The Scryers and the Seer

This story is part of 'The Skydancer Chronicle''.
The next installment is here: (Work in progress)The previous installment is here: Into the Outlands
==Into the Outlands==
AS THE NIGHT drew on we both tried our best not to make things awkward for one another.
We needed rest. The day had been long for us both, and the discussion we had was emotionally draining. Thaladien moved around the stump of the tree which we had used for shelter until he was out of sight, leaving me alone on the opposite side. It was almost funny to think that fifteen minutes beforehand we were close to making love.
There was still a dull, thrumming ache deep beneath my breast that was slowly but surely turning into a headache. I had assured myself over the many, many years of our separation that my feelings for Thaladien were useless and no longer worth lingering upon. For the seven years at least I well and truly had convinced myself that he was dead, just like the Farstriders had told me.
That was likely why it hurt so much. The very real revelation that my best friend, my would-be-lover and life companion was still very much alive and had been for all these years, trapped away on this broken, but beautiful planet. And whilst he had been here, both he and I had moved on with our lives. We had changed as people to spring away in opposite directions. I had become almost everything he had learned to hate and although he hadn’t changed in the same ways I had, it was that very quality in him that pushed us apart. He was high elven, true and proper. He was everything I had been indoctrinated to believe was backward and wrong.
To top it all off, he had refused my advances. He had moved along with his life, so much so that he had a wife and child.
“She’s called Adalia,” he had told me, trying to smile as I struggled to contain my emotions. “After you, Sorrie.”
I didn’t know what to say to him. Was I supposed to feel better that he had indeed thought of me so much he deemed it correct to name his offspring after me? Still, it was shameful enough for him to have used my middle name. Of course he wouldn’t call her ‘Soraya’. That would have been an insult to his wife, no doubt. The whole thing fuelled my rage, rather than calmed me. I let him know with a slap.
A slap which I now regretted; alone and cold under the night’s sky.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, wrapping the cloak Thaladien had lent me around myself as a blanket. I wanted nothing more than to drift off into soothing unconsciousness, but it just wouldn’t happen.
My mind still raced with all the worries and troubles that had risen from meeting him again. I knew, for certain, this was the last time we would ever see each other. Too much had changed, and we were, for all intents and purposes, on opposite sides of an unspoken war. If I hadn’t recognised him, I’d of killed him. Or him, me.
Birdsong still filled the night air. Some strange, nocturnal creature I imagined. I pictured it to try and clear my head. Black as the void, with bright yellow eyes that illuminated its unseen path. Wings as wide as a shield. Everything was monstrous out here. I couldn’t believe that these birds were any different, despite their soothing melody. I opened my eyes, and tried to look for them. I saw nothing but the towering white stump of the tree above me, with its dark green fronds and its hanging, luminous seeds. They cast a blue light down upon me where I lay, making my skin on odd shade and my hair a bright, pure white.
I could hear Thaladien somewhere behind me. The sound of metal slicing wood was coming vaguely from where had had set up for the night. I wanted to believe it was only my curiosity that made me get up and go and see what he was up to, but I knew it was so much more than that.
I found him with his back to the tree, a small knife in his hand working away at lump of wood that was slowly being carved into the shape of a small dagger. His eyes, focused fully on the task at hand, looked tired and sore.
“What’s that?” I asked.
He stopped carving and glanced up at me with a faint smile.
“Nothing. Can’t sleep?”
“No. You either?”
“No.”
I stood around for a painful awkward few moments before I plucked up the courage to explain how I felt. How it was likely we would never see each other again and that I would be happy, if just for this one night, if he would hold me as I slept as I had wished he had done many times before. He didn’t say a word to me, but rather spread open an arm to let me in.
I sat beside him and rested my head to somewhere between his shoulder and his neck. I nestled myself as close as I could and breathed him in, letting the scent of his cologne drift through my senses.
I shivered a little and my ear twitched.
“Something wrong?” he asked quietly.
“Nothing,” I mumbled lazily into his jerkin.
He smiled and laid himself down, pulling me along with him and making sure I was still comfortable. I dared to wrap a leg around his, entwining us further. He let me, but I knew that was enough. I could feel him tense uncomfortably, and I was certain that somewhere in his mind he was thinking this was wrong.
I couldn’t bring myself to worry about such things any more. I was drained, well and truly and the comfort I derived simply from having his arm around me, the warmth of his body close to mine and the steady, reassuring thump of his heart to my ear was enough to drift me into the most peaceful sleep I had had in years.
TRUE TO HIS word Thaladien escorted me all the way back to Shattrath City.
The walk was purposefully slow. We both knew that when we arrived, it would be the last goodbye. 
When the great temple-city came into view, it was as far as he went.
We embraced tightly. I gave him a kiss on the cheek. He slipped his sword into my hand. It was beautifully made; fine elven craftsmanship. The blade was long and a silvery-white colour. The tang was engraved with woodland-green carvings that bled into a similarly coloured cross-guard and hilt. I felt as though I were robbing him of a prize possession.
“Something to remember me by,” he smiled. It seemed sad and forced. “It’s called Ashe.”
“Ashe,” I repeated, donning the scabbard and sheathing it carefully. “Got it.”
I wasn’t good with goodbyes.
“I was glad to have seen you again, Sorrie. Promise me you’ll be careful. Think about your life.”
“I promise.”
I lingered a while and so did he. One of us would have to turn soon enough. Better it be me.
“I’ll see you, ranger,” I smiled for him as I turned away.
“You were never good at this game, magistrix.”
There was more than a hint of sadness in his voice. I turned to see if he was crying, but he was already gone.
We never saw each other again.
A MONTH EARLIER the Scryers had met with me. A month earlier my life had been turned upside down for the second time. A month earlier, my student and friend, Deldorian Sunstrike, had parted company with me on bitter terms.
Some would call me flippant for my decision to join the Scryers. They would look at my history and see my staunch loyalty to the Blood Knight Order. They would see how devoted I was to the Sun-Prince, and how I felt I owed him a debt of un-repayable gratitude for all he had done for our people. They would think, knowing these things about me, that I would never turn my back on Silvermoon. But they would be wrong.
It was these things that made me so willing.
The Order was being mislead. Being placed in the Sunfury wasn’t the honour we all believed it to be – it was a curse. It was to be sent away, to work in the employ of a deluded, mad prince and worse, his demon masters. They had shown me the proof. The undeniable missives, each one worse than the last and without a shadow of a doubt, authentic.
I was not going to let the Order go down that path. We were a beacon of hope for our people. A tool against the oppressive Scourge, and a safeguard to the demon menaces of Outland.
Cunning, I thought. Cunning of Lord Sunstrider to bring into his army soldiers that had the power to slay demons. If they needed to be kept in check, the Blood Knights were certainly the ones to do it.
More importantly, I wasn’t going to let Deldorian suffer that fate. If the Scryers held any way I could get him back. I would take it.
It was never a decision I made lightly, though. Each day that passed with them I spent with doubts nagging in my head. Even as the weeks went on and it was becoming more and more obvious I was on the side that fought for what is good and right, I had my doubts.
What’s more, civil war is brutal and it changed me forever.
Part of their proof was to show me the hostility of Kael’thas’ troops. The closest bastion they had to Hellfire, which is where they inducted me via spies, was the Firewing Outpost in neighbouring Terokkar Forest. They took me there before they even took me to Shattrath. They wanted me to be sure, and to know before they risked taking me to their home.
“Approach them as you would normally,” my Scryer head-hunter told me from the thickets where we hid. “You are a Blood Knight. You have authority they should respect.”
I glanced awkwardly at him. If what he had told me earlier was true, they would kill me. Yet we “learn by doing”, apparently. He edged me on, promising nothing bad would happen.
I approached with a confident stride. The guards tensed as I came into view and scrutinised me with every step I took. I stood in front of them both, and saluted.
“I am Master Soraya Adalia Skydancer. I have been sent from Falcon Watch to procure some supplies for the refuges.”
“Fallen Sky,” one of them said plain and simple. I was confused.
“What?”
That was my mistake. I realised too late it was some coded message. I was supposed to recognise it and reply accordingly as proof of allegiance. That I hadn’t meant I soon had two guards with their swords swinging for my head.
I drew my sword and shield and parried the first blow, dancing back away from the second not a moment too soon.
I heard a whistle through the air and one of them dropped to the floor, an arrow clean through the side of his head. His friend, enraged, started at me again with an almost primal fury.
I had never fought my own before. I had never even slain a high elf. To kill a blood elf, my own kin, was an abhorrent thought to me. It put me instinctively on the defensive. Even with my life in jeopardy I couldn’t bring myself to want to harm him.
Again and again his sword clashed into mine. His shield arm crashed into me and knocked me off my feet. I stumbled back onto the pathway, landing heavily and unceremoniously. He reared his weapon.
The Scryer jumped between us. He was unstable, landing badly and I could see he was going to lose this fight. I scrambled to my feet and darted to the right, circling the pair who were locked at the cross-guard. The Firewing had his opponent right where he wanted. I saw what was going to happen if I let the fight continue, and it ended with the death of the elf who had jumped in the way of a blade to save my life just moments earlier.
Without thinking I thrust my blade. It sliced clean through the back of the Firewing’s head. He twitched, and slumped to the floor in a heap as I pulled it back, my hand shaking uncontrollably.
I felt sick as I looked down at him. I was sick a few moments later.
His face, or what was left of it, was a bloodied hole beneath his eye. Teeth were missing from his somewhat stupidly smiling mouth. Blood drizzled down his jaw.
I couldn’t shake the image from my head. I couldn’t believe what I had done.
I wanted to cry. I wanted the world to disappear as it dawned on me, well and truly, that I was at war with my own people.
“You’re with us, now?” the Scryer asked. Not even so much as a ‘thank you’.
“I want,” I began, but soon collapsed onto my knees to spill what remained of my last meal. “I want to see him.”
“In time,” he said, picking me up and practically dragging my unwilling, trembling body away from the outpost.
“Now!” I shouted. My ears twitched in frustration. “I want to see the Seer now!”
THROUGH ALL MY FURY the Scryer’s Tier in Shattrath still took my breath away. Throne, the whole city did.
Shattrath held a rustic beauty. A temple city in ruins, quiet and tranquil, a haven for all in the harsh environ of the broken world of Draenor. Dark vines climbed the sides of every sand-coloured building, slipping their ways into the cracks and crevices of the walls. Even the roots of the great tress of Terokkar broke through the outer walls of the city slums, sprawling in vast, winding patterns across the floor. It was so strange, to me, to see nature overtaking a city. Silvermoon was so controlled. Shattrath was wild.
In the centre if the circular city sat the largest building of all. Its shapes were irregular and strange to my eyes, but like the city itself it was roughly circular in design. From its crystal tipped roof sprang a spiral of bright, twisting light that pierced into the furthest reaches of the sky. I knew what creature made such a spectacle, and I am not ashamed to admit I feared its wrath. Did it know its brother’s fate? Would it turn me into a lifeless husk if I stepped into its vision? Something assured me my fears were unfounded, the very idea of violence in such a peaceful city was absurd. Still, I avoided the central tier and never addressed my doubts. It was easier to simply ignore what I didn’t want to understand.
The Scryer’s Tier itself was the second highest rise in the city. A safe distance from rest of the inhabitants, it was perfect for those who weren’t quite welcome. If the Scryers were anything in Shattrath, it was unwelcome. As one had once said to me, ‘Watch what you say. You have more enemies than allies in this city.’ Such is the price of defecting. Trust is hard to gain.
I was being escorted to the largest building on our tier, the Seer’s Library. Arcane Guardians, as large as those at home, stood guard on either side of a plush red carpet that lead to the Library’s entrance. Overhead, black drapes hung from the alien-looking towers. Two wing-like structures crested from the top of the building, giving the impression of a phoenix. It was almost like seeing an alternate Silvermoon; one where the gleaming proud spires had long been left to corrode and the wildlife allowed to take over. I wondered briefly if the western ruins would ever look this way.
“Keep up,” my escort instructed, “it is an honour for one such as you to be granted an audience with the Seer.”
I sighed and picked up my pace. It was the first time I had stepped inside the Library and I simply felt lost. The paths were clear and simple, but never before in my life had I been surrounded by so many books. Most of the shelves were set in long rows against walls, or sent down to the far ends of the building in long, straight corridors. Some were placed on twisting, moving bookshelves that spiralled and hovered around the room, pulled close by the swish of a hand to those who needed them. I swished my hand, wondering if I too possessed this skill. The bookshelf simply twitched.
“Don’t do that,” my guide reprimanded. I averted my eyes guiltily, like a naughty child.
“I’ve never seen so many books,” I commented, hoping he may at least warm to me if I showed an intered.
“We take our lore with us. We were trusted advisors to the Sun King, our knowledge is deep.”
“How many are there?”
He laughed. “They say if you lay each book flat in a line, they would stretch from the Sun Throne to the Thalassian Pass and back.”
I made a vaguely impressed noise, and forced a smile, utterly unsure if he was joking or not.
We walked on, the Library seeming much larger to me on the inside than it appeared on the outside. As well as book, and elves with their faces stuck in books, there were many gatherings of alchemists and enchanters practicing their crafts in low-lit corners. I heard them talking as I passed, uttering words I had never even heard of, discussing magic that was so above my knowledge I couldn’t even hope to understand what they may have been saying. None of them regarded me as I passed, either too busy with their own undertakings or simply brushing me off as another ‘sword.’
That is all I was to most of these people, I had soon learned. I hadn’t the capacity for lore, knowledge or magic as they did. I was muscle, and amongst their ranks, muscle was a minority.
Eventually we came to a thickly draped doorway. It was impossible to see inside, but on either side stood two retainers, their gold and black tabards proud across their chests. I was told to wait outside. Neither of them looked at me as I tried to offer a friendly smile, soon deciding it was best not to try and spark up conversation. A few moments later, my guide returned and ushered me inside, much to my relief.
Nothing was as I had expected.
Where my mind told me there should be dark draped walls and flame braziers, there were simple furnishings and an abundance of books. No weapons hung from brackets, no trophies or spoils of battles were littered around, save, I imagined from a few of the more exotic looking texts.
I had expected the Seer, the commander of the entire Scryer army, to be middle-aged and smug. He would have dirty blonde hair, swept neatly behind his ears and a constant, disapproving scowl on his face. If that were the case he would, I realised, be like almost every Knight-Master I had known.
In the place of this drab commander I found an old man.
His hair was tied neatly into a top-knot, the kind of pure white that only comes with age for my kind. Deep crow’s feet lined the sides of his kindly eyes, eyes which seemed heavy and tired. He wore a robe of black and white material, the proud tabard of the Scryers covering his chest. He smiled at me, a smile that made me feel instantly warm and welcome, one of his old, gnarled hands gesturing for me to sit. The hand shook, I noticed. I felt sorry for him.
“What can I do for you, my dear? Soraya, isn’t it?”
That he knew who I was unnerved me, so I barely managed a nod before realising he hadn’t simply asked me my name.
“I need… confirmation,” I spoke truthfully. “You have me here on good faith that the things your people have shown me are true. But now it’s come to this – to laying blade to my own kin – I suddenly feel lost. I just wanted to hear it all, from your own mouth.”
He smiled at me again, taking his own seat carefully, drawing it closer to mine. His hand rested on my knee briefly as he spoke.
“I am sorry, Soraya. I try my best to at least introduce myself to our initiates, but I have been very busy lately. Very busy.”
I tried not to pull a face. An introduction wasn’t what I was after.
“Why do they hate me?” I asked, knocking my doubts back into the foreground.
“Who?” he lent back in his chair, looking puzzled.
“Your Scryers. Most of them treat me like dirt, or just ignore me.”
“It is hard to trust when you are in a position such as ours, you must understand, Soraya. That you are of Liadrin’s Knights does not help.”
“How do they all know?”
“We research our candidates thoroughly, my dear.”
I grimaced. I’d been looked into and selected, and hadn’t even been aware of it. Just what else had they done? What else did they know about me?
“If you think I’m a spy, you’re wrong. I killed a—“
“You killed your kin yesterday, I know. I also know it was hard on you. I know it is the reason you are here and I know that you are having doubts.”
I gave him a look that simply asked: ‘how?’
“I am observant by nature,” he began, gesturing to my clothes. I looked down, noticing perhaps for the first time just what a state I was in. “There is blood still staining your leathers, and your skin. The blood isn’t your own, because you have no cuts. You were at Firewing point, which means you have travelled through the night without sleep to be where you are today. You weren’t sleeping because the experience rattled you so much you couldn’t, and you felt you needed to see me to take this weight off your shoulders. Your eyes are tired and fearful. Your cheeks are stained too, dear. You cried, around two hours ago, did you not?”
“No.” It was an hour and a half ago, you know-it-all old man!
“My mistake,” he chuckled. “They do happen occasionally.”
“Was defecting a mistake?” I locked my gaze onto his. He met my eyes unblinking, his once friendly face turning serious and dark. The lines that gave his age dignity all sloped downwards as if to punctuate his sullen change of mood.
“It was not. Have they told you of my vision?”
“I’d rather hear the story from you,” I admitted.
“First,” he smiled over my shoulder, an aide entering the room with two mugs, “some caffeine. What do you say?”
I just smiled and took my mug gratefully. Caffeine reminded me of long nights in the Ghostlands, back with my Ashes. Tales around a camp fire, trying desperately to stay awake on midnight watches. The rationed stuff tasted as though it had been grounded in with dusk and ash. I prayed to some made up deity as I took my first sip that this stuff was better. It was bitter and somehow alien to my pallet, but good.
“Do you do this with everyone? Caffeine and stories?” I grinned over the rim of my mug.
“Not everyone,” he laughed quietly.
We talked over our drinks until we had finished. Rather, he talked and I mostly listened in some twisted horrified awe as he explained to me first hand everything he had learned of Kael’thas’ plans, and all he had seen in her service. The Scryers were far from innocent, and I truly understood why it was they found themselves outcast in this city. Under Sunstrider, they had fought the draenei whose city this was. Thir magisters had slain the Aldor priests. They had been waging war across this world since Kael’thas had first taken them there some years ago, advising his courses of action, whispering into his ear which way to go and what actions to take.
Then accords had been made. Dealings with powers that should never have come together. Voren’thal’s vision which he had brushed off as madness began to unravel before is eyes. Quel’Thalas would burn if he and his regiment stood idle and did nothing. The weight of their defection was a heavy loss to Sunstrider, but they too were in danger. Alone and barely welcome, they knew they would be hunted, mistrusted and branded as traitors in Silvermoon. I knew, too, that is what would happen to me if word got out I had enlisted into their ranks.
I suddenly panicked, rose from my chair and paced around the room. I wanted to cry, fel, I did cry. I waved my hand against my eyes to try and calm myself, I balled my fingers into fists in frustration that I was being so stupid In public. I kept y back turned to him. I didn’t want him to see me like this.
“You’re scared, aren’t you?” he sounded concerned. I nodded so he could see. “Tell me your fears, Soraya, and I will try and give you counsel.”
“I’m in trouble aren’t I?”I tried to keep my voice steady, speaking to the wall. “I’m trapped between factions. I want to fight for Silvermoon, for the Order, but they’ll brand me as a traitor. The Sunfury are the enemies, but what does that matter when no one will know? I don’t want to be a traitor. I don’t want to lose everything.”
“But you want to do what is right.”
I nodded again.
“We all have our parts to play, Soraya. Silvermoon need not know of your time with us until such a time comes that they will praise you for what you have sacrificed. And believe me, my dear, they will praise you. You don’t have to betray the Order to help your people. Simply keep your wits, and do what you know to be right. There will always be a place for you here.”
“If I stay away from my post for too long, they’ll realise.”
“As I say, keep your wits. A Scryer only in name, Soraya. We know your face.”
I turned and forced a smile. What he was asking wasn’t easy, but it was doable and, perhaps, my only a choice. A double-life. Soraya, loyal knight of Silvermoon would continue her duty to her people and to the Sun Throne. That duty was to keep them safe, to prevent Quel’Thalas from destruction. If that meant that secretly, I was aligned to the Scryers, traitors in the eyes of my people, then so be it.
Deldorian entered my mind. Poor Deldorian, now by circumstance my enemy. It wasn’t right, and it stabbed my heart like a thousand tiny knives. I choked back more tears, composing myself before the Seer.
“Your friend?” How did he know?
“Yes,” I nodded sadly.
“He has a good heart, we watched him too. Sending him off like you did was… unexpected. I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
I turned to leave. There was nothing more I wanted from him today. Fatigue was getting the better of me, my emotions draining even the small kick the caffeine had boosted into my blood.
“You can help him.”
I stopped dead in my tracks and turned slowly to face the Seer.
“How?”
“Find him and bring him back. You know better than I the ways of the Order. You will know where he went, and how to blend in to bring him back.”
What he was asking was almost crazy, but I knew everything he said was true. I could easily track the whereabouts of my former student, and I could just as easily blend within their ranks to find him. It seemed easy, at least, in my mind. The relief that perhaps there was something I could do for Deldorian to relieve him of the fate I had so unfairly thrust upon him clouded me to the truth of the matter. The truth that it would by no means be a simple task. That the journey I would embark on to rescue him from the enemy would be an experience that scarred me for life.
“I’ll do it,” I was resolute, my conviction strong. “I’ll stand by your Scryers, and I will help Deldorian. It’s what’s right, for Silvermoon.”
Voren’thal smiled gently at me.
“Everything, my dear, for Silvermoon.”