Hyzanthlay had felt rather drained upon reaching Undercity. She had hoped that a few hours of dabbling in the Apothecarium would rejuvenate her, but she found herself casting a fishing line over the old sewer instead.

The fishhook trembled violently, and Hyzanthlay sighed with boredom as she reeled on yet another moldy human skull. She sighed and threw it back. As she did, she noticed an Undercity guard who seemed to be on an urgent errand of some kind, and he was coming towards her.

“You are Hyzanthlay, the Warlock?” He asked in a crisp, professional tone that meant serious business.

“You know who I am,” she answered curtly. “What do you want?”

“The Lady Sylvanas has requested your presence,” he answered with a salute.

“I will come directly,” Hyzanthlay answered without looking up. She was wondering if she could make it to the zeppelin before they sent another messenger.

“You are to come with me immediately.” the guard answered. “The word of Sylvanas is law.”

Hyzanthlay groaned, and reeled in her empty fishhook. She should have known that trick wouldn´t work twice.

She glumly followed the messenger to the Royal Quarter, her ragged fishing hat pulled low over her eyes. Hopefully Strellabelle wouldn’t be here. She didn’t feel like “donating” the proceeds from her desert adventure to the Clan of the Fallen. She smiled to herself, thinking of how impressed Eucalypto would be when she told him about it.

She winced and twitched her nose with annoyance as they began to walk down the long corridor. She was very careful who she spoke to about it, but there was always had the faint stench of night elf hanging about the Royal Quarter. Of course, she wasn’t about to ask why. Residuals from an old failed raid, many said. But there were many that also quietly confessed that Sylvanas looked rather odd for someone who had died a High Elf.

The undead guards saluted her and their compatriot as they swept into the Royal Chamber. The guard fell to one knee before the Queen of the Undead, and Hyzanthlay, after a rather withering look from the Dreadlord, reluctantly did the same.

“I have brought you Hyzanthlay, of the Clan of the Fallen, my Queen,” the messenger said. Without waiting for a reply or even looking at her face, he slowly rose, saluted and backed away.

Hyzanthlay had winced when the messenger had introduced her using the guild name. If Strellabelle was not here, certainly another representative of the Clan would be. She stared fixedly at the floor, waiting stubbornly to be addressed.

“Hyzanthlay,” Sylvanas finally said. “You were from Andorhol, were you not?”

Hyzanthlay bit her lip. How did she know that? What else did she know?

“Yes, my Queen,” she replied, and added nothing else.

“It is my understanding that you lurk in Duskwood, even in Elwynn. Is this not true?”

You know damn well it’s true, Hyzanthlay wanted to spit. She had visited Duskwood frequently since her first encounter with man she had nicknamed “Torch Boy”. She had made a few forays into light and leafy Elwynn as well. What was the Queen wondering about? Her visits to the Apothecary tower, her business with those shady gnomes, or perhaps the partnership she had struck up with that scruffy little dog?

Instead she answered calmly;

“Indeed, it is, my most Esteemed Lady,” she answered, her glowing orbs practically burning the stones beneath her into embers.

There was a moment of tense silence. The Queen seemed to be thinking. Then she stepped forward, so the toe of her boot was just under Hyzanthlay’s forehead.

“Rise, Warlock,” she said. Hyzanthlay did so, and when they were at eye level she spoke again.

“Something in Duskwood troubles me,” she said in a cold voice.

The orbs of Sylvanas’ eyes were not the same as those of the other undead. They were not yellow but grey, almost blue, and her pupils were almost visible. It was almost as if she still had eyes.

“It must be dread indeed, to trouble your Ladyship,” Hyzanthlay smiled with mock politeness.

“Even my power is not absolute,” the Queen said severely. “There are traitors among us, Hyzanthlay. There is a priest you will seek out in Duskwood. Her name is Sorena. I am suspicious that she has been consorting with members of the Alliance, and that she may turn on us.”

Sylvanas turned away and walked back a few steps, as if pacing. Then she turned back and snarled,

“I have no time for games. Seek the priest, and report to me. If she is a traitor, she will discover a fate worse than undeath. Now, go!”

Hyzanthlay bowed low, and backed up a few steps before turning away. The Dreadlord laughed at her softly as she walked quickly out of the throne room. She avoided cutting her orbs at him as she scurried off. Even as powerful as she was, she did not have the might to face a Dreadlord.

At least not yet.

Her anger was also tempered by the sinking feeling that the warning Sylvanas had issued regarding traitors was really meant for her, not this ‘Sorena.’

AZEROTH POST

Eucalypto;

I have been sent on an errand by none other than the Dark Lady herself. Thankfully this pesky task won’t take me too far out of my way.

I am looking for an undead priest by the name of Sorena. If you have word of her, I will compensate you handsomely for it.

There is plenty more Kingsblood where this came from, and I have quite a few new ones for you to try as well. The Dreamfoil is exceptional.

Enjoy.
Hyzanthlay
***

AZEROTH POST
Hyzanthlay;

It is quite serendipitous that you have asked me about Sorena. I will explain this later. For now it will suffice to say that you will most likely find her in Duskwood. She lurks by a little farmhouse south of Darkshire, near the Rotting Orchard.

Thank you very kindly for the herbal remedies. I look forward to enjoying them, along with your esteemed company upon our next meeting.

Dinner and a show?

Yours in darkness,
Eucalypto

***
The journey south took a few days. Hyzanthlay had a lot to do and used the time to plan.

She decided to start with some fairly innocent herb gathering by Stonard in the Swamp of Sorrows. This was also an opportune place to check to see if there was word from Eucalypto as well. As it happened, there was.

She read his short note with interest. “Dinner and a show” for the two of them usually meant a short walk in Elwynn followed by a few freshly killed Stormwind guards and a moonlight picnic. She had been thinking to ask her friends at the tower about this Sorena, but the information that the rogue has sent her was adequate. She was glad to skip the independent-minded apothecaries for now, as a visit to them would have been suspicious and it was likely she was being followed.

Elwynn was unpleasant enough, but it was much worse in the daytime. She had an appointment that she didn’t intend to miss. As long as she didn’t have to spend too much time looking for Sorena, she could move east and arrive in time.

She found the farmhouse without any difficulty. Grave Moss was a rare herb and not used often, but when she did need it, there was always some here. A few mindless zombies and skeletons wandered among the shabby gravestones, but they never ventured outside the gate and were of little danger to anyone, even a blundering novice.

Occasionally one (usually a human, as the capital was nearby) would show up and use them as target practice, but tonight it was quiet.

Hyzanthlay waited nearby, but her vantage point high in a nearby tree saw to it that she was out of sight. She didn’t use her Eye of Kilrogg spell often, as she liked to catch her enemies up close. Not even a fellow undead was likely to notice the small, green orb that floated above the highest beam of the cottage roof. Lidless, unaffected by dark or shadow, it could see any movement anywhere near the dark little farm.

There was no light in the cottage windows, but the place was obviously not abandoned. A small herb and vegetable garden outside were well tended, and the creeping vines on the stone walls had been dutifully pruned.

Nothing to do now but wait.

In these idle moments, Hyzanthlay’s dark thoughts wandered. She deeply resented Sylvanas for turning her into a slinking spy. The Dark Lady must have known this was outside her usual realm of expertise. Had the undead Queen already decided on her guilt?

Any fool could have come here to follow this bloody priest. Perhaps this errand was really a set-up, and the real spies or assassins were simply waiting for her to show up. That did not displease her in the slightest. It would mean some real action instead of this silliness.

A high, clear note, almost like birdsong, cut through the gloomy night. No, it was not a bird, but it sounded like singing. A movement in the graveyard, clearly not one of the mindless zombies, shimmered and flowed over the ground.

In a moment, Hyzanthlay recognized the form of an undead female, and from her robes and the mace at her side, it was a priest.

Hello Sorena, Hyzanthlay thought.

Yes, she was singing, and slowly moving closer to the house as she did so. As she grew closer, Hyzanthlay could make out the words.

Way up high,
There’s a land that I heard of,
Once in a lullaby.

The green orb glowed faintly, taking the scene in. The priest drew closer to the cottage. Perhaps she was luring out the hapless victims within, to be murdered and eaten.

Hyzanthlay licked her lips in anticipation.

Someday I’ll wish upon a star,
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me.

She crossed the arched threshold and walked into the garden, where she stopped an knelt on the ground among the herbs and flowers.

The cottage door opened a crack. The green orb twitched and spun but remained invisible.

A small child, perhaps three years old, peered out into the garden. In one hand he clutched a ragged blanket, the other hand was clenched into a fist that he had jammed in his mouth. Even from her vantage point high in the tree, Hyzanthlay would have been able to see the whites of his huge eyes.

Where troubles melt like lemon drops,
Away above the chimney tops,
That’s where you’ll find me.

Sorena raised her head and opened her arms. The little boy toddled across the garden as fast as his stubby legs would carry him. He dropped his little blanket and fell into her embrace.

Interesting technique, thought the mind behind the green orb. Wouldn’t suit me, that’s for sure. What will she do now, eat him? Not much of a meal.

Sorena continued to sing softly, and the spy could no longer hear her. But she could see her carefully pick up the blanket, shake the dirt out, and wrap the drowsy child up. She then placed his sleeping body in a rocking chair by the house, which moved gently as she sang the last few notes.

Birds fly over the rainbow,
Why, then oh why, can’t I?

The last few notes made Hyzanthlay want to gag. She wasn’t sure what Sorena was doing, but it was making her extremely uncomfortable.

The Warlock decided she had seen enough. She reached out and made a fist with her hand and snuffed out the Eye like a candle. She quietly moved towards Darkshire, and decided to tell the Queen Bitch little or nothing of what she had seen. Maybe she would flat-out lie. She couldn’t explain it anyways, and didn’t care if the Dreadlord herself smacked her around.

Reducing her to hiding in treetops like a rogue…or worse…an elf!

She spat on the ground with contempt.