When Legwyn had arrived back in camp, great fires were burning. The Orcs had been piled up, and torches applied. The fallen elves lay in a straight line with their bows across their chests. Legwyn knelt before them. Felanier hobbled up to him. Legwyn stood.
“You are hurt.” Legwyn said, pointing to Felanier’s leg.
“Ah, ‘tis a scratch.” He stared at the fallen elves, “Only one of your men. Congratulations on that exceptional piece of work out there.” Legwyn gave out a small laugh.
“Don’t thank me, I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Sigul.” Legwyn said. At that, the knight approached.
“I’m sorry to bring bad news, but there are undoubtedly going to be greater numbers of Orcs approaching. Best to move out under the cover of darkness.” The knight said. The Elves gathered their belongings and were ready to strike out into the wilderness.
“Tell me Sigul, why do we head west?” the knight asked.
“Two reasons. The first, is practicality. The canyons and crevasses will provide greater stealth and protection for the company.” He was silent for a moment, “Also, the legends tell the story of Elves retreating with the blade into the mountains.” The knight nodded.
The day’s travel was tiring and difficult in the wet snow. The wind did not help. There were legends, devoted to such winds, about the great campaign of the ancient days, during the war against a rebel tribe of Night Elves. The battle of Areak Mountain had proven the turning point, but also the most trivial battle, of perhaps all of history. It was when the great hero Girath had led his small band of Elves into the middle of the enemy encampment and somehow pulled a victory out of the would-be disaster. It was said that in the middle of the battle, a great company of rebel troops had rounded the hills when a great gust of wind had surrounded Girath. The dishearten Night Elves were rallied around him as he seemed to grow taller, and white fire shone in his eyes. When the battle had been won, Girath was unscathed. The winds blew from the mountains to Quel’Thalas with the tidings of victory. However, Girath was never the same, as if there was something that was yet to come that would be ever greater. To Girath, the battle was a hollow reflection of events yet to come…
***
The day grew on, and the land grew more treacherous. There was still many miles until the mountains were reached, but the ground was showing the scars. Rocks and stones jutted through the snow. Even the deft Elves found it difficult to keep on ones feet. The knight seemed to drag, as if there was a burden. It was nothing, but a thought, a contemplation that delved into dangerous grounds. He was deep in thought, and closer than the Elves would have liked, yet still far off, many busy hands were hard at work…
Nightfall was a group of red spears pointing toward the sky as a dark curtain fell on the peaks. Unlike the days before, the night passed uneventfully. All slept easily except for the knight. Once again, the strange dreams plagued him.
His mind raced through the canyons and outcroppings of the Quel’Moran. Then, as if he had entered a small piece of years long passed, he viewed an ancient boulevard. Trees stood between the cliff face and the ancient road. The road itself was overgrown and covered in weeds, yet it still held a golden glow. The dark figure he had seen in previous dreams was standing among the trees. Although his dark presence was strong and stifling, it could do little to darken the golden road. The figure turned.
“Isn’t it ironic?” the Dark figure asked, “The great commander Girath assumed his city was secure, so he brought stones from the city’s walls to build this road. In the end, the weakend walls proved his downfall, yet he would not have the road torn up.” The figure nodded his head.
“I can see why.” The knight replied. The figure glared at him.
“What did you say?”
“I can see why Girath chose to have the road remain. I can sense your Dark powers, but they can do little to shade this road.”
“Silence! You know not of these things.” The figure screeched.
“I know more than you would like me to know.” The knight said. He was gaining control over his movements and thoughts. He walked over to a small space between the trees.
“I know this statue has more importance than you would dare reveal.” The knight said. The statue he was talking about had once stood tall, but now lay in ruins. Its head had long been crushed, its torso demented and deformed. Only its right hand was intact. It was raised in the air holding what appeared to be a broken blade.
“Infidel! You have not yet begun to realize my powers.” The figure whispered with menace.
“No, I realize your powers are immense. It is my powers that I must realize.” The knight said, “Now be gone, I wish to be alone.” With that the Dark figure let out a hiss and strode away. Once the figure had left, the knight realized he was exhausted. He collapsed on the ground as shadows crowded around him.
Felanier’s face came out of the shadows. It was saying something. The knight couldn’t see through the darkness. The shadows seemed to part for a brief moment. He could see glimpses of faces. Faces he thought he knew. He recognized Felanier and Legwyn. There were a few generic Elven faces, but none others that he recognized. As what seemed like hours passed, the shadows seemed to part more frequently, and even a few had begun to dissipate. His eyes were once again shrouded in darkness, but it was different this time. It was not the strange shadows. He drifted into sleep.
When he awoke again, he could see clearly. Felanier and Legwyn were standing by him, Sigul was seated in the corner of the tent.
“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Legwyn quipped. The knight blinked a few times and starred at the familiar smiling face.
“Very funny.” the knight stood shakily. Felanier moved to assist.
“How much time has passed?” the knight asked once stable.
“Only an hour or two.” Felanier said. The knight starred at him with a confused look. He shook his head.
“It seemed like days in that dark fog.” The knight said.
“You have Sigul to thank you for bringing you out of that coma.” Legwyn said, pointing to the dark figure sitting in the corner.
“It was not easy. Such dream travels are normally reserved to the more refined minds of Elves.” Sigul said, standing, “To tell you the truth, I was amazed you’re alive.”
“You seem to know much about these things,” The knight said, “What or who was that in my dream?”
Sigul stood silent for a moment. He sighed. “It was most likely a Death Knight. Very few still exist from the battle of Quel’Thalas, but those that survive are the strongest.” Sigul once again stood silent as if gathering his thoughts, “What he did was bring you into a dream world. You must have angered him, because he refused to let you out of the world. True, from the struggle to keep you there he is probably weakened, but it will not take long before he regains his powers.”
“What would he want with the Plague of Nations?” Felanier asked.
“My guess, is he has it in his possession and wishes to find someone who can control it. By corrupting that person with dark magiks, he can use its powers for his own purposes.” Sigul replied.
“A Death Knight with control of the Plague of Nations could conquer all of Quel’Thalas.” Felanier said.
“Not just Quel’Thalas I fear. Perhaps, all of the world.” The knight said gravely.
The next day was clear, but bitter cold. The company set off as soon as possible. The long winding path through the mountains began shortly after they had left the forest. Boulders and debris from avalanches and rock slides lay across the path blocking the way. The knight and a few of the larger Elves stepped forward. While Elves are known amazing warriors, it is mainly due to their grace and agility. They can deliver blows in the most vital areas, that little force is required. However, when it comes to moving boulders, few can match a knight of Lordaeron. The labor was intense, and difficult, but the path was cleared before the sun had reached his peak. From that point on, there was a long, winding road, leading ever upward, toward the snow-covered spears of rock. Jagged rocky outcroppings stood on either side of the dirt path. Snows and smaller rocks tumbled down from high areas at odd intervals. The winds played tricks with ones ears. Strange voices were heard calling, when not a soul was to be found. To keep this distraction out of their minds, the Elves had taken to quiet talking and in some cases, singing.
“I am impressed Felanier.” Legwyn said, “I thought that your leg would have given you considerable problems.” Felanier laughed.
“It has, but there is a difference between feeling pain and voicing it.” Felanier countered.
Legwyn’s expression changed. “I know.” He said. There was a moment of silence.
“What is on your mind?” Felanier asked.
“The knight.” Another pause, “He is not telling either of us the whole truth.”
“I don’t think so.” Felanier said.
“Oh really?”
“Yes.” Felanier paused to push a small rock out of the way, “There is a difference between feeling pain, and voicing it.”
“You believe he is in pain then?” Felanier sighed.
“Yes. But none that any of us can do anything about. There is something there, something that has always been there. He did not know of it until recently, but it has always been there, nagging at his soul, biting away at him, and he will not rest until he knows what it is.”
Legwyn looked aghast. “How do you know such things?” he hissed under his breath.
