They boarded the Lady Mehley at the Theramore docks and waved bon voyage to Babs Fizzletourque who had stayed behind on the small rocky island. She blinked the lighthouse light in a bittersweet farewell to her beloved mage.
It wasn’t long before the ship set sail across the Great Sea for the Eastern Kindgoms that Rumer’s companions left her. Glittergold withdrew to the topmost deck and buried his nose in his spell books, and Pasha wedged himself between the outer wall of the main cabin and the wooden stairs in preparation for seasickness. He preferred neither birds nor boats as modes of long distance transport.
Finding herself with considerable time on her hands, Rumer entered the cabin and dropped the leather pouch with all her remaining gold onto one of the tables.
“Your strongest drink,” she said, motioning to the Human woman who guarded the kegs. “And keep it coming.”
The Galley Chief’s strongest drink was thick and tepid and ran a dark brown color from the tap. It was of no consequence to Rumer. For once, she was able to drink as much as she wanted without the lecture. And this time she wouldn’t stop until she couldn’t tell the difference between the lurching of the ship and the lurching in her head.
Besides, there were too many things she needed to repress.
After the fifth mug of mud and froth, Rumer raised her head and looked about the cabin—a makeshift bar with a keg and a few bottles of watered down wine on it sat against one wall, netted hammocks hung from the ceiling, and a handful of tables like her own were bolted to the floor.
Other than Captain Torgoley, a few sailors, and a fully-armored Marine passing through, the only other passenger in the room was a male Night Elf. He sat in the corner peering over the lit candle in the center of his table.
Immediately she regretted catching his eye as he approached her and took a seat.
“Buy you a drink?” he asked with a slow smile out of one side of his mouth.
Rumer gathered the few loose coppers she had left and swept them back into the leather pouch.
She hadn’t associated with her own race (or any for that matter) since the kaldorei had shunned her family name after her father’s betrayal. Wise and compassionate as the Night Elves were, they could also be cold and judgmental of anyone who dared upset their solace.
Though this male Night Elf—long, cobalt hair, muscular chest, shoulders, and blazing golden eyes—was far from his Teldrassil home, he still carried an air of ancient Elven superiority about him.
She steeled herself against it.
“Just give me all your gold, and I’ll buy my own.”
He chuckled deep and throaty. Rumer felt a slow burn work its way through her insides but couldn’t trace it back to the alcohol. She would have left the table and his unsettling presence if he hadn’t motioned for the Galley Chief.
“A drink for me and the lady,” he said. “And this time I want the stuff they keep down below.”
Rumer, a self-proclaimed connoisseur of Kalimdor spirits, was intrigued. “What do they keep down below?”
“The Captain’s stash.” The Night Elf winked.
“And you know about this how?”
“I’m a hunter.” He chuckled again. “You’d be surprised at how many things I’ve learned to track down.”
By nature, hunters were a rogue’s worst enemy, but that didn’t mean Rumer was afraid of them. She took note of his high-powered crossbow and spear-tipped polearm and scoffed. His long-ranged weapon specialty didn’t impress her.
He was a pretty boy who didn’t like to get his hands dirty and let his pet, the bedraggled wolf asleep in the corner, take the brunt of the attacks. He knew nothing about melee combat, of taking another living creature’s life with his own hands. Instead, he attacked his prey from hiding where the sight of death was distant and veiled.
Looking down at her own hands, she saw only hardened calluses and the dried blood of her victims. Murder was not something a person could eventually get used to; it required simply a cold heart and a strong stomach. Both of which Rumer possessed.
The Galley Chief set down two drinks in clean glasses, and the Night Elf thanked her with a gaze that would have melted any female not prepared for it.
Disgusted with the way he flirted with the Human, Rumer doused her feelings in the thin, sweet liquid that sent a warm, welcoming sensation all the way through her veins. She had never tasted anything so smooth or delicious. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the ambrosia in her mouth before swallowing the rest.
When the first glass had been drained, she motioned for another, then another, and after she gulped them both down, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Easy, killer,” the Night Elf said. “Don’t let the taste fool you. Even something so seemingly innocent can kill you if you’re not careful.”
Maybe that’s what she wanted. To end the loneliness that her life’s profession demanded. Maybe she wanted to stop wandering. Stop searching for a sister who hadn’t cared enough to return the favor.
Rumer was tired in more ways than one, and she didn’t have the resolve to keep up her defenses.
“Swan,” he said and held out his hand in greeting.
As the name implied—beautiful, graceful, deadly…
His glowing, golden irises burned into her flesh. She felt her cheeks flush with something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She hoped it was antipathy, but that would have been too easy.
“I’m going to vomit.”
She staggered out on deck, leaving his hand unaccepted and tipping over the chair behind her. The Great Sea’s wind hit her hard, and she lurched for the railing. Heaving the contents of her insides overboard, she cursed the Night Elf and the sweet poisonous heaven he’d offered.
Rumer, momentarily finished expelling the last two hours of her life, crawled over to Pasha, who didn’t look too healthy either and only raised an eyebrow in greeting as she rested her head against his belly. She achieved her goal, she thought, but was it worth it?
For most of the night, she laid there spinning but not, allowing herself the pleasure of feeling out of control without relinquishing it completely.
“We’ve reached port,” the deep, throaty voice said from somewhere close to her ear.
The blackness behind Rumer’s eyes lightened to a fuzzy grey as she squinted against the daylight.
The Night Elf’s face came into focus. She groaned and buried her head again. He was the last person she wanted to see.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Menethil Harbor. The ship will be leaving soon. You best be on your way.”
He helped her up without her consent, though she realized it was necessary when her legs wobbled beneath her. It took a moment, but she shook her head and prepared herself for the crushing weight of waking reality.
Pasha had already slinked off the plank and was stretching his muscles on solid ground. Trotting down the deck stairs in his usual hurried and sober fashion, Elder Glittergold took Rumer’s arm in his and whisked her toward the dock.
“Come, come. We must be in Ironforge by midnight.”
“Why?” she asked.
A look of long-suffering crossed his face. “What do you think, Gnomes don’t need sleep?”
She shrugged, having herself survived at least a decade without a decent night’s rest.
“Now who is that giant wall of blue-hair and flesh staring at us? One of your drunken cohorts, I presume?” the mage asked.
Rumer glanced over. Swan was watching her with a bemused smile. Was he mocking her? Because she hadn’t held down her liquor last night? There was a first time for everything.
“No one,” she said and frowned. At least that’s what she hoped. Her suspicions were beginning to rise.
Uncovering secrets and lies was her specialty, and she’d often taken odd jobs to gather information on unsavory characters. Stalking in the darkness, slipping through the shadows, she saw and heard everything without any of her targets knowing.
But what if she’d become the target? What if Swan had been hired to track her down? After all these years, she was closer than ever to finding her sister, and her quest was beginning to involve more people than she was comfortable with.
Brightsun’s words came back to her just then, “If you wish to take down the mighty Stormwind Empire, you would be wise to find your sister first.”
What had he meant? And what had she stumbled into?
It wasn’t until Rumer, Glittergold, and Pasha had disembarked the Lady Mehley that the Night Elf spoke again. “Are you at least going to tell me your name?”
Aware of the Gnome’s eyes scrutinizing her, Rumer answered, “It’s nothing,” and kept walking.
She was ornery for the rest of the day. The sun was too hot, the air too wet, and she drank all of their spring water before leaving town. As it was, the Harbor was flooded in several inches of seawater from the recent cataclysmic events, and Elder Glittergold demanded to be carried.
“Do you want me to drown?” he asked.
“It’s only knee deep,” Pasha said between bared teeth, putting aside his own aversion to water to make a point.
“Precisely, or have you forgotten I’m only knee-tall?”
Before Pasha could rebuke, Rumer picked up the mage and dropped him onto the moonsaber’s back. Anticipating her mount’s protest, she prodded him to keep moving. With each step, Pasha flicked water from his paws and kept a low growl in his throat. Likewise, Rumer stewed in silent anger; her brand new leather boots were already ruined with silt and water.
Leaving Menethil, the three trudged along the stone path, keeping their distance from Puddlejumping Murlocs and Mottled Raptors that inhabited the Wetlands.
“Are we there yet?” Rumer asked for the third time that day.
“No!” yelled Pasha and the mage in unison.
“How much longer then?”
“A fortnight,” the Gnome answered, “if we keep up this pace.”
“Look who’s talking. You’re getting a free ride.” Pasha shook his coat violently just then and launched the tiny mage onto the path several feet away.
Elder Glittergold rolled about on the ground trying to stand but only managed to entangle himself in his thick, velvety robes to the point of suffocation.
Crouching with his hindquarters in the air, Pasha’s pupils grew large and black and, after an endearing wiggle of his backside, he sprang at the purple ball and batted him around with a padded paw.
Muffled protestations spilled forth from the Gnome’s mouth, surely insults and curses spoken in his native language.
“Bloody hell!” Rumer said and stomped over to them. She swatted Pasha to step away and grabbed the mage, standing him on his own two feet. Pulling the purple conical hat off his head, she shoved it at him then spun him in circles widdershins until his robes released their grip from his throat.
Glittergold sputtered and teetered from dizziness and was not at all happy with Rumer’s mistreatment. In a fit of anger, he slammed the cloth helm back onto his head with a loud “harrumph!”
She couldn’t help but laugh when it landed well over his eyes. She lifted it up and said, “You should see a tailor about that.”
Continuing their travels in silence, they finally left the swampy Wetlands for the Dun Algaz border. It was cooler here but still damp as they proceeded through the Dwarven-made mountain tunnels.
The passes were fine specimens of the earthen descendants’ architectural craftsmanship with intricate wall and ceiling stonework, graded floors to accommodate the incline, and wrought iron sconces, both decorative and functional, that held flaming torches.
How different the Dwarves were from the Night Elves, Rumer thought, a hearty mountain folk who chose to invest their passion and diligence in creating tangible objects rather than in the study of magic, nature, and healing. Both of those callings seemed to have eluded her, and she wondered had her father not betrayed SI:7, the Alliance, and her own people if her life would have turned out differently.
But there were more important things to think about like the information this mysterious book in the Library of the Hall of the Explorers in Ironforge held. Elder Glittergold had known what was in it, the name of the man who’d sold her father out, and Whisperra had wanted to know too. Yes, there was definitely something more going on than just one Special Operatives agent selling military secrets.
“How do you know the name of my father’s informant is in that book and not know who it is?” she asked suddenly.
The little Gnome was hardly perturbed by the insinuation that he was either keeping secrets or lying, both of which had crossed the young rogue’s mind.
Until now, she’d been responding recklessly to any information anyone gave her about her sister, but what if Whisperra had died at the hands of her abductors all those years ago? Could some unknown entity be trying to ferret Rumer out of hiding? And why?
“Having spent as much time in the Library as myself, one hears rumors and one knows which books are held under lock and key.”
“You led me all this way on an assumption?” She stopped as did Pasha who would have much rather spent the day napping than crossing continents by ship and trudging through mountains.
“A well-informed assumption, I like to think. But you may end this journey now if you wish.”
She thought about it, certainly she did, then groaned. “Keep walking.”
It was then that Rumer decided to proceed with much more caution than she’d been showing. Every encounter, every motive, every piece of information she received would now have to be scrutinized against her suspicions. Her head already began to hurt, and she wished she hadn’t spent all her money on rancid stout.
Upon reaching Algaz Station, they took the high road to North Gate Pass. The air became thinner as they ascended deeper into the mountains, and the chill crept over them as they entered the last of the Dwarven tunnels. Elder Glittergold stuffed his hands deep into his robe sleeves and scrunched himself several inches shorter while Rumer wrapped herself in a fur cloak.
At the top of a long, steep incline, the companions emerged into daylight once again to find the land encrusted with snow and native creatures, such as Alpine hares, craggy boars, and snow leopards, heartier as well. Even the Dwarven mountaineers who patrolled the roads were bundled in heavy green woolen clothes.
“Meet me outside the Library at midnight,” the mage said, suddenly stopping. He began to channel energy between his hands until it formed a portal before them.
Rumer looked into it and saw the great Dwarven city of Ironforge. With more anger than disbelief in her voice, she asked, “You’re leaving? Now?”
“And not taking us with you?” Pasha added with a hiss.
Stepping into the portal, the Gnome turned around and stuck his head back out. “Sorry. There’s only room for one in here.”
And with that, Elder Glittergold was gone.
