskariss. I would have no inkling on where to begin your search.

"I will tell you, also, Doskariss, that the Shadow Council is not as dead as we had once hoped."

Doskariss' eyes widened. "I... how?"

Thrall shook his head. "Would that I knew how evil persists. I only know that it does."

At that moment, Thrall got a strange look in his eyes. A look that told Doskariss that something had just occurred to him. Had he reconsidered? Did he now think her an agent of the revived Shadow Council?

"There is one, within the city of my people, who might have knowledge of your daughter. He is a man familiar with the darker circles of our people. His name is Neeru Fireblade. A warlock."

"A warlock in Orgrimmar?" Doskariss nearly shouted with surprise. "And he lives?"

"He does. He has professed to use the demon fire against the demons. He works now within the Cleft of Shadow, where he leads my soldiers against the Searing Blade in Ragefire Chasm. Perhaps he knows of your daughter."

Doskariss bowed as low as she could without falling over. Her back ached as she straightened up again, but she did not let it stop her. "My thanks, Warchief. Truly, our people have never been so graced with a leader such as you."

"My people, Doskariss," Thrall corrected her. "You have far to go before you may count yourself among them."

Thrall signalled to the Kor'kron stationed at the entrance and he approached. "Unlock her bonds and see her from Grommash Hold."

"Grommash Hold?" Doskariss asked as the guard took her arm.

Thrall looked away from her. "We have lost many heroes who died to save our people. Enough that we might never be short of namesakes."

The Kor'kron tugged gently on her arm, and she turned to follow him from the room. She looked back to see what business the Warchief would turn to next, but he was still glaring at her from his throne.

"So it's true," said Doskariss as they neared the exit to the Hold. "Hellscream is dead."

"He is," the Kor'kron said with no small glimmer of pride in his voice. "He died a most glorious death." He hefted his axe, pointing it out of the Hold and at the strange, decorated tree Doskariss had noticed before. "He died killing Mannoroth. He died to free us."

Mannoroth. So the remains of this Pit Lord were in fact the same Pit Lord she had seen before. Mannoroth the Destuctor, as monstrous a thing as Doskariss had ever imagined. His malice and hatred had humbled her, had made her only more loyal to the Legion.

She had grown to hate him.

To see him, now, and to know that he had died at the blade of Hellscream's merciless axe afforded Doskariss the first happy moment she had felt in twenty years.

Shadowrun hobbled at her side. The Kor'kron had thrust his lead back into Doskariss' hand with a grumble. He was always a handful. Like many of the older worgs still alive who had memories of the old Horde, Shadowrun had become tainted by the demonic energies just as the orcs had, though perhaps not to such a profound degree. But Shadowrun had always been a hound of the Shadow Council - surely the company he kept had done him no favours. In any event, he was possessed of a fierce and unyielding bloodlust, and a foul temper. He only ever responded well to Doskariss, and even then, there were times she felt uneasy around him.

He had spent the last few decades in the presence of no orcs save Doskariss. Stonard had been a shock to his senses enough. Orgrimmar could only be overwhelming. At first he had snapped at passersby, but after a few harsh chides from Doskariss, he contented himself with guttural growls and peevish glares at anyone who strayed too close to him. It was enough to make them keep their distance.

Doskariss was hitching a ride with a supply convoy leaving for Razor Hill in only two hours, so she had to work quickly. Hopefully, Neeru would be pleasant and forthcoming, for if she had to rush back to the city gates as she was now rushing to his sanctum, she was sure the aches in her knees would allow her no sleep tonight.

The Cleft of Shadow was a wise name to give this place. Doskariss felt the hairs on the back of her name stand on end, and send a barely familiar shudder down her spine. It would have been almost comforting and nostalgic had it been anything else.

She knew herself to be in the presence of dark, dark magic.

Had it all been a strange, elaborate ruse? This new Horde the orcs were so proud of. Were they blind to the demons in their very midst?

She spotted an orc dressed in elaborate robes tossing dark powder onto a brazier as he chatted with a nearby orc. The fire within turned from bright orange to dark violet, and smelled of patchouli. His manner and dress spoke volumes to Doskariss, and her eyes narrowed.

Gripping Shadowrun's leash tight, she stormed up to him. "You there! You! Warlock!"

The orc turned, spilling some of his powder on the ground. He drew back from her, indignant. "Yes? What is the meaning of this?"

"What is all this?" Doskariss gestured wildly about her. "And know that I am not some simpleton, I am only too familiar with this magic. You cannot mask it from me!"

"How dare you!" the warlock roared, dramatically tossing the handful of powder he had been holding into the brazier. There was a dull explosion of purple smoke behind him.

"How dare I?" Doskariss shrieked. Shadowrun barked from her side. "I am Doskariss - once Witch of the Shadow Council. If I survived twenty years in the swamps only to enter into another demon-enthralled Horde, then kill me now. But know that I will not likely go into that great Nether alone..."

The warlock's eyes widened. "Doskariss..." he gasped. The nearby grunt had raised his axe tentatively at Doskariss' proclamation, but the waved his hand dismissively. "It's all right, this is just a misunderstanding." He turned back to her. "Doskariss, I had heard word of your return. It pleased me to hear that even abroad, an orc is turning away from the shadows of our dubious past." He gestured into the Cleft of Shadow. "Please, come with me."

Doskariss was unconvinced. Shadowrun growled. The warlock nodded pleadingly.

Doskariss sighed and tugged on the reins.

"I am Craven Drok," he introduced himself, "and I admit myself a warlock, but I hold no illusions about my calling. I do not desire power nor control. I desire only the safety and salvation of our people; of all peoples. And I will use whatever means necessary to bring that end. Even at the risk of my own soul."

"Very poetic, Craven Drok," said Doskariss curtly, "but it seems to me that you have more illusions about your calling than even I did."

Drok eyed her wearily. "The demons are powerful and many, and they are far from finished with this world. There are times, I think, when it is prudent to fight them with their own powers. Under Zevrost's guidance, we have learned to enslave the demons to our will, and use them against their own. We have agents in Desolace battling the Legion there. We have still much work to do, but we are a value, in our own way, to this new Horde."

"But in fighting as you do, you betray the very thing you claim to protect," Doskariss noted. They walked by a dark hut where she saw a number of warlocks gathered around a cauldron. "If you were to finally defeat the Legion, somehow, then what? Why fight and die to defend the Horde if even in victory we would be left with a corrupt shadow of what we once were?"

"We have developed methods of dealing with the corruption. Meditation, discipline, conditioning... it is very difficult, at times," said Drok with a sigh, "but the alternative... well, I needn't tell you."

Doskariss nodded gravely.

"Many shamans and the Earthen Ring object to our methods, and I understand their concern," Craven Drok explained. "But the subtler powers of their magics will not stem the demonic tide. There may be some... less desirable elements within the Horde as a result of our influence. But I would rather have to work to remove that taint after the Legion's defeat than lose to the demons and not have a Horde left to clean up. This is something our Warchief understands. We have lived in squalor and slavery for years, and finally we have risen up from our knees. We are a strong, proud people again, with a home that is truly ours. Too much have we risked, too many have we sacrificed, to throw it away on pride alone."

Doskariss looked away. There were no demons, no sacrifices, no choking scent of sulfur.

Did Craven Drok speak the truth? Were there now responsible warlocks? Warlocks who could balance their shadowy powers with the old shamanistic philosophies of their people?

Doskariss had known - it was far more than belief - that the dark magics of the warlocks had tainted her to the core, had corrupted her spirit so much that she had transformed into a woman who was willing to gamble the lives of her children and her people at the promise of more. In a moment of insane clarity, she had known what she had to do. The magic had to be taken from her.

The wounds on her palms ached at the mere thought of it. It had hurt. How it had hurt, and how it still did. But it was the least she could do. As the years passed, as the magic had been removed mote by mote, a weight had been lifted from her soul. But it only made her feel all the guiltier. Without the benefit of a demonic blood haze, she could see her past choices so much clearer.

But if Craven Drok was right - if he and his contemporaries could wield that same power and remain untouched by demonic influence, then perhaps it wasn't that power after all. Perhaps it was Doskariss. Perhaps she was weak.

Perhaps she was evil.

"I shall speak no more of this," Doskariss replied. "Direct me to Neeru Fireblade and leave me be."

"Fireblade?" Drok's face darkened. "What manner of business have you with Neeru?"

"None of yours," Doskariss snapped.

Craven Drok pointed ahead. "Follow the path... and the heat. He conducts his studies in a tent outside of Ragefire Chasm."

Doskariss nodded her thanks and led Shadowrun down the path through the Cleft of Shadow. Drok was right. As she made her way down the path in the stone, she felt a stifling heat breathing down her throat. Shadowrun's tongue hung from his mouth in an exhausted pant.

There were few other domiciles down here, making Neeru's tent hard to miss. It gave her some pause, however, when an orc stepped out from the tent, taking up a bundle of sticks from a woodpile by the tent. He didn't look over until Shadowrun growled. He stood there, staring at her for some time, searching her face for anything familiar.

"Neeru Fireblade?" she guessed after a moment.

He dropped the wood. "It is you..."

Skittishly, like a whelp trying to impress his parent, he dashed over to his tent and pulled open the flap of his tent. "I've been told much about you. Please, come in!"

Doskariss' gaze narrowed, and she tugged on Shadowrun's leash for him to follow.

Neeru clapped his hands. "Your darkwolf, of course! I have just the thing." He disappeared into his tent for only a moment before he emerged again with a sizeable roasted leg of a swine. He outstretched the leg to Shadowrun, shaking it at him.

Doskariss was surprised at Shadowrun's reserve. He waited until she loosened her grip on the leash before dashing forward at quickly as his wounds would allow and snatching the roast with such gusto that Neeru was lucky to retain all five fingers. Shadowrun collapsed to the ground, pawing and gnawing on the roast.

"Come in! Come in!" Neeru held out his hand.

Doskariss lashed Shadowrun's reins to a nearby stone and followed Neeru into his hut.

It was quite the warlock laboratory. A number of easily recognizable reagents littered the tables and hung from the ceiling supports. Neeru bid her to sit on the only stool in the tent. She had to admit after her long walk to the Cleft of Shadow she was relieved to have a seat.

"I had heard the rumours of your return but dared not to believe them," said Neeru, almost giddy. He went to a corner of the tent and began scrambling through some bundles he had in a pile there. "Ah..." he said finally, producing a tall, slim, dusty bottle. "Marshberry brandy. From back home! You have no idea the steps I took to get this. But if there was ever a special occasion, this is it!"

With some difficulty, he yanked the cork from the bottle, smelled it fleetingly, then poured some in a clay cup on the table near her.

She took it with a nod. "My thanks, Neeru." Doskariss thought for a moment whether or not this was a lie. She decided it was not, in that could she not see him she would be blind, and therefore it was good.

"I am honoured by your presence, Doskariss," Neeru bowed low.

"I'm afraid this is not a social visit," Doskariss said quickly, cutting off what was sure to be another flowery diatribe. "And I am in something of a hurry."

Neeru shrugged. "A drink first, then," he raised his cup.

Doskariss resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and took a sip from her cup. She had never thought she would taste such a signature flavour of her native soil, and she admitted herself filled with some pleasant nostalgia as the heavy taste and scent of the brandy flooded her senses for a moment.

Where she sipped, however, Neeru gulped. He downed the contents of his cup in one mouthful, and smacked his lips. "Such a powerful flavour! Few have a hearty enough palette to appreciate it. But then, few are prepared for power in many different capacities."

Doskariss finished a second sip, and her eyes had the urge to roll again. "That's, uhh... quite the stirring metaphor, Neeru."

He shrugged with modesty and then suddenly knelt in front of her. The movement came on so abrupt Doskariss nearly spilled her brandy. "So tell me, Doskariss. What news has the Shadow Council for me?"

The green drained from Doskariss' face. "Shadow Council?"

"Yes, what did they tell you to..." his eyes caught hers. "No..."

Doskariss looked away; raised the cup to her lips.

"No!" Neeru snatched the cup from her hand and threw it at the tent wall. It bounced off the canvas and clattered to the floor, the dark red brandy marking its path. "You betrayed us!" he bellowed. Then, thinking better of it, he lowered his voice. "You treacherous... you bitch! When my time comes I'll see you quartered and flayed! Eyes of green... I thought better of you, far better!"

"Neeru... how could you?" Doskariss was horrified. "Surely you've heard the stories of what Gul'dan's obsessions did to the Horde. You must have seen them if anything I've heard since coming here is true. Why would you turn back to them?"

"Get out. Get out now!" Neeru threw open the tent flap.

Doskariss fell to her knees. "Neeru, wait! I promise I'll tell no one, just please, do you have any news of my daughter?"

Neeru laughed bitingly. "Tell? Oh, many have tried, Doskariss, but I have mastered my role. The Warchief trusts me to no end! He hasn't believed better orcs than you."

"Neeru, please!"

"Oh, I will tell you, Doskariss, what I know of your daughter. I've not seen her for years, but I know one thing. I know that were you ever to show her your face, she would turn you away in disgust, as I do right now. Get out."

Doskariss' mouth hung open, tears following her wrinkles down her face. Neeru would not meet her gaze. She raised herself to her feet and walked out of his tent without bothering to dust off her robes.

The shadows had lengthened in Thrall's chamber. The embers of his braziers burned low, but enough to highlight the pages of the human book he read. It was a play for the stage, called "Romulo and Julianne." A classic, Jaina had assured him when she lent it to him. In all honesty, he found it fairly overwrought for orcish tastes. He had started reading human literature merely to stay in the practice of understanding the language, but the play was written in such an archaic language that it offered him no help there, either. He had only continued reading past the second act so he would have something to say when Jaina asked him what he thought of it.

"Warchief," one of his Kor'kron called from the doorway of his dark chamber. "I have a woman who seeks audience with you."

Thrall sighed. This one must be new. "Tell her I do not see petitioners after sundown."

"I did," said the Kor'kron, a bit indignantly. "She claims it is of great import."

Thrall put a piece of straw in between the pages to mark his place and closed the book. "Very well."

The Kor'kron moved aside, and the frail image of Doskariss stood behind him.

Thrall grumbled to himself, but motioned for her to approach. "I admit I grew concerned when I received word that you had missed the envoy to Razor Hill, Doskariss. I hope that you are not trying to test the limits of my compassion."

Doskariss approached swiftly. "I assure you, Warchief, I do not disturb you at such a late hour lightly. I bring grave news, and I beg of you to hear me out."

"Oh?"

"Thrall, Son of Durotan, when I approached Neeru Fireblade tonight to question him about my daughter, he thought me a messenger sent from the Shadow Council. I know you have heard this accusation against him before, but you must take me seriously: he is in league with them! He is an agent of the demons within your very city!"

Thrall looked at her intensely. "Do not think that pointing out a larger threat will force you from my mind, Doskariss."

She sighed, frustrated. "Warchief, I know you have no reason to trust me, but please, for the sake of our people, know that I have no agenda, and I ask no favour. You must heed my warning!"

Thrall tapped a tusk pensively. He stared at her in silence for a few moments before leaning forward. "Doskariss, find an inn and stay there for the night. You will not proceed to Razor Hill, but know that you will be put to work. Do not repeat your accusations to another living soul. Is that absolutely clear?"

"But, Warchief, I..."

"I shall pursue that matter in my own time and through my own avenues," Thrall interrupted her. "But you will not be a part of that investigation. For the safety of yourself and my agents I must insist that you do not spread your findings around.

"Yes, Warchief."

"Good. Leave me."

Doskariss saluted him, then turned and rushed out of the room.

Thrall watched her go, then sighed. "So, she sided with us over Neeru..."

"Indeed," a heavy voice from the shadows agreed. "Per your instructions I followed her to the Cleft. Neeru first welcomed her, then threw her out minutes later."

"It could be an elaborate ruse," Thrall proposed.

"Doubtful, Warchief," the shadows replied. "I remain confident that Fireblade is unaware that we know of his true loyalties. He thinks you easily fooled - he has grown sloppier with every sunrise."

"I'll agree with that," Thrall ribbed his brow absently. "The number of citizens who approach me with such news seems to double each week."

"Do you have any further instruction, Warchief?" the shadows asked.

"Continue to watch her, for now," Thrall decided. "Even if she truly is loyal to us, I have no doubt that she is keeping things from me, and she has earned no right to secrets. Keep your distance, though."

"Always, Warchief," the shadows answered.

Thrall saw and heard nothing, but he sensed one less presence in the room.

He picked up "Romulo and Julianne," and opened it to the page marked with the straw.