Conquest of the Horde

Three days; it had been three days – or at least that was what this Borell had told him. The way this world measured time seemed funny to him – much like a savage troll might seem funny to a highborn human, the ethereal thought to himself, putting deliberate emphasis on the races in his mind; he had to learn the names of these creatures – but while he was here, he had nothing better to go by. He understood that this was more than enough time to prepare – even for a fleshbound – and waiting any longer might be dangerous. Was the stupid thing – what were they called? Ogres? – still waiting? He hoped that the scout had been right. If he hadn’t—

Well, either way, it was all up to chance now. Banil’qaar hated leaving things up to chance.

Yet it seemed by chance that all this had started in the first place. They had disembarked in this so-called city – Stormwind, Stormwind – he and Borell, and set off toward what passed for an inn here, but then they had been forced to make a stop. That house, it had seemed to appear out of nowhere. It had been more a mud hut than anything else, really, and Banil’qaar would have easily dismissed it – if not for those things on the porch. Stasis units, mostly, and possibly a nethervane or two, and they were all just stacked there. His people’s technology in this city, seething with humans as it was – that was a surprise, surely. Banil’qaar went in, of course, and then – and then he almost felt at home. He had not seen that many of his kin in one place in what seemed like a very long time even to him, and the house itself – the house itself! He had to shift out the creaky floor and the musty walls – a real shame, that was – but then it could have passed for a proper building back on K’aresh. For a price, the Consortium was offering these fleshbound the use of their technology, the K’areshi told Banil’qaar – he supposed that was not too bad, as long as that price was high and they didn’t let the rustics actually touch anything. And besides, he was hardly one to judge, he had to grudgingly admit – after all, he was essentially doing the same thing; technology was what he had promised Borell for his help.

Either way, it was in that house that this most recent project of his began. One of the K’areshi working there – working might not have been the right word, as they had only beaconed him in recently and in another few days he would be gone again; all they needed him to do was fix one of the powerlines – turned out to be a friend of a friend’s friend’s friend, and an acquaintance of Banil’qaar’s. They had met in one of the eco-domes when Banil’qaar was there on the last of his Protectorate business, and the other man knew what his business was now, too. And so he offered Banil’qaar information – something he thought would be valuable; something that most definitely was. A deal was struck, of course – an acquaintance was not a friend – but it was all worth it. In a place called Redridge, an unidentified power-proxy – Banil’qaar was able to see its arcane fluctuations himself, through a device that the other K’areshi provided, but he wasn’t able to determine its purpose either; an unpleasantly surprising thing, but he was certain it wouldn’t be that complicated when he touched the device physically – had been found, the ethereal learnt. The fleshbound of this world really had a knock – or was it a knack? A nap? Banil’qaar had never seen a language as stupid as this so-called Common – for making these things, it seemed, but that was nothing new to him – the time he had spent in this world he had spent gathering power-proxies, most of them relics of some sort of lost civilisation that once ruled this world. He had heard it named the Highborne Empire once. He hoped he had heard wrong – otherwise, what kind of fleshbound was he hunting? Either way, Banil’qaar knew these creatures could not be trusted with devices this powerful, and so he was pleased, in a jaded way, to hear that this new object was guarded only by a group of Blackrock orcs, whatever they were. It would be easy to retrieve.

Or so he had thought. Banil’qaar had since then beaconed his own help in from the Nether and paid a man to scout for him. It had turned out that someone else had his eyes set on the item as well – a fleshbound and, as if that was not enough, a thing called an ogre; Borell had told him they had a reputation as mentally incapable creatures. An unwelcome twist of chance, but the ethereal had adapted to it. He had laid new plans, and now was the time to execute them.

But why was this taking so long? He had turned on his beacon the Nether only knew how long ago, but, aside from the K’areshi he had hired as a scout earlier, no one had arrived yet. Chance worked in amusing ways, however, as Banil’qaar had barely managed to finish this thought when his beacon rang like a gong, and then came a purple flash of light – one moment there, the next blown away. That was enough of a surprise for the ethereal’s tastes – he disliked surprises – but it was bested by another one when he turned to see who had come. The man’s wrappings were black, but, aside from marking his profession, it told Banil’qaar nothing substantial. The light behind the cloth was a different thing entirely, however – Jahar’s light was unmistakeable. So it was Jahar. The ethereal was pleased with that – he was a Protectorate man. A good man, too. More than good, perhaps.

But he did not like surprises.

‘I still remember your call-pattern.’ A familiar steely rasp of a voice – nothing like his own light and airy chimes. It threatened to cut deep.

‘You should have warned me,’ Banil’qaar said coldly – though he did incline his head a little. ‘I dislike surprises.’ Jahar should have warned him; the man knew how he felt about unexpected guests – or unexpected anything, for that matter. Well, if Jahar did not have the courtesy to send a message, he would not receive a warm welcome, no matter how Banil’qaar felt about his coming, and—

And what was he doing? Was this some form of vengeance? He felt emotion swell somewhere in the back of his mind, and he snuffed it out immediately. Such petty things were not conducive to a sharp and clear state of mind.

‘There was no time. You’re in a hurry, aren’t you?’ Jahar paused there for a brief moment, and Banil’qaar felt the man’s attention focus on him. No gaze held a weight as great as an eyeless one. ‘Haven’t seen you run in the Nether in a while.’

Banil’qaar nearly tried to draw in breath at that, but he stopped himself just in time. He could not remember the last time that had happened. He should be more careful, the ethereal noted to himself idly. ‘You are right. No time for chatter. You have been briefed?’

The K’areshi only nodded in response, but that was enough. Banil’qaar felt his feet part with the ground as he more tore himself open to the Arcane than embraced it, and then all was washed away in a torrent of power and light; it was like swimming in a sea of bliss – he was not surprised that fleshbound enjoyed tampering with these energies so greatly, but a line had to be drawn; his people knew their intrinsic workings well, but these fleshlings did not. And so he let that stream of power carry him; it was a minimal amount of guidance that he provided – Banil’qaar was a Spellbinder; he fixed constructs of the Arcane in place, not made them. He saw in his head the flows of light spin themselves – they did spin themselves; it was part of the craft, knowing when to let the Arcane do its own thing and when to bind it to his will – into a complex octagonal web, each thin thread of power intertwining with thousands upon thousands others, and then, he felt, the time came – the ethereal forced the energy into his grasp, forming a final outer ring as he tied two different places together, and then… drilled through the world. There was a flash of light – purple; one moment there, the next blown away – and then he stood before a hole in the air opening into what looked like a forest. He still felt that power in the back of his mind, but what had been a storm that threatened to sweep him away had slowed down to a small but steady trickle. It was a fine piece of work, this Bore, even if it did make him feel uncomfortable. Bores were a dangerous thing to make when one was tracking a Highborne.

‘Well?’ Banil’qaar chimed, but there was no real need for it – Jahar was already heading toward the Bore. That was good – things were going relatively smoothly. He gave the room a glance – it was a dirty place; the whole tavern was a dirty place – and then followed Jahar through the hole in the air. The rapacious rat had gone out; he would not be missed.

Even now, it was still an unsettling sensation, passing through a Bore; he felt his being stretch inside it – stretch into eternity, perhaps – and then compress again when he glided out on the other side. Very unsettling, but there was nothing to be done about that – and there was really no reason to complain; the Bore had done its job well. Banil’qaar found himself standing on a barren hill – it was not a forest after all; well, it was there, in the distance, but it was just a sparsely treed patch of land – facing what likely passed for a fortress in this world – judging by the smoky tint of the walls and the rubble around it, an abandoned one.

‘They’re going inside.’ It was not Jahar’s voice, and a quick glance confirmed the ethereal for the scout he had hired earlier.

‘We will follow. You – you will go first,’ Banil’qaar ordered the scout quietly. He had not bothered asking for his name – perhaps he should have. It was too late for that, though.

The ethereal lowered himself back to the ground as he let go of the Arcane – the Bore winked out with another flash behind him – and moved to follow – the scout was already twelve steps ahead of him. It would not be that long a walk, but he still had time to think.

The plan was simple enough, perhaps even primitive. Banil’qaar was beginning to think nothing he did in this world would require finesse. The ogre’s hirelings – he assumed that was what they were – would unwittingly distract these Blackrock orcs, and he would take the power-proxy. They would have to be quick, though – the orcs weren’t that many, and neither were the ogre’s lackeys, but navigating the fortress would not be easy without the appropriate devices. The scout said that half of it was rubble, and a wrong turn could lead them to a dead-end or, worse, a maze of corridors they would have a hard time getting out of. But that would not happen, Banil’qaar was sure; the K’areshi claimed to know where the command room was – that was where the power-proxy was held, he also claimed – and even if he somehow managed to forget, anything could be accomplished with a clear mind.

His mind was clear. He would not grieve if Jahar was pulled into a nethermaw.

Either way, by the time he found himself standing in a corridor lit more by the ethereals’ own light than the light of the torches planted along the walls, the plan was firmly fixed in his head. All he would have to do was go through the motions and not fail.

And then the roars came. The roars and the yells and the clangs, steel clashing against steel. The scout had already gone around the corner, and Banil’qaar darted after him, giving Jahar a loud chime, and then he almost stopped in his tracks, but almost was the key word there, since he kept running, and he rounded another corner, and he mounted a flight of creaky wooden stairs, and he chimed at the other K’areshi again, but what he saw as he ran was chaos, and strangely enough it reminded him of his days with the Protectorate, and there were fleshbound, a writhing mass of fleshbound swinging what they called swords, and there were humans, and there were green-skinned things that looked like large humans, the so-called Blackrock orcs, probably, and there were humans that looked like they had been shrunk, and they were all fighting, or most of them, and—

And then it was all gone. Banil’qaar followed the scout down a corridor even darker than the last one, down and down and down through the shadows until the sounds of the fight faded away – or perhaps the fight ended; the ethereal hoped it was the former – and they found themselves in a large hall, and surrounded by a number of those green creatures. They had to be the so-called Blackrock orcs, he realised now.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ a hulking orc bellowed from the other side of this large room, his booming voice echoing off the walls until it seemed like a rough but powerful roar. ‘Who are you?’ He paused there – perhaps to get a better look at the ethereals, Banil’qaar noted to himself. ‘What are you?’

Fleshbound had no manners.

‘You are under attack,’ Banil’qaar intoned proudly. And he did feel proud – in this hall, his voice boomed too, a great metallic sound. Had he had a mouth, he might have smiled. ‘They have come with steel.’ He motioned toward the corridor. ‘We have come to bargain.’

Just a while longer – just a little while; that was all it would take. Fighting was Jahar’s area of expertise; he would find a way to get past these orcs and take the power-proxy. All he needed was time, Banil’qaar knew.

‘Bargain?! What are you talking about?’

Unfortunately, time they had not. First came the footfalls, then came the shuffling of cloth against a wall, then came the voices, and then came the fleshbound. The different-sized humans Banil’qaar had seen downstairs stormed into the room with about as much noise as a band of doomguards could make. He would not grieve if they were pulled into a nethermaw. And then someone bellowed again, but Banil’qaar listened no further. With an angry chime he retreated to the side of the room as the ogre’s hirelings crashed into the orcs that had blocked his and the other K’areshi’s path, and there was the ringing sound of steel against steel again, and then someone howled – it was the large orc, and he looked ready to charge, and that would not do, that would make things too difficult.

‘Restrain him!’ Banil’qaar yelled to the K'areshi. They would have to restrain him, or else the fight might get out of hand. As he rose into the air he vaguely saw Jahar and the scout activate their slow-shield projectors and wrap their arms around the orc as if in an embrace – a wise choice; it would render him both unable to move and unable to touché them, at least for a short while – but there was no time to see if they succeeded. The Arcane flooded into him in that familiar torrent, and he kept pulling in more, and then more, and then more, and then he felt it spin itself into a power projectile as he called them, and he bound it, and he hurled it at the orcs, and he missed, but it did not matter – he was swimming in a stream of light that threatened to burn him, and felt like he was a sea of bless, and that bliss, it would devour him, he would sink any moment now, but he did not sink. No, he floated, and more power projectiles followed, and then, before he realised it, he lashed out at one of the orcs with the ropes of the Arcane – he did not miss this time; he lashed out at the fleshbound and the fleshbound, already weak, burned – and the large orc freed himself, and he fought, and he died, and then, suddenly, there was silence.

The scout broke it. ‘The chest!’ he rasped metallically, motion toward a box – it really was more a box than a chest – that these Blackrock orcs had been protecting.

That was all Banil’qaar needed. ‘Keep them away!’

The K’areshi – the orc had thrown them off him and they had just recovered, it seemed; they had not joined the fight, surely, and Banil’qaar could not quite believe he had – moved quickly to obey and he glided through the air – he still clung to the Arcane, and his feet still did not touch the ground – to the orcs’ treasure. Vaguely aware of Jahar and the scout’s struggle with the humans behind him, he opened the box quickly – the imbecile of a fleshbound had not even bothered to lock it – and—

And there it was – the power-proxy. It was a strange thing, a great black spike of no natural material – not natural in any world Banil’qaar knew, that is, but he knew many. He had seen things like it before, however – he suspected it was the Arcane that had made the metal like this; it had a way of changing things in unexpected ways. Banil’qaar disliked not knowing what to expect, but there it was.

Jahar chimed behind him anxiously. Of course, this was not the time to examine the thing. Banil’qaar drilled another Bore and then slowed the flow of the Arcane within him to a trickle small enough to bind him to the physical pull of this world again. The Bore opened, and he fell through it.

In that almost non-existent moment, as he stretched between two infinities, he really did feel like he could smile. Any break from being with Borell was a welcome one.