I never knew Lodgallin Silvervein personally before the war, but I did know her family by repute. The Silvervein farm stood just north of the Thandol Span, and from there was one of the northmost Ironforge holdings, save perhaps Dun Garok along the Eastern Strand. The farm itself was of only minor consequence. I believe their livelihood was their bean harvest, though they also grew a small batch of livestock. I don’t particularly recall, however the Silvervein farm was instead notable as it was the last rest stop for the traveling dwarf or gnome before they ventured into the human lands, which, in their day, were certainly much more manageable than they are now, but the farm was still the last bastion of the dwarves’ unique brand of hospitality… and the last stock of full barrels before lands full of sugar-water the humans laughably called “ale.”

I of course hadn’t thought about the Silverveins for a long time. The tragedy wrought by the Scourge and the demons who followed was wide and deep – one farm was barely worth mentioning. So I was surprised when I found Lodgallin in the Deepwater Tavern, running her finger along the rim of a half-full stein of Barleybrew Dark, to hear that her farm had been destroyed by the Scourge.

When I expressed some disbelief that the undead had traveled so far south, she replied with a sigh that her farm was exactly how far south they had gone.

As poor as her luck was, she did certainly seem to have some good fortune on her side. Enough to have her away with the farm’s prize ram at the Darkmoon Faire when the attack happened. The ram even won the blue ribbon. I was going to write “took home the blue ribbon” before I realized there had been no home to take it back to.

She had that look about her. I don’t know how else to describe it other than the look of one who has just been through a grand adventure. It’s a look of contentment, exhaustion, and bewilderment. You’ll know what I mean if you’ve seen it. Everyone does it their own way, but everyone does it.

Her adventure had begun here, too, in the Deepwater Tavern by the docks of Menethil Harbour, easily the most trafficked of port towns maintained by the Alliance in the East. She had found a bulletin nailed to the notice board. It was written in Common and Dwarvish, and printed in a precise, heavy pen. It called for any robust adventurers who sought daring, glory, and coin. It went on to explain that the bulletin’s writer needed to make a dangerous trip into the Forsaken-controlled Northlands. The exact nature of her business there was her own, but she promised treasure and gold for any who accompanied her.

I didn’t tell Lodgallin this, but I, too, had seen the bulletin months before, and had considered taking the author up on it. It asked for any interested to gather their gear and meet her in Southshore. Southshore is by no means a simple afternoon jaunt from Menethil, and I wasn’t willing to make such a demanding journey without any idea of what I’d be doing. Lodgallin, it seemed, was more desperate than I.

The Scourge’s handiwork had left her with nothing but the clothes on her back, the skills of the paladin her father had taught her, and the prize ram, whose name was apparently Summersnow. Her estate was completely obliterated, and she found herself quite suddenly poor and homeless. She considered selling Summersnow but knew that the ram was of more use to her than the money she would get from selling him. He certainly wouldn’t fetch a price steep enough to find herself a new home. So she did what so many others did; she plied herself as a mercenary. The riches the bulletin offered were too tempting for her to pass up, so she put her things together and she and Summersnow caught the first ship to Southshore.

Ana Verona had written the notice. I wouldn’t actually see Verona until nearly a year after hearing of her, but Lodgallin’s description of her was adequate. She was tall, though I suppose it’s all relative for us. Pale skin; dark eyes, an impatient face framed by neat ebony hair. Her robes were of a startling red. It’s unfortunate that Lodgallin was so ill-informed on the matter because I would have been able to recognize her for what she was in an instant.

They met in Southshore, Verona explained herself to Lodgallin, and Lodgallin agreed to aid her. After a good night’s rest, they set out on ramback for Tirisfal Glades.

The journey through Silverpine was, apparently, not without its problems. They had to outrun Forsaken patrols more than once, and staying off the roads put them in the way of the roving worgen, Scourge, and wildlife. But they made it, nevertheless, to the northern woodlands of the Tirisfal Glades. They arrived in good time, mid afternoon, and made camp to rest up before they made for their quarry.

Their quarry was Holia Sunshield. Now, to any who know of her you likely know her to be dead, as this is largely all she was famous for. Hers was an inspiring rags to riches story, of sort, but it only began circulating after she martyred herself in battle and became canonized by the Scarlet Crusade. Verona knew this, and was actually after her remains. Many had objected to this. It is a common sensibility in the Alliance that having your grave desecrated is an indignity none should suffer.

Under normal circumstances, Lodgallin might have agreed, but her situation was becoming desperate and she had spent a considerable amount of coin to get to Southshore, so she begrudgingly agreed to go with Verona, and decided she would seek absolution in the confessor’s box later.

They took turns keeping watch as they caught what sleep they could, though when Lodgallin awoke near dusk she saw that Verona was sleeping as well. She woke her, and Verona assured her that she had taken steps to protect them and would say no more.

They supped about an hour after sundown. Bread, dried lamb, and beer.

After strapping on Summersnow’s feedbag, Lodgallin sat down next to the low fire Verona was tending, sweeping back the rim of her robe so as to avoid singing it.

“So what be your quarrel with this Sunshield lass?” asked Lodgallin in her adorable Dwarvish brogue.

Verona looked up from the fire. “Quarrel?”

“Well I can’t imagine we are simply diggin’ her up for kicks. Are the riches she was buried with worth such an effort as this? Surely there must be summat more… personal to your business with her?”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Verona answered, returning to the fire. “I never knew Holia Sunshield. I bear her no ill will. Unfortunately, she was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, which means I have business with her grave.”

“But why?”

“You need only know that I have business, it’s not your concern what…” Verona’s voice trailed off as she turned her head to the side. It looked to Lodgallin like the sorceress was listening to another speaker, though – save Summersnow – they were alone at the campsite.

Verona turned back to Lodgallin. “Very well,” she said with a sigh. “What I seek has little to do with Holia Sunshield and more to do with the creature she died killing. The nathrezim, Beltheris.”

Lodgallin had been unfamiliar with the tales of Sunshield, and her eyes went wide. “A dreadlord?”

“Indeed,” said Verona with a nod. “Beltheris was a demon commander within the Burning Legion during the Third War. Her contingent was stranded in Tirisfal after Balnazzar’s defeat, and they eventually faced the Scarlet Crusade. Sunshield’s commander was killed and she rallied her troop together for a final strike. She and Beltheris faced each other in single combat in the end. Sunshield was brutally savaged, but she managed to kill Beltheris before she succumbed to her injuries.”

Lodgallin’s face contorted a bit as Verona told the tale. “And we mean to exhume a woman of such heroism?”

Verona nodded pensively. “Indeed, heroes can be born of even the most misguided of movements. And yes, we shall exhume her tonight. I require a token of Beltheris’ energies. The most likely source of finding any will be within the body and equipment of the warrior she died fighting against. I think you’ll agree we’ve come much too far to turn back now.”

“Aye,” Lodgallin nodded ruefully. “I just… ‘tis a shame, is all.” She raised her stein, nearly empty. “A drink in her memory?”

Verona looked about for the clay cup she had been using. She found it by her pack and raised it in a similar fashion. “Very well.”

They left shortly after.

They hid their things under a bush and concealed Summersnow in a hollow tree before making their way northward on foot. Verona had a dagger in one hand, and a thin channeling rod in the other. Her belt was laden with bottles of potions and bags of reagents. Lodgallin had her axe dangling from her belt and her shield slung across her back, carrying her helm under her arm. They kept just off the road, and tried to stay hidden by the forestry. It wasn’t long before they began to spot red tabards in the distance; the Scarlet Crusaders on patrol.

Some even wandered the road, and when they neared, the two women went low and kept quiet.

The plan was thus: they would find the small graveyard in the shadow of the Scarlet Outpost, wait until two or less Crusaders were present, then they would rush them, incapacitate them, and Lodgallin would stand watch at the south while Verona exhumed Sunshield’s remains. When asked what they would do about the northern end, Verona replied that it would be taken care of. With Verona’s magic, the exhumation was to take fifteen minutes; perhaps more depending on whether or not roots had grown over in the four years since her burial.

The plan changed.

There was a large congregation of Crusaders in one area of the forest, forcing Lodgallin and Verona to make a wider berth of the tower, and while on this trajectory, relatively far from the outpost, they encountered another Crusader patrol and hid in the bushes as they walked by.

The two Crusaders were both men, and wore similar uniform. They were muttering amicably to one another as they walked past the two. Distracted as they were, Lodgallin and Verona managed to keep from detection with ease.

However, shortly after passing them, a shout arose further into the forest. Verona and Lodgallin shifted to get a look without revealing their presence, and finally Lodgallin managed to see a woman, another Crusader, running through the forest towards the other two, waving her hand. The Crusaders saw her, but made no move to join her. As she neared, Lodgallin saw a scabbard chained to her belt bouncing back and forth as she ran, and the outline of a wide round shield across her back.

Verona narrowed her gaze. “No…”

“No…” said one of the Crusaders. “It’s impossible!”

“What?” asked the other, taller of the two.”

The first shook his head. “It’s…” he muttered a name, but Lodgallin couldn’t make it out. She turned quizzically to Verona, who had crossed her arms.

Verona licked her front teeth thoughtfully. “Holia Sunshield.”

Lodgallin’s eyes went wide and she turned back.

Sunshield looked tired and worn, completely run down. Her tabard of the Scarlet Crusade was so dirty and faded it was barely recognizable. She stopped to catch her breath as she neared the Crusaders.

“Brothers!” she cried. “I’m so glad I found you, I’ve been looking for aid for so long!”

The taller Crusader fumbled for his waterskin and handed it to Sunshield. She nodded her thanks and drank it down. The other Crusader said something Lodgallin couldn’t hear.

“We’ve no time for all that!” Sunshield replied, wiping water from her chin. She continued her conversation in a lower tone, such that Lodgallin could hear only rises and falls in her voice. During her hurried explanation, however, Sunshield was quite animated, waving her arms dramatically, shaking her head, and finally, pointing behind her, in the direction she had come from.

The two Crusaders spoke to each other, but Sunshield interrupted. “Hurry! There’s no time to lose!” she cried, and turned about and ran back into the forest. She paused, turning about, and waving her hands. “Come, Brothers!”

The tall one shook his head, and  put a hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “This is lunacy!” he hissed.

The other shot him a glare and brushed his hand away. “Come on!” he growled, and ran off in pursuit of Sunshield.

Lodgallin turned to Verona, who was already sheathing her dagger. “We need to keep pace with them but remain hidden. Can your discipline aid us at all?”

The paladin thought a moment, then opened her backpack, pulling out her libram. “Nothing comes t’ mind, but…”

“Forget it!” Verona smacked her lightly on the shoulder, getting to her feet. “We’re going to lose them!”

Verona broke her cover, lifting the hem of her robe with her free hand, running from tree to tree for cover. Lodgallin buckled up her backpack again, picked her axe up off the ground, and followed.

Trying to stay out of sight slowed them, and in minutes they couldn’t see the Crusaders anymore. Lodgallin was quite mindful of the sounds the plates of her armour scraping together, but hoped that the sounds of the Crusaders’ own hubbub would drown it out. After several minutes, Verona stopped, breathing heavily. Lodgallin caught up to her quickly. They had no bearings, couldn’t see any of the Crusaders, and though she thought she could still hear faintly the sounds of running through the forest, she couldn’t tell the direction it came from.

“Perhaps,” said Lodgallin, “we should’ve brought Summersnow after all?”

Verona suddenly pointed off into the forest. “This way,” she said frantically, and the pursuit began again.  Only after crossing a small creek, Verona stopped again. She stood there a moment before turning, as if hearing something, and then taking off again in another direction.

They carried on like this for at least half an hour, Verona stopping four, maybe five, times throughout. Lodgallin was convinced that Verona was simply guessing frantically, and wrestled with the tact of letting her indulge herself and the dangers of wandering off with no clear idea of where they were going. Even after she began to doubt she could retrace her steps, Lodgallin still followed Verona quietly for some. By the time they saw the lights in the distance, Lodgallin was ten minutes past believing them irrevocably lost.

The light was flickering, clear signs of life, and as they got closer they saw it was coming from out the open doorway in the base of a large tower nestled at the bottom of a densely forested hill. There were chambers in the upper potions of the towers, the one at the top had several decorated windows, but no light came from them. Three things were clear from its architecture: it was of human make; it was of more permanent construction than the Crusade’s military outposts, and it was old.

They stopped together some distance from the treeline. Verona leaned around a tree.

“You think the Crusaders went in there, lass?” asked Lodgallin, but Verona held up her hand for silence.

“Quiet,” she said. Then, a moment later, she nodded. “You’re right…”

Lodgallin raised her eyebrow. “About what?”

“Something…” Verona tapped the tree with her finger, “is amiss…”

Suddenly, an arrow punched into the tree not five inches from Verona’s face. She started and pulled back. Lodgallin leapt in front of her, drawing axe and shield, and turned to face their foe.

An undead human man stood perhaps twenty feet from them, both arms hanging limply at his side, clutching a bow but making no effort to put another arrow to it. He wore dark violet armour, and a hood that shadowed his sunken face. His angry brow framed two black, empty sockets, and the flesh had rotted from his jaw, giving him a fixed, skeletal smile. His were the trappings, Lodgallin knew, of the Forsaken Deathguard.

“I don’t care whether the two of you live or die,” he spat. “But the Dread Lady is mine.”

Lodgallin glared angrily over the top of her shield. “We’ve no business wit’ you, nor this ‘Dread Lady’ of yours. Leave us be!”

Verona, however, cocked her head. “Dread Lady…” she mused. “Of course!”

“Yes,” came a voice as a figure shimmered into view right beside them. “Beltheris.”

The deathguard gasped, putting an arrow to his bow, as Lodgallin nearly tripped turning about and backing away from the creature. She was tall, though shorter than Verona, and wore an elaborately decorated bustier and loincloth. She would have been elven, if not for the hooves, thin tail, leathery wings, and twin horns jutting up from her forehead.

“It’s all right,” said Verona, putting an arm in front of the creature. “She’s mine.”

The paladins were to know their enemies, and as such had developed a working knowledge of basic demonology. Lodgallin had never seen one of these creatures before, but knew that she was one of the sayaad: a succubus.

She glanced down at Lodgallin but said nothing to her. She instead turned to Verona. “The more I thought about it the more I began to suspect this. It makes so much sense.”

“So what of Holia?” asked Verona.

“Still dead, I imagine. Couldn’t you sense the demon?”

“I wasn’t sure what to make of it. You suspect that was Beltheris ensorcelled to appear as Sunshield?”

The succubus shook her head. “I can guarantee that it wasn’t. Likely one of her minions.”

“What in the Twisting Nether is all of this?” the deathguard demanded, his careful aim darting between the three women.

Verona sighed. “I’d think it obvious by now. I’m a warlock,” – Lodgallin gasped, at this point – “and this is the demon I have bound to my will; Cattola.”

The succubus nodded a greeting.

“I cannae believe I’ve come all this way for the likes of…” Lodgallin shook her head, lost for words. “I knew mercenary work would cross me path less savoury ones, but I never…”

“Quiet!” hissed the deathguard, hiding suddenly behind a tree. Lodgallin turned to the tower, to see that the light had gone out in the doorway, and after a moment, the door closed.

Verona glanced at the deathguard as he got to his feet. “What’s your business with her?”

He looked at her a moment before he answered. “I was on a scouting mission from Deathknell, with five other men. We caught the path of a Scarlet foraging party and followed them into the wild to finish them off. She found them, slaughtered them all, and then came after us. She took us by surprise, disrupted our line. I managed to escape with one other, but he died of his wounds. My business with the Dread Lady is a fight to the death, to avenge them.”

Verona smirked, and traded a bemused look with Cattola. “You really think you can beat her in single combat?”

He shrugged. “If I get the drop on her.”

“The drop?” laughed Cattola. “She’s a nathrezim, which makes her paranoid and smart. There’s any number of wards and traps between us and her. Most likely she already knows we’re here.”

Now seems as good a time as any to tell you what Lodgallin had to say about the sudden revelation from Verona.

“Don’t get me wrong, lad,” she told me, “t’ain’t nothin’ against Verona herself, but I just couldn’t get me head around it. Honestly, who willfully summons a demon to carry on wit’? Can ye not find a sturdy mortal warrior t’ keep your company? An’ such a demon as Cattola. That thing never looked at the rest o’ us as if we were friends or comrades. She looked at us as though we was beasts or children. She seemed fond enough of us, but… unsettlin’.” She shuddered, and raised her pint to her lips.

“You’re sure it’s Beltheris?” Verona asked the succubus, craning her head to get a better look at the tower.

Cattola nodded. “As sure as I can be. It’s just like her, too.”

Verona looked back. “You knew her?”

“I did,” Cattola shrugged. “Some time ago she was under suspicion of defecting, and I was asked to investigate the matter. I never found any proof but that doesn’t mean the claims were unfounded.” She crossed her arms. “She most likely faked her death during the fight with Sunshield and used the opportunity to leave the Legion.” She clucked her tongue, impressed. “It’s not a bad plan, all things considered. The Glades are remote and in enough conflict that she can stay easily in hiding without being detected by any of the powers that struggle for it. And if the little show earlier is any indication, she’s been feeding off the Scarlet Crusaders, luring them away with an image of the Crusader she’s most familiar with.”

The deathguard resolutely put his arrow back in his quiver. “Why would she remain in Azeroth? I’m sure there are safer worlds to hide out in.”

Verona shook her head. “Traveling to other realms means traversing the Twisting Nether. The risk of her presence there being detected by the commanders of the Legion would be far too great. Particularly for a nathrezim. They are…” she set her jaw, looking back at the tower, “methodical.” She turned about. “This is considerably more than we ever intended,” she said to Cattola. “We hired Lodgallin for protection on the journey, but that was it. We’re in no shape to tackle a dreadlord.”

“I’m going to be taking her head back tonight,” said the deathguard. “If you want to help me that’s your business.”

“Absolutely not!” cried Lodgallin.

“Even with the Forsaken,” Verona insisted, ignoring the dwarf. “Our chances aren’t good.”

Cattola rolled her eyes. “Verona, this is a blessing. We have access to Beltheris, now. Extracting what remained of her presence from Sunshield’s corpse would have taken time and resources that we can now commit to the rest of our endeavor. We’ll be weeks ahead of schedule.”

“If we survive,” Verona added.

“It’s a calculated risk,” Cattola waved the comment away. “But the paladin’s training is specifically geared towards battling our kind and protecting against our powers. Lodgallin will give us an edge. In battle, the nathrezim tend to fight from behind the lines, letting a larger force do the dirty work, but she has no larger force.”

“Verona!” Lodgallin gripped the arm of her robe and yanked her down, so that her face was close. “I’m not going into battle alongside a demon harlot an’ a walking corpse!”

Verona was about to answer but Cattola beat her to it. “Then what? Leave her?”

“We’ll amass a party of proper soldiers and return in force,” Lodgallin answered.

“Return from where?” asked Verona, forcing Lodgallin’s hand from her robe. “We’re in enemy territory, miles from any allies, and everywhere north of the Thandol Span has other concerns; we’ll never convince anyone to lend us forces to conquer one demon in the remote north.”

“If we leave now,” Cattola pointed at the deathguard. “That man will die, and Beltheris will go on to feed on the humans until one of the forces at play in the Glades wins out and can finally begin to police the area properly. And the war for Tirisfal could go on for generations.” She put her hands on her hips. “Can you, as a servant of your vaunted Light, turn your back and simply leave Beltheris to her work?”

Lodgallin glanced at the deathguard, who looked up from sharpening his blade. He deposited it back in its sheath. “Look, it’s one night, one battle. We don’t have to go out for drinks together afterward. I can’t say I’m comfortable with this, either. You people are as likely to stick a knife in my back in the middle of a fight as the demon. But I can set that aside for a few hours. Make up your mind soon, though. I won’t wait around all night for you to come to a decision.”

“Fine,” Lodgallin threw up her arms with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll go wit’ you.” She looked back at Cattola. “All of you.”

Cattola smiled politely. “Hmm. I may have no tolerance for order but there I times I find myself admiring it from afar.”

“Stow it,” spat Lodgallin. “Like the Forsaken said, fightin’ side by side ain’t pickin’ out curtains.”

Cattola smirked. “Indeed.”

Verona held up a hand to Cattola, suggesting that she lay off. She turned to the deathguard. “What do we call you, Forsaken?”

“Kel,” he replied. “Deathguard Kel.”

“A pleasure,” said Verona with a nod. “I am…”

“Yes, yes. Verona, Lodgallin, Cattola,” Kel rhymed off. “Just because I don’t have ears anymore doesn’t mean I can’t hear. If we can just get to it, I have little patience for small talk.”

“Very well,” Verona shrugged. “Cattola, circle the base of the tower, see if you can see anything inside.”

The succubus nodded, waved her hand over her head, and disappeared with a dull, shimmering light.

“So she was with us the whole time?” Lodgallin muttered.

Verona nodded. “Since Southshore, and she’s proved invaluable. She scouted out the safest routes for us, diverted Forsaken and Scarlet Crusade patrols from our path, and guided us when we gave chase to the two Crusaders earlier.”

“But she’s a demon!” said Lodgallin. “She’s an evil creature who wants nothin’ more than to destroy us all! Ya never stop to question her intentions?”

“Being a demon; being a creature so connected with the arcane allows those of us who know how to manipulate those energies to more easily control them. I summoned Cattola, bound her to my will. Her intentions, for the time being, are mine.”

Lodgallin shook her head. “You’re so sure you can control her?”

Verona nodded. “Absolutely. If she wanted to kill me she’s had many opportunities before now.”

“Murder,” said Lodgallin, “is not the only sinister intention out there, lass.”

“Be quiet,” Verona sighed. “She’s coming back.”

Cattola materialized as she finished her last steps back to them. “Beltheris is there, I’m almost certain, though she’s trying to mask her presence with a benign aura. I managed to disarm three wards about the base of the tower. I believe we’ll be able to enter, but I can’t say for certain there aren’t more inside.”

“Did you see anything?” asked Kel.

“Something stirs in the base of the tower, and it’s not Beltheris. Her aura muddles my senses, so it was difficult to discern. But I believe it to be another demon. There were two presences, there, one minor in comparison to the greater.”

Verona crossed her arms. “Beltheris and a lone servant.”

Cattola nodded. “That’s my guess.”

Lodgallin sighed. “It’s time to come up with a plan o’ attack.”

“Indeed,” agreed Kel. “What do we know of our foes?”

“The nathrezim value their own survival above all else,” Verona explained. “Dignity and revenge are secondary to them. Unless Beltheris has grossly deviated from the usual nature of her people, we can expect her to fight dirty.”

“If we engage the minion, will the master assist?” asked Lodgallin.

“Hard to say,” said Cattola with a shrug. “On the one hand she may be willing to simply let us fight it out and see how it goes, on the other she knows that once the minion is destroyed we’ll be coming for her.”

“Nathrezim theory is all well and good,” grumbled Kel, “but have you any insight on the Lady herself?”

Cattola rolled her eyes. “No, but…”

“If what you say is true, then she has longed to live outside the Legion for some time. She may not be thinking the same way they do,” Kel surmised. “What value does she place on the tower? What value does she place on her anonymity?” Verona and Cattola exchanged glances. Kel continued: “Survival is at times a much more complicated matter than simply living and breathing.”

A witty retort occurred to Lodgallin at that, but she had the sense to keep it to herself. I opt now not to repeat it here, as it was fairly unflattering.

“So where does that leave us, then?” asked Verona, putting her hands impatiently on her hips.

“It means we need to approach this foe as we would any other. We mind our defenses, we stay close, and we remain aware of our surroundings.” The deathguard drew his sword. “Strategy is all well and good but if we don’t know anything about our quarry then it’s unwise to simply guess.”

Lodgallin took some unease with the fact that the comrade she found herself in most agreement with was the walking corpse.

The tower was surrounded by a small expanse of open ground, which meant that they would be completely exposed from the treeline to the tower base. Cattola assured them that there were no traps in between them and the tower, so they simply made a dash for it. Kel took the lead, flanked by Lodgallin and Cattola, while Verona brought up the rear. They brought themselves flush to the tower wall on opposite sides of the door, and at a nod from Verona, Cattola quickly turned the latch and threw the door open, then became immediately invisible and stepped aside. Nothing emerged.

Kel turned first to look inside. “We’ll need some light,” he whispered to Lodgallin. “Is there anything you can do?” She nodded. “Good,” he sighed. “Take up position inside and cast a light. I’ll take the opposite side of the door.”

Lodgallin put the palm of her hand against the axe blade, muttered an incantation, and quickly hopped inside the tower. In the half-moment before her axe became incandescent, she saw something move in the darkness; something small. But when the axe lit up like a white torch, there was nothing but dusty shelves, crates and barrels, and a startled rat scampering towards a hole in the wall.’

Kel quickly followed, an arrow on his tight bowstring.

“I saw something,” Lodgallin mumbled. Kel nodded.

Verona entered, glancing about, taking stock of the room.

Cattola’s disembodied voice spoke as plainly as if she was standing right there. Which, I suppose, she was. “There’s something here. A lesser demon.”

At that, a low cackle issued from somewhere in the room. Lodgallin shone her axe to and fro, for the sound came from nowhere and everywhere at once.

“Lesser indeed!” shrieked a shrill, quick voice, and a pair of barrels burst apart. A small creature, perhaps a hand shorter than a gnome, flew from its hiding place, trailing flames as it pranced about. Kel loosed an arrow but it missed, and the imp (for that is what it was) launched his own fireball that struck a bag of flour on one of the shelves nearer to the ceiling. The bag exploded, and a white plume of flour fell harmlessly to the floor, but as it did, it fell across the outline of Cattola’s figure. With a growl, she shook herself clean and disappeared again.

The imp laughed. “Harlots of beyond the stars call stewards of greater things than them lesser!” He cartwheeled, hopped off walls, spun about. He kept his distance. “A mistress who serves a mortal – a human! Lesser indeed!”

Kel dropped his bow and drew his sword, but Verona put a hand on his shoulder. “No, don’t chase him.”

“You will not chase the demon Abaqua?” the imp paused suddenly, which startled all of them. He seemed livid. “You are content to be entertained by tricks and dances? Abaqua is no circus hound.” He threw up his hands and two fireballs streaked from his palms. Lodgallin caught one on her shield, but the force behind it was substantial, and she felt it rattle the bones of her arm. The shaft of light from her shield flickered about for a moment before going out altogether. Kel and Verona ducked away from the second fireball, and it blasted the doorframe behind them.

Lodgallin stood upright, and circled quickly to her left. She made out the shape of Abaqua darting to his left, keeping further from her. Cattola materialized before him, menacing him with her whip, and he slipped back, avoiding her strikes. Lodgallin heard an arrow from Kel zip past her, but didn’t see it.

Verona spat an incantation and a spout of flame issued from her palm and the floorboards were quickly alight. The imp squealed and pranced away, but Cattola was ready for him, and she lashed him across the face with her whip. When he reeled back, Kel could finally get a fix on him, and he shot an arrow into the imp’s shoulder. Lodgallin swung her axe forward and sent a surge of holy energy at Abaqua. The two strikes brought him to the floor.

Lodgallin rushed up and chopped his head off. His headless body wriggled a few moments more, sending a shudder up her spine. She yanked the axe from the floor.

With a wave of her hand, Verona doused the flames she had created and the only light came again from Lodgallin’s shield.

The paladin drew heavy breaths, gulping for musty air. Verona leaned against the wall, equally winded. Cattola coiled up her whip and put it on her belt. Kel was the only one who didn’t seem to be phased by the attack, merely collecting his arrows from the wall and the imp’s remains.

He turned. “We need to keep moving. She’ll have been alerted from the battle.”

Verona sighed, shaking her head. “No. If she was going to surprise attack us she would have done it while we faced that… what was his name?”

“Abaqua,” Cattola answered absently.

Verona nodded. “Yes. She is waiting on something else… perhaps she expects to parlay, or perhaps she hopes to turn us against each other. She knew we were here before we fought Abaqua. All we can do is face her and see what comes of it.”

Cattola started up the stairs and paused. “Then let’s move ahead.” She began to ascend and once again disappeared.

The three followed her up the narrow, winding stairway up the length of the tower. The whole thing would have been quite disorienting if not for the small windows carved into the stone every now and then, allowing shafts of starlight to pierce the darkness. Lodgallin glanced out of them whenever they passed, and saw the ground get progressively farther away. Finally they reached the top.

The chamber at the apex of the tower was very clean and well kept, unlike the entryway. Her eyes were first drawn to a wooden worktable, laden with books and surrounded by lit candles that were rooted in mounds of dripped wax. A tall, sturdy ladder was just to the right of the door against the wall. Large tall windows were all about the outer wall, making everything easy to see. But as she scanned the room further, she stepped back with a gasp, nearly knocking Kel back down the stairs.

A scarlet crusader was hanging upside down by his leg in a wooden frame. He had been stripped naked and bound tightly with leather cords. His throat had been cut, and his face was streaked with the blood that had poured out from his wound, down into the large clay bowl beneath him. Lodgallin hadn’t gotten a good look at the crusaders Holia Sunshield had led away, but judging by his hair, she guessed this was one of them. The second was on the ground, lying on his back with his arms up over his head. It looked as though he had been dragged about by the feet. Also naked, his body showed no wounds, but he was clearly dead as well. On either side of the hanged crusader was a tall standing mirror, and Lodgallin saw in both her own, shocked face. But the image seemed strangely distorted.

Verona and Kel shoved past Lodgallin to survey the room for themselves. Verona bit her lip pensively and Kel smirked.

“She’s not here,” Lodgallin heard Cattola’s voice whispering to them. “But I sense her presence still lingers. Be on your guard.”

“Beltheris!” Verona called out, “show yourself!”

A low, thin voice pierced the gloom. “I thought humans were the masters of etiquette. Yet one comes into my home and makes demands. Bad form…”

The mirror to the left of the crusader shimmered for a moment and then, as if stepping through a wall of still water, Beltheris emerged.

Lodgallin had never seen a dreadlord at all, merely illustrations in librams, but all of those had been of men. Beltheris was tall, regal, and slender. She wore an ornate, if heavily worn, robe of dark violet, with a black skirt that draped to the floor. Two spindly wings were folded close to her back, and her oversized hands, with long, sharp nails issuing from the end of each sinuous finger. Her face was old, but firm, crowned with two jagged horns curling up from her forehead and a single braid of white hair hanging nearly to the floor from an otherwise bald head.

The three had assumed battle stances the moment they heard her voice. Beltheris glanced idly at the dead crusader before turning to face them. She eyed them all up and down, then sighed.

“What do you seek?” she asked.

“Your head!” Kel cried out, but Verona raised her hand to silence him.

“What do you offer?” Verona asked.

Lodgallin glanced at the warlock, a little taken aback.

Beltheris smirked. “I don’t know why you have tracked me here to my home, but I see by the company you keep that you are surely not of the Crusade. I can assure you that I bear no ill will to you or your peoples. I have remained here, in this remote wilderness for years, now, only harrying the Scarlet Crusade, who is enemy to all of you. I have left the Legion. I call no one ‘master.’”

“You killed my troop!” Kel stepped forward. Verona put a hand on his shoulder to stop him but he shook her off.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “The Forsaken patrol, yes… it was unfortunate. But the Legion is as much enemy to you as the Scourge is, since the war against Balnazzar and Detheroc. It was unlikely that you would have stopped to ask my status before attacking me. I did what I had to do to survive. Surely you of all your kinsmen here should understand that.”

“Kinsmen?” Kel shouted. “These are not my kinsmen! My kinsmen were butchered for risks you couldn’t take!”

“That’s enough, Deathguard!” Verona snapped.

“But he’s right!” said Lodgallin. “The demon slaughtered a whole troop of Forsaken to keep her secret safe. What’s to say she won’t simply do the same to us?”

“The very fact that we’re having this conversation at all,” Beltheris answered. “We could fight, and we may, but there’s no guarantee which side would win, or you could go, leave here unhindered, with as much treasure from my stocks as you can carry.”

Lodgallin scoffed. “And what will you do then, eh? Still killin’. Still drinking blood! Ye are what ye are, lass. I don’t care who you serve, you’re still a demon and there’s certain things that come with the territory.”

Beltheris glared at the paladin critically. “Do you rebuke me my very survival? I have secluded myself in this corner of the world, and that has forced me to adapt. I kill the Crusaders and their blood is my sustenance. If you will destroy me for this deed, then you must destroy lumberjacks for the sakes of trees, shepherds for the sake of sheep, all manner of predator for the sake of all manner of prey.”

“Men are not cattle!” Lodgallin cried.

Beltheris sighed. “I take my quarry only from the ranks of the Scarlet Crusade, as palpable a threat to your lives and freedoms as the Scourge or the Legion. I don’t believe any of you would hesitate to kill one such Crusader if your paths crossed, for that hesitation would cost you your lives.”

“Fair battle is one thing,” said Lodgallin, “you duped these men. Trapped them. That’s not…”

Beltheris laughed, shaking a bemused head. “You mortals never cease to amaze me. To think, you’ve invented such systems for murder! That one killing is cleaner or more righteous than another.” She took a deep breath. “Take it from me, dwarf. Death is death. And death is a messy business.”

Lodgallin made to say something, but faltered.

“Enough of this!” Cattola suddenly appeared, standing between Verona and Beltheris. The nathrezim raised her hand defensively, horrified.

Verona tried to calm Cattola, but the succubus brushed her aside. “This idle talk only delays what we know must be done.”

“You!” Beltheris shrieked. “I should have smelled the scent of your lies on these fools!”

Cattola curled her lip at the dread lady. “How pathetic you’ve become, Beltheris. All that human blood has made you drunk with mortality. There was a time I even respected the decision to defect. But begging for mercy from three mortals? Really, I’ve come to expect more from even the nathrezim.

“What we seek cannot be given, only snatched from your death.” Cattola turned to the three mortals. “She talks of risk, but what about the risk of letting three people leave here with full knowledge of who she is, how she operates, and where to find her?” She swung about, her dark hair falling across her eye. The unobscured one burned into Beltheris. “She would let us go, yes, and then fall upon us as our backs were turned.”

Beltheris’ gaze darkened. “Very well, then. If you will not listen to reason, if you so adamantly refuse to parlay, then your fates are your own.” She took a step back. “I tried to spare you. Remember that as you die.”

She flapped her wings suddenly, throwing herself backward, crashing through one of the windows. The force of the wind she stirred buffeted them, catching Cattola’s own wings and sliding her backward a few inches. Lodgallin lifted her eyes to see an airborne figure outside suddenly dart upward, out of sight.

Cattola licked her lips. “To battle, then…” she unslung her whip, and charged towards the window. “Ascend to the rooftop!” she commanded them. “I’ll meet you there!”

With that, she dove out the broken window, flapping her wings furiously, rising aloft.

Verona set her jaw, sheathing her dagger, and lifting the hem of her robe, tested the strength of the ladder before and climbing towards the trapdoor to the rooftop. Kel followed once she was far enough ahead.

“Wait!” said Lodgallin, pausing both of them. “Why do we not merely let the demons exhaust each other?”

Verona narrowed her gaze, and continued upward. “Cattola’s a valuable servant. I’m not going to risk losing her.”

The warlock heaved open the trapdoor and clambered out. Lodgallin sighed and followed the silent deathguard.

The rooftop rose above much of the Tirisfal Glades, and the vista’s dull colours, further mulled by the blanket of night, would have been hauntingly beautiful, if not for the low cackle coming from below.

Beltheris rose into view, pencil thin, her long nails folded, her arms fast at her side. The dread lady let a smile dance upon her ancient features.

Without a word, she threw her arms forward, snapping her claws out. They raked against each other like sets of shears. Lodgallin felt a force press against them, and great swaths suddenly chipped at the stonework. She raised her shield just as she felt one come against her. Verona cried out and fell. Kel rolled to the side.

Lodgallin glanced at Verona as the warlock got to her feet, nursing a cut across her midsection. Beltheris laughed again, then swooped down towards them, lobbing bolts of energy that made the night sky look like high noon. The three darted to avoid them, spreading to opposite ends of the rooftop. Beltheris alighted in the centre, falling to one knee, her wings draped across her face. She rose with a spin, sending a black wave at them. Lodgallin raised her shield but felt the energy go through it and herself, leaving sharp aches in its wake. She winced.

Verona arose with a cry and stabbed at the air with the tip of her dagger, sending a bolt of flame at Beltheris. The nathrezim muttered something and raised her palm just in time for the bolt to explode as it met an invisible force. But even before she lowered her hand, an arrow stuck in her shoulder. She shrieked through clenched teeth, and tore it out just as Kel loosed another. Beltheris raised a wing across her face and the arrow stuck through the leather membrane, forcing another grunt from the dread lady.

Lodgallin picked herself up and rushed at Beltheris, but the dread lady moved towards Kel. He dropped his bow to the floor and drew a short sword from its scabbard. He swung it at Beltheris as she neared, but she caught the blow on her blade-like fingernails. Lodgallin raised her axe to strike from behind but Beltheris turned about and caught it with the nails of her other hand. They attempted to attack her in this fashion for some time, but she parried their attacks with ease and finesse until finally, she swept her arm low, catching Lodgallin on her shield and knocking her to the side. Kel drew up to attack but Beltheris turned and with alarming speed snatched his throat before he could strike.

Verona lobbed a fireball at Beltheris but the dread lady avoided it easily. Kel swung his sword at her face but she caught his arm with her free hand, and snapped his forearm off like a dry twig. The deathguard did not cry out in pain, but instead gaped in surprise. Beltheris lifted him off the ground, and with both hands, hefted him over the battlement and off the rooftop. He made no sound.

Verona pointed her channeling rod at Beltheris and the dread lady doubled over momentarily, before rearing back and throwing out her hands, conjuring a wave of insubstantial insects that swept over Verona. She swatted them, collapsing them into dust, but they bit at her skin and tore at her clothes. Lodgallin raised her axe and channeled the Holy Light through it before rushing at Beltheris and swinging high.

Beltheris saw her coming too late, concerned instead with the cuts and bruises appearing on her face and hands. She flapped her wings to escape the attack, but Lodgallin managed to catch her in the side, tearing her robe and drawing a gratifying spurt of blood.

Beltheris held her hand to the wound and examined the blood on her palm. With a growl, she lunged forward, swiping up with her claws. They caught Lodgallin’s armour, and threw her to the ground.

Verona stood haltingly, and extended her rod, but Beltheris quickly turned, grabbed the channeling rod with one hand, and batted the warlock backward with the other. Verona stumbled back onto the ramparts with a whimper. Beltheris raised the rod before her in both hands, and snapped it in two. She tossed the remains aside, nearly batting Lodgallin across the face as it clattered past her.

A throaty, sumptuous laugh rose above the din. Beltheris wheeled about, then darted into the air so quickly Lodgallin thought she had vanished. But just as she moved, a bright pink comet collided with the rooftop where the dread lady had stood a fraction of a moment before.

Cattola dove, her wings hugging her body, and her whip snapping about behind her like a flailing fish. Beltheris hovered above the rooftop, her attention now solely fixed on the succubus. Black smoke trailed her fingers as they fluttered about, and she spoke an incantation in a language that gave Lodgallin a headache just to hear it.

Cattola spread her wings just as she was about to descend beyond Lodgallin’s field of view, and swooped over the rooftop, tumbling to the side, and cracking her whip thrice in rapid succession. With each crack, she sent another magenta bolt streaking towards Beltheris. The nathrezim snapped out her overlarge hand, catching each bolt in her palm, then pointed a long nail at Cattola.

Lodgallin took the opportunity, clambering to her feet and rushing to Verona’s side. The warlock was clutching the wound at her side, sweating profusely, and acquiring a pallor. Lodgallin gingerly moved her hand away and saw the flesh around the bloody swath tainted a sickly green. Lodgallin shook the aches from her head. She could cleanse the wound of the disease Beltheris had inflicted, but it would require more concentration than she felt she could muster. It was made worse as Beltheris’ dark words reached their apex. Verona looked up. Lodgallin followed her gaze.

A pillar of smoke, blacker than the smoke of any conventional fire, twisted out of thin air before Beltheris and snaked towards Cattola. The succubus veered to and fro, rose and dove, but the smoke stayed on her tail, quickly closing the gap. She climbed high, then suddenly stopped, and the smoke was immediately upon her. It became a cloudy ball, immediately enveloping her.

“No!” Verona cried weakly, trying to rise. Lodgallin put a hand on her shoulder, forcing her back down. She placed her hand over the wound on Verona’s midsection, and felt the familiar warmth of the Holy Light against the palm of her hand.

Beltheris cackled like a hag. “You should know better than to stray from your palace, Mistress of Entropy!” she shouted defiantly at the black cloud. “How fitting it will be for you to finally meet your end so far from home!”

Beltheris hadn’t even finished speaking before the cloud exploded, dissipating instantly, and Cattola fell like a hawk, rearing back her whip. Beltheris crossed her arms in front of her face, but as Cattola’s lash fell across them, it glowed a dark crimson, and cracked like thunder as it lanced across her. The dread lady was thrown back. Lodgallin picked up her axe and watched Beltheris fall in a heap on the rooftop across from them. Cattola was only a second behind, alighting heavily at a crouch between the demoness and the two mortals.

No sooner did she take one step towards her then Beltheris flicked out her hand, shooting a dark green spark of lightning from her fingernails that hit Cattola right in the forehead. She cried out, twisting to the side and falling to the ground. Lodgallin stood up. Verona’s colour had returned to her face. She tightened her grip on her dagger and rose to her feet.

Beltheris was having more trouble than they. Dark blood issued from many wounds, and spattered out of her mouth with each labourious breath. She held her side with one hand, and pulled herself up by the battlements with the other. She stood tall. Lodgallin braced herself.

Beltheris laughed, smiling a set of bloodied teeth. “Yes… yes! This is chaos! This is the nature of all things! I’ve become decadent; fat on the blood of loathsome, sallow fools. I’ve forgotten what true battle feels like. How intoxicating the threat of death can be.”

Lodgallin saw Cattola’s form stir on the edge of her vision. She was surprised to find herself relieved that the succubus still lived. But she could afford further introspection later.

Beltheris stepped towards them with a limp. “Let’s be to it, then.”

Verona struck first. She shouted something in some demonic language and punched the air in front of her. A flaming skull streaked from her fingertips over Lodgallin’s head, she instinctively drew to her left to avoid it. Beltheris’ eyes flared and she swatted the skull aside, sending it back towards Lodgallin. She had to fall flat to the floor to dodge it, and it connected with the battlement behind her, blowing it to pieces.

Lodgallin rolled to the side and hoisted herself to her feet. She was close, now. She feinted to the right, and Beltheris blocked there, opening up her side. Lodgallin swiped her axe forward, and cut her with the tip of her blade. It was deep.

Beltheris shrieked and turned, swiping with her claws. Though Lodgallin caught them on her shield, she was so exhausted that they forced the shield from her grip, and it fell to the ground. Before she could pick it up, Beltheris lunged towards her, chopping down with her claws. Lodgallin shoulder-rolled to her left, rose to her feet, and buried her axe deep within Beltheris’ back.

The dread lady reared back, letting out a great, piercing cry, and she stumbled to the side onto a battlement. When she struck it, she rolled, and the axe was forced from her wound, but tore more flesh with it as it left. She lolled her head about lamely.

“Now!” hissed Cattola, lamely climbing onto all fours. “It must be now!”

Verona nodded, and extended her hands before her. A violet cloud coalesced between her palms, and a long, bright bolt of light lanced out, striking Beltheris in the heart. She shuddered with pain, though it left no mark upon her clothing. Strangely, the bolt remained, but it did not proceed into the nathrezim. Rather, it looked as though it was pulling something from her.

A lone tear escaped Beltheris’ dim eyes. “I played your petty game of honour, mortals… and what rewards did it earn me?”

Lodgallin picked up her axe. Beltheris raised her head as best she could and looked her in the face.

“I am what I am… in spite of all I try to be. I am what I am because you will let me be nothing else.”

Lodgallin backed away; picked up her shield.

Beltheris managed a grin. “But it was glorious, wasn’t it? I’d forgotten… I…” She died.

The bolt receded into the cloud in Verona’s hands, and swarmed, collapsed, and reshaped itself until it was a small, opaque gem. It was smooth, long, and a pearly black. Verona took it from mid-air and deposited it in a satchel on her belt. She walked over to Cattola and helped her to her feet.

Lodgallin put her axe on her belt, and slung her shield over her back. “Deathguard Kel?”

Cattola shook her head, leaning heavily on Verona.

Lodgallin sighed. “So what now, then?”

Verona reached inside her cloak and withdrew a small, jingling bag. She tossed it over to Lodgallin, who caught it.

“We have what we came for,” said Verona with a shrug. “You may sack the tower if you wish.”

She turned, and began to descend the ladder. Cattola put a hand to her forehead, but followed silently.

“You don’t need a ride back to Southshore?” asked Lodgallin.

Verona didn’t look back, and disappeared into the trapdoor. Her voice, however, responded. “I won’t be returning to Southshore.”

Lodgallin spent the rest of the night digging graves. She found Kel’s broken remains at the base of the tower. She buried him where he lay, and the two crusaders on either side of him. Beltheris, she buried on the opposite side of the tower, and Abaqua beside her. She marked the three men with the sigil of Light, fashioned from boards she found within the tower. She scrawled words into them with a bone knife.

Kel’s marker read: “Here lies Deathguard Kel of the Forsaken. May the Light grant him peace.”

The crusaders’ epitaphs were identical. They read: “Here lies an unknown man within the Scarlet Crusade.”

She did not mark Beltheris or Abaqua’s resting place with a sigil of Light. Rather, she took a brick from atop the battlement, and carved into its face: “I do not know what lies here.”

Lodgallin took nothing else from the tower. She left at dawn, found Summersnow where they had left him, and made the long journey back to Menethil Harbour.