A high-pitched whine made Tirasa blink and look around frantically for its source. It took her a few moments of bag searching before she realized what it was: the emergency communication channel of SI:7.
The clipped voice of Matthias Shaw issued forth as she punched the special code into the device. “Lord Ravenholdt wishes to speak with you. I don’t think I have to tell you to hurry.” And the connection was severed.
It was a long trip to the Manor from Feathermoon, but Tirasa knew that she really didn’t have a choice. Kicking the hippogryph, she hoped that the Lord of the Assassin’s League would wait. And she hoped that the news he apparently had to give her was not too disturbing. She decided to be optimistic. Perhaps he had an assignment for her, finally. Yes, that had to be it. After all her work to unite those of the horde and alliance against the minions of the Burning Legion, Lord Jorach now thought her worthy of sharing information with.
*********
The assassins posted on guard saluted her as usual when Tirasa stepped inside the manor, but, looking around, she found the first floor empty. Thinking that this must be an important matter indeed, the night elf assassin mounted the stairs and headed toward Lord Jorach’s library.
She stopped midway on the second flight as Myrokos approached, apparently heading down the stairs. She nodded to him and made room, but he simply slipped by her without so much as a word or gesture of greeting, a somewhat smug smile upon his thin lips.
Strangely enough, the library was deserted as well. No assassin guards joined Lord Ravenholdt at the table at which the graying human sat, a few folders of parchment spread out before him, no guards were posted in the adjoining room, either, as far as she could see.
The human looked up as she entered the room, stood, and bade her come near. He did not gesture for her to sit down, nor did he make to take his seat again either. Tirasa bowed respectfully, and he nodded, then picked up one of the folders, holding it casually in one hand without opening it.
“Tirasa, news of your predicament has reached me, as surely you must know,” he began gently.
The Kaldorei’s heart pounded in her chest as she nodded mutely. Certainly Lord Ravenholdt didn’t concern himself with personal matters, did he?
He continued, clearly choosing his words carefully. “I congratulate you on your… er, wedding, is that it? Forgive my human terms. In any case, I am also truly saddened by the recent events concerning your husband.”
“Mate,” Tirasa corrected. “With Elune’s grace, he shall rise again and return to his brethren soon, my lord.”
The human merely grunted and flipped open the folder in his hand. “Before I continue, I will say that I consider you a strong woman and your squadron an asset to Ravenholdt. Keep this in mind as you peruse these images.” And he passed the folder into her waiting grasp.
Tirasa took the folder while studying Lord Jorach’s face for any clues as to what this could be about. However, she needn’t have bothered, as his features were as impassable as a stone wall. Examining the contents of the folder finally, Tirasa felt her breath grow thin and her knees go weak. For there before her, in her hands, were photographs, no doubt taken with the Super Snapper FX, photographs of Mirk, in various situations and positions, involving various females of almost every race. They all had dates stamped on them, courtesy of the device, and some were as recent as the day before his charge into Darnassus.
Myrokos was suddenly there behind her when her legs did give out, the Quel’dorei’s wiry arms encircling her and keeping her from crashing to the floor. Turning to him with a sneer, Tirasa righted herself, snapping the folder shut. A coldness spread through her body, starting in the center of her chest and then fanning out, a coldness that she had welcomed before, so long ago, after she had witnessed the demonic transformation of her Kaldorei mate. And so, this time, the daggers of betrayal glanced off the ice that now encircled her heart.
“Your reputation is important to us,” Lord Ravencrest stated simply, though his gaze was sympathetic. “An assassin’s proficiency must be pure… her actions… pure.”
Tirasa nodded slowly, gritting her teeth.
“Now is an important time for us. I cannot say if both Horde and Alliance will join forces against attacks on this land by the Burning Legion and others, but we at Ravenholdt serve the leaders of both factions. We will not allow either to take any inappropriate steps against the other. Am I clear?”
“Very,” she stated softly, taking a deep breath.
Lord Jorach nodded again with a half-smile to Tirasa, and then glanced at Myrokos, who was standing silently behind her. “That having been said, there are some that we have been tracking for some time that have just recently shown their intentions against the Alliance.” He sighed. “This, of course, happens routinely on both sides. It is regrettable that we must take action, but it is necessary in order to keep control. My associate will inform you of the details of this mission should you choose to undertake it.” The human gestured to Myrokos and then nodded at Tirasa in dismissal.
The high elf simply turned and headed back down the stairs without a word. Tirasa bowed to Lord Jorach, then followed the blond male to his desk, twin emotions of pride and despair rising in her stomach.
Once seated, Myrokos gestured for her to do so, something he had never once done before. Although part of her longed to wipe that smug self-satisfied smirk off his lips, another part of her reveled in the fact that he now considered her his colleague. He proceeded to slowly and patiently explain to her the nature and whereabouts of her targets, and when their eyes finally met, it was for a long moment. All of the targets were tauren.
******
The Temple of the Moon was filled with soft chanting and unearthly light, as usual. Priestesses and novices alike shot Tirasa sad and sympathetic looks as she passed by, on her way to the High Priestess’ private apartments.
Tirasa had told them it was not necessary to trouble Tyrande herself with this visit. Truth be told, she did want to be with Mirk alone this last time, and pray for him.
He lay amidst snow-white sheets, shimmering with interwoven moon magic. His pale fur shone with an inner light in sharp contrast to the darkness of his mane and beard, and Tirasa remarked to herself that he looked almost angelic in repose. Somewhere, she knew, his spirit wandered, waiting, hoping for resolution.
She knelt at his side, and reached out a hand to stroke one of his velvety ears. Exactly one tear fell from her eye, splashing the pinkness of his snout, before she abruptly rose, a shiver passing through her.
Her booted foot caught Mirk sharply against his ribs. One word escaped Tirasa’s lips as she turned and stalked from the room. “Rot.”
Once out of the temple, she urged her nightsaber to the teleporter. Smiling venomously, she checked the poison supply in her bags. Her next destination was Mulgore, which was fortuitous, since she knew her way around there fairly well. And she had been there recently in her dreams…
Posted by Tirasa at 10:34 AM 5 March 2005