None of my yesterdays - Part 3
This is probably the last of this.
Kyrās breath burned in his lungs as he panted, sucking in air. His limbs felt impossibly heavy, his tail drooping onto the ground. The Sargerei War Council hadnāt been his goal when he came to Shattrath ā theyād just been a fat plum heād been unable to resist picking. Perhaps too fat.
Heād seen the three of them walking near the docks as he cut his way through ogres and imps and shivarra. Three draenei, not eredar, not even particularly fel-touched as was Socrethar. Heād seen them and slid his shield off of his back and then, before he knew what he was about to do, heād charged into the pack of them.
It had been a mistake, and nearly a very costly one. Two of them were powerful arcanists ā he had no idea what kind of magic they used, but it had taken all of his skill with sword and shield to keep himself alive, and heād barely had the ability to press the attack while they summoned floating globes to bedevil him and seared his flesh with raw arcane power. The lone warrior of the three was a skilled, frantic opponent, slashing at any exposed flesh on Kyrās face and neck with a giant axe.
If he were honest, he still wasnāt entirely sure how heād killed them. One of them, the woman whoād summoned the orbs that exploded and burned around him, he had no idea sheād died until he saw her body under the otherās feet ā they were so far gone in service to their demonic overlords that they didnāt even stop to check on her. But knowing heād made a kill had given him a momentary burst of elation, and with it, heād driven his sword into the axe-manās neck, severing the artery in a single stroke.
From then it was simple butchery, deflecting the last oneās spells and enduring what he couldnāt deflect, calling upon the Naaru and his own training to endure the pain of the purple lightning she blasted him with. A blow with his shield, followed by a fist across the face to interrupt a spell, and then the last of them dropped dead at his feet from blood loss.
He didnāt feel far behind her.
Fool. Idiot. Youāre here for bigger fish.
He looted their corpses, snatching the few coins and trappings of office they carried with them. Everything else had been ruined in the battle.
His armor was cracked and seared in a dozen places, chipped and rent by axe blows. And he still hadnāt even found Maladaar. As always, heād gotten lost on his way to the rendezvous point, turned around by the streets and fountains and other familiar sights of a Shattrath that was gone. It couldnāt be here, and yet it was.
He stalked away, towards the shaded nook he remembered as a place where heād first met Sharel, when theyād both been young. It had served to conceal his mount.
Exhausted, he pulled himself up onto his elekk, loving the beast just a little more as she dropped her bulk to allow him to clamber up the side. He rubbed her head, whispered delicately. When heād first ridden the elekk into Ironforge, his friend Grunor had argued that elekks were ugly beasts. And perhaps they were. But this oneās heart had carried them both from the devastation of Outland to a new world, and never once complained. She was a good beast, and he honored her.
They rode together through the ruined streets. A few orcs were trampled under her massive feet, and he made it past their lines and through the barricades set up by the Shaātar. The sky crystals were defending this forward point as best they were able ā tested to destruction by the Iron Horde, now they were pushed nearly as far by the Sargerei whoād swooped in like vultures as soon as the invaders had fallen. Like theyād planned for it.
Kyr scowled, as the lift disc descended and he rode onto it. Lately it seemed like every victory had a defeat on the other side. He wanted Socrethar, and it had made him reckless. Reckless men didnāt often survive the consequences of their failure to think. His fatherās fatherās father had told him that. He had no idea if he was still alive back home or not.
He felt a shock of surprise wind through him at the idea that heād just called Azeroth home.
He handed the reins of his elekk to a Shaātar Defender as they reached the top.
āShe needs to be fed. She did good work today getting me here.ā
āYes, Commander.ā If the Shaātar noted that Kyr was wounded and his armor bore the signs of battle, he didnāt say so. Kyr walked along the platform, hearing the sound of salvaged cannon fire and the sky crystalās magics clashing in the air around them. His shield kept rattling against his back as he walked, a discordant note.
Exarch Maladaar was waiting for him.
āAre you hurt, Commander?ā
āNot as much as I deserve.ā Before Kyr could say more, the Exarch called upon the Light and the lingering wounds from the battle were wiped away by a rush of pure profound rightness, a sense of all being well in the world. It always filled Kyr with a quiet awe, that power that he himself could only touch so imperfectly. Sharel had tried to explain it to him once ā Once you believe, the Light fills you. You become a vessel, and the Light takes your shape, flows into all the negative spaces ā but it had been as beyond him then as it was now.
For a moment her face floated before his eyes, that last day at Karabor. Sheād winked at him, her smile unwavering, and turned to charge down the stairs, buying him and the others time to evacuate with her life. Heād wanted so very badly to charge down the stairs, die by her side ā but that hadnāt been what sheād asked him to do. No, what sheād asked him was so much harder.
Live. Live, and find the Light I know you have in you, Kyr. Share it with our people.
āCommander?ā The Exarchās voice brought him back to himself. He looked at Maladaarās open, honest face and he remembered a madman in the depths of the Auchenai Crypts, a madman whoād lost everyone and everything heād held dear. Kyr had killed him. His face has been Maladaarās, his name, his title. Every time he saw this Exarch, there was a moment of confusion, of remembering the awful look of betrayal and loss on the face of the Exarch when Kyr had cut him down.
āIām fine, Exarch. I apologize. You said you had a plan for drawing Socrethar out?ā
āYes. Itās rooted in his arrogance. Storming the city proper would be prohibitive ā weād lose more people than we have, even if you brought your whole garrison force here.ā Kyr didnāt bother to say that he would do no such thing ā his troops were there to defeat the Iron Horde, not pursue his personal vendettas. āBut if we kill a few of his key lieutenants, cripple his effectiveness, heāll have to come forth to deal with us. Since he sold me out to the Iron Horde, he doesnāt respect me, and so heāll find any challenge from me laughable. All we need are some insigniasā¦ā
āLike these?ā Kyr reached into the pouch at his side and produced the insignias from the Sargerei War Council.
āThe War Council! How did youā¦ā
āI stumbled upon them on the way here.ā Kyr smiled, his pointed canines showing. āGot a little ahead of myself, but once again I discover the Light shines in unusual ways.ā
āIndeed it does.ā Maladaar gave him another of those looks, slightly baffled. The quotation was one Vindicators used often, one Sharel had taught him. The Exarch had accepted him mostly because Kyr had helped liberate the man from the Iron Horde prison camp in Tanaan, but he knew that someone as sharp as Maladaar had many, many questions he hadnāt asked yet.
Donāt ask, because you donāt want to know the answers. Just keep not looking at the elekkās ears while you ride her to the party.
āSo. I will inform Lady Liadrin, and make my way to the base of the city. I would welcome your help, Commander. Socrethar is no easy prey.ā
āIndeed.ā Kyr fought back a surge of hate, remembering that long ago day in the Netherstorm. āIāll be along shortly. Iām just going to see if I can find someone to help me mend my armor.ā
āOf course. We have skilled artisans here on the platform.ā The Exarch nodded and departed, and Kyr walked over to where a few Shaātar were standing. One of them nodded as he approached ā rumors of the strange Draenei who led an outworlder force to defend a planet none of them had ever heard of had spread.
He didnāt like how that felt, how alone he felt surrounded by his own people. They were his people, they were draenei just like him, they wereā¦
They didnāt see the steps of Karabor soaked in blood as our childrenās heads bounced down the stairs. They didnāt see the Path of Glory, a road made of our dead. They donāt know, they canāt know how bad it can get. They must never know. They must never see that day.
He sighed and wished Maraad was still alive. Maraad understood.Ā
Kyr didnāt bother with stealth, or with avoiding the Sargerei as he made his way to the center of the city. He just killed them, singly or in twoās or threes, and a few times in larger packs. None were the challenge the War Council had been ā he barely had to break a sweat to dispatch lumbering ogres and fel-crazed orcs. One warlock, he actually threw the orcās own spell back in his face and watched him burn to death after severing his vocal cords to muffle his screams.
It disturbed him that watching the orc writhe and burn and seeing his blood spill down his chest didnāt disturb him.
Across the narrow bridge he stalked, walking, as if he were again a young Draenei visiting Taladorās great museum city for the first time. This is what they say Argus was like, Sharel had said to him as she showed him the city.
He didnāt know. Heād been born on the Genedar, a rare and beloved child, and even after his parents died he had plenty of people to love him ā distant aunts and uncles and many times removed grandsires and dams, cousins innumerable, and even those with no close family tie had treated him like kin. He and the other few children of the Genedar were treasured. Sharel had actually been a few years younger than he was, born on Draenor. For her, it was the homeworld. Argus was a memory handed down by others, stories told of cities like MacāAree. It wasnāt a place either of them knew. Perhaps that was a blessing ā they couldnāt lament the loss of what theyād never known.
Distracted by the memory of how sheād told him about the rivers of Argus gleaming even in the dark, listening to the river pass under his feet as he trod the bridge, he almost missed them. But there they were, the Exarch and the Blood Elf. Kyr had actually traveled through the portal alongside Liadrin, had seen her as he and others from the Shattered Sun had pushed back Kilājaeden himself. He spared her a nod that she returned.
āAre we prepared?ā
āYes, Exarch.ā Liadrin spoke. Kyr merely nodded, sweating beneath his helmet. He drew his sword and shield and readied himself. Heād brought a very specific sword to kill Socrethar with. It was a fearsome thing, squarish and crackling with red fury constrained by a white border, and he didnāt use it often, didnāt like the way it thrummed in his hand. But for Socrethar heād use it.
Maladaar threw the banner, with the insignia of the War Council members studded in the fabric. An ancient tradition, dating back to when all Eredar were one people, living on Argus, their civilization a wonder wrought by their own hands and minds.
Socrethar twisted the air itself to step forth. For all his posturing, his books of instruction, his knee bending to the Legion, he couldnāt bear such an insult. He towered over them, many times larger than even the largest Draenei, his massive features sardonic and hateful. His eyes swept from Maladaar to Liadrin before alighting on Kyr, and then widening. Ā Kyr saluted him with the sword in his hand.
āHow do you⦠how can you hold that sword?ā
āThis?ā Kyr looked at the blade as if heād never noticed it. āOh, right. I suppose your demon masters told you it was unique, forged in the heart of a dying star.ā He chuckled. āI took it off the corpse of an arrogant eredar bastard who was stupid enough to believe what a demon told him. Iāve wanted a matching set for a while, actually.ā
Socrethar wanted to posture, to hurl defiance, but for just that moment heād been so shocked that Liadrin and Maladaar saw their opportunities and took them. Distracted by Kyr, the would-be eredar didnāt see their action until Maladaar blasted him with the Light, while Liadrin whirled her greatsword in an arc that ripped at his twisted crimson flesh. He howled in rage and turned to unleash his magics upon them.
Kyr slapped him with the sword. It wasnāt a blow meant to injure, and it didnātā¦physically. But to Socretharās pride the blow was devastating, pure outrage in a single gesture. The demon lord turned and swing his grotesquely enlarged hand to try and cut Kyr in half with his Sun Eater.
Kyr parried the blow with his own Sun Eater, essentially the same sword, which heād taken from the demon lordās corpse when heād killed him in Netherstorm. A different Socrethar, a different sword, and yet the same sword in the same hand, striking in the same way. Kyr didnāt even have to think ā he simply repeated the old maneuvers, his muscles trained by years and years of practice. As Maladaar and Liadrin kept attacking the demon, Kyr smashed with his shield, licked the sword out to cut at exposed skin right through the demonās defenses, and always had an insult or barb ready to keep his focus.
āSo, youāre the one to take the offer where Velen refused it? You? Youāre no triumvir, Socrethar. When theyāre done with you youāll be just another body on the pile. Just another dead Draenei.ā
āI will be immortal. Iāll use your tongue, your skin to bind the testament I will write, the Legionās triumph written inā¦ā
āPlease, enough. Iāve heard it and it was boring then. āIāll live forever Iāll be on the winning side the Legion is irresistableā ā I swear, itās as if you all want to talk everyone to death.ā Kyr wasnāt trying to deal a death blow, merely to goad and irritate. Socrethar was now hurling magic everywhere, and Maladaar erected a shield that Kyr and Liadrin moved into, letting the eredar wear himself out in frantic magic.
āDid you noticeā¦ā Liadrin indicated her head.
āThe leg? Yes.ā Kyr rolled his neck. āIāll get him to extend it.ā
Once Socrethar finally realized he wasnāt going to smash through Maladaarās barrier with main force, he charged them, seeking to crush them with his massive strength. Kyr took the charge with his shield, blocking much of the impact (the old Aldori shield hummed on his arm) and then stepped to the side and licked out with the sword, catching Socretharās hip and sending blood in an arc.
Beyond reason, the Eredar raised his led to try and simply trample Kyr.
Liadrin stepped forward and drove her greatsword through Socretharās calf, then twisted and pulled the blade free and sending the Light forward like a hammer to crash into the hideous wound sheād ripped open. Groaning, Socrethar couldnāt keep from falling forward, all his weight landing on that leg.
When he did, Kyr was ready to smash the edge of his shield into the side of the knee, and the demon lord lost his footing entirely, crashing face forward to the ground at their feet. Maladaar took the moment to drive a glowing hammer of pure Light from the sky down into the demonās prone body.
Socrethar groaned, struggled to rise, and fell dead at their feet.
Kyr walked over and took the Sun Eater up from his corpse, held it, looked at it. Inside it he could hear the same strange howling riding up his arm as he could the one at his side. Different, and yet the same.
āIt is hardly over.ā Maladaar said later as they rested atop the platform, while the Sky Crystals kept lancing magic at the Sargerei cannon fire. āWe dealt them a defeat, but they seem willing to die in droves if need be to hold onto Shattrath. No doubt at Gulādanās orders.ā
āNo doubt.ā Kyr was leaning his head back against the wall and staring up at the moon. āBut heās dead, at least.ā
āWhere did you get that sword? It seemed to disturb him.ā
āLike I said, from another poor fool who believed the lies a demon told him.ā Kyr stood up. āI think Iām going to celebrate by walking the ramparts. Archenon poros, Exarch.ā
āDioniss aca, Commander.ā Maladaar was looking at the moon as well. āBefore he⦠well. He and I worked together for years. He wasnāt always wrong. Our people grew complacent. We thought we could hide here forever. He challenged Velen on it, challenged us. Perhaps if weād listenedā¦ā
āPerhaps. Perhaps not. Perhaps this was his destiny no matter what else would have happened.ā Kyr smiled. āBut I think a little less complacency is no bad thing, Exarch.ā
He left Maladaar to his thoughts, walking the platform. Seeing Shaātar Defenders lead the charge down into the city, the fighting still going on. Wondered what it would take to reclaim Shattrath and what would be waiting to take it from them once the Sargerei were gone. Lost in his thoughts, he nearly stumbled through the large hole of the lift platform, only to be pulled back by a hand on his shoulder.
āWatch yourself!ā
He shook his head to clear it. Well done, Kyr. Defeat a demon lord, then step through a big hole and fall to your death. The hand on his shoulder released him with a bit of a shake.
āMy apologies, I was justā¦ā
āYou were just not watching where you were going.ā The voice was familiar, and for a horrible second he couldnāt tell if the mad dream was toying with him. But he turned to seeā¦
Sharel. In full armor, with a sword on her back. A Vindicator, wearing the Shaātar colors, with a cross look on her face. Her expression softened somewhat when she saw his face.
āOh. Youāre the one who aided the Exarch today. The Draenei from another world.ā
His mouth was so dry he could barely swallow. He nodded, hoping his faceplate covered enough of his face. There were other Shaātar standing near them, looking at him curiously.
āWeāve heard stories, but⦠no one tells us much of anything.ā Kyr had no idea who the one speaking to him was, and was so afraid that when he turned to look at him that Sharel would vanish. But she didnāt. She simply stood there, looking at him with the curiosity he remembered, tempered by wariness. And why wouldnāt she be wary of him?
āThereās not much to tell. The world the Iron Horde sought to invade is called Azeroth.ā
āYouāre from this place?ā
āNot originally.ā He took a breath, let it out, let himself focus on the feeling of his chest expanding. āI am as you see me.ā
āYou are maddeningly cryptic, Iāll give you that.ā Sharelās voice, saying words Sharel might have said, from out of Sharelās face. The mad dream spun around him, threatening to swallow him whole. āStill, you may have just saved Shattrath today. Naluun and I were about to take a few, get a drink, if youād care to join us. Have to rest when you can, never know when the next push will come.ā
He thought about it. But not very long.
If this is madness, let me be mad forever.
āI could drink.ā