PART 8
“Tell Greymane that we have trackers on Sylvanas and tell him about the Plague.” Lorna instructed, running her fingers through her messy hair. “The decision will be his. Launch an all-out attack against the Leader of the Forsaken or try to evacuate our survivors. Go swiftly.” She nodded, turning away.
Ever since she’d heard the Banshee Queen’s last words, a dark, bottomless feeling had settled in the pit of Rosie’s stomach.
“…Not even their bones will remain by tomorrow…”
Luckily, she had Cynric with her.
Cynric.
Her heart beat faster every time she looked at him. Her cheeks burned with a soft glow and shivers ran up and down her spine. She felt like holding on to him and never letting go.
“Ro, are you comin’?” Cynric murmured in her ear, steering her out into the rain. His hand remained on her shoulder as she followed him dazedly.
“Uh, yeah, I’m great.”
He smirked, bobbing his head. “That’s good.”
She’d noticed that the smile did not reach his eyes. They were dark and miserable and exhausted, reflecting how they all felt. Except for the dead, of course. With a start, Rosarie wondered if her family was still alright.
This was not the time! Her mind seemed to scream. Focus, damn it!
The building where Greymane resided was right next to the one they had been in moments ago. As they came in, Rosie stopped behind Cynric, choking back tears. The King was slumped over his dead son’s body, now laid peacefully with a white rose placed over the arrow wound. He looked pale and sickly. The poison must have been very lethal.
Cynric cleared his throat, a hint of sadness in his voice. “My King, we have trackers on Sylvanas. But, she is plannin’ to deploy their Plague onto Gilneas sometime later today. What shall we do? Do you want us to launch an attack on the Banshee Queen or begin evacuatin’ the survivors?” He asked, looking down at the old king.
Greymane stayed silent for a few moments, before looking up with sorrowful golden eyes. “You present me with the most difficult choice of my life, Cynric.” He rasped. “As much as I want to exact swift and brutal revenge... I must honor my son's memory first. He cared for his people first and foremost.” With a sigh, King Genn rose to his feet, “The Undertaker's Pass goes underground below Northgate River. You must prevent the plague from being deployed while we evacuate our men, women and children to Aderic's Repose.”
Rosie frowned, looking up at her king. “But how?”
Greymane gestured outside, “We captured one of the Forsaken's dreaded bombing bats. I want you to fly the infernal beast as best you can and unleash hell upon those who seek to bring the Plague to our people. Hurry!” He growled, waving them away.
The two nodded, dashing away. Rosie glanced sideways at Cynric, “Will you be the one to steer the bat?” She asked hopefully.
He nodded, shielding his face against the rain. “Aye, don’t worry about doin’ that. I ain’t lettin’ a woman drive.” He smirked.
Rosie made a face at him, somehow feeling a small weight lift off of her heart at the sarcastic remark. Finally, they approached the monstrous bat, held down on chains by several men, their muskets loaded and ready to fire. Cynric gave them a brisk nod and walked up to the beast, eyeing it.
The bat was humongous; bigger than even a horse. It had dirty violet-grey-black fur and a flat muzzle, with thin, yellowed fangs peeking out beneath the snout. Its eyes were glowing yellow, darting from one figure to the other. Its wings were beating furiously, trying to carry it away. Rosie noticed with a slight shiver that its paws and wings were tipped with sharp claws. It reeked of decay.
Cynric wrinkled his nose, grasping the old saddle that was already strapped to the beast’s back and swinging himself up. Two packs of explosives were strapped to its haunches. Rosie accepted his hand and hopped up, grasping her friend’s coat tightly. She ran her fingers over the smooth, slick grenades.
“Ready?” Cynric asked, glancing over his shoulder.
She nodded. “Ready.”
With a nod, the Gilneans let the chains go and watched as the two steered the bat into the sky, and toward the broken-through Greymane wall, where the Forsaken troops and Plaguesmiths were already hurling the Plague into the city.
--
“Left!” Rosarie yelled over the roar of the enemy below and the whoosh of the rain.
The beast swerved to the left, dodging several arrows as the girl swung a couple of bombs down at the Forsaken Catapults, as well as killing several undead troops. She grinned wildly, her glassy eyes alight with a feverish hate. She chucked another few bombs down at the Forsaken below, annihilating a great number of the enemy forces. But even then, there were thousands upon thousands left, and they already ran out of explosives.
The bat masterfully dodged anything that came at them, almost seeming to dance through the air with surprising grace, considering its hideous appearance.
“We’re done!” The girl hollered, ducking behind Cynric. He nodded and steered the beast away from the battlefield, heading back toward the city.
--
“You’ve done well, the two of you. Almost everybody managed to make it through.” King Greymane growled, glancing toward the dark, old staircase leading into the crypt, the Undertaker’s Pass, that lead out of the city and into the cemetery. “It's time to pack it in. Most of our people have made it through—it’s your turn now.” He handed them an already-burning torch. “Take this torch; you're going to need it. The tunnel is full of nasty, knee-biting critters of the worst kind. Use it to keep them at bay. Speak to Krennan on the other side.”
Rosie and Cynric both nodded, Cynric taking the torch as they hurried down the stairs and into the tunnel, breaking into a sprint.
With a shiver, Rosie noticed now truly eerie this place was. Ahead, the tunnel was dark, seeming like an endless nightmare. Around them lie skeletal remains and silver cobwebs stretched over the dusty floor and corners. Nothing but the torch provided light. Cynric was waving the torch wildly at their feet, keeping the rats and monstrous spiders at bay.
Finally, they saw the stairs ahead. The girl pushed past the pain in her legs and practically flew up the steps, emerging into a small cabin with her friend at her heels. They were both breathless as they stepped out into the cemetery, Aderic’s Repose, and immediately spotting Krennan Aranas in front of the door.
The elderly alchemist turned around to face the, nodding, his face unreadable beneath his ever-present hood. “You’re here. Most everyone made it through, but now we’re here…surrounded by our own…dead!” He exclaimed, glancing around.
Only then did Rosie notice the spectral shapes floating around the graveyard. Some resembled humans, but some were a more twisted, haunting mock of a spirit. She glanced at Cynric, who shrugged.
“In our hurried escape for safety, we disturbed the resting homes of our ancestors. A grave sin, if you'll pardon the pun.” No humor reached Krennan’s eyes. “It is tradition that a small memento be buried on top of a Gilnean's graveyard, beneath the shallow earth. The stampede of people fleeing these tunnels has unearthed these mementos and angered the spirits. Find them and bring them to me. We'll see to it that the dead return to their eternal slumber.” He said, gesturing all around at the stomped-on graves and dully glinting objects scattering the cemetery.
Rosie groaned, rubbing her face. Cynric glanced at her, stroking her back. “I’ll fight, you collect the mementos. A’ight?” He smiled softly, transforming and bounding away into the fray.
She grumbled and nodded, darting away between the graves and bushes, swooping down here and there to pick up the unburied souvenirs. They were usually small items like toys, jewelry boxes, cups, vases or anything other representing the deceased individual.
For a moment, she thought she saw the familiar golden pocket watch that her father used to carry, but it ended up being nothing more than a round box, buried in the softened soil.
--
“Alright, done.”
Both Rosarie and Cynric came back to Krennan, out of breath and covered in mud. Rosie had reburied the mementos back to their respective graves and Cynric had fought off all of the malicious spirits.
“Thank you, Rosarie. Let’s hope this works.” The alchemist sighed. “You’ve done it,” He said, his head canted. “Even in these times we must honor our dead. Take these offerings and place them at Aderic’s tomb. Let’s hope that’s enough to placate the ghosts of our ancestors.” He handed Rosie an ornate box of the mementos she had collected.
The girl took it gingerly, slumping beneath the surprising weight. They both nodded and slowly trudged their way to Aderic’s Tomb, the very top and center of the spiral that the cemetery was built in, where Liam Greymane was to rest, at last, and join their ancestors in the afterlife.
--
The tomb was a beautiful piece of stonework, created like a small tower. Candles and flowers graced its slick grey base. Above, the flag of Gilneas waved in the wind. The slender pines keeled over the grave, as if mourning together with the attendees. Already, many were assembled there, standing in melancholy silence, their heads bowed. Rosarie pushed through the crowd, to where Genn Greymane stood, and gave him a gentle nod. He returned the gesture, moving aside to allow her to pass through.
Cynric gave her an encouraging smile, although it wavered with sadness. With a deep breath, the girl gingerly placed the memento at the foot of Aderic’s Tomb, returning to stand beside her friend. He wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder, resting his chin on her head and allowing her to bury her face in his chest.
They all turned around and watched as the ghosts of the past stopped in their tracks, dissolving into thin air in a million tiny specs of light, like ashes in the wind, as they were finally laid back to rest.
“May the Light bless the spirits of our ancestors, for they've chosen to allow my son to rest upon this holy ground.” Genn Greymane spoke, his voice broken and tired. “It is here, surrounded by the heroes and patriots of Gilneas where he belongs.” He finished, taking a step back and allowing Lorna Crowley to kneel before the tomb.
“You were a true man of the people, Liam. Unlike any Royal I ever met. We’ll make them pay for this.” She whispered hoarsely, briefly stroking the surface of the stone before letting her father through.
Crowley closed his one eye, bowing his head as he spoke, “Gilneas will remember your courage forever, Liam.” He growled, saluting.
King Greymane’s head snapped up to stare at his son’s resting place, his chin raised defiantly. “We’ll return, Liam. I swear this to you.” He growled, pressing his paw against the wet tomb. “I…swear…”
--