"And Zmodlor was one of them?" Aegwynn asked.

"Yes." Jaina nodded.

Unsheathing her sword—and sounding to Aegwynn remarkably gung—ho for someone who was so appalled by the notion of going to this Dreadmist place—Lorena said, "Milady, if I may ask—what are we waiting for?"

"This warning," Jaina replied. "I was unable to scry too closely, for fear of being detected, so I'm not sure what kind of protection Zmodlor and his warlocks will have. We must be ready for anything." She turned to face Aegwynn. "Magna—Aegwynn—you need not accompany us. It may be dangerous."

Aegwynn snorted. This was a hell of a time for her to say that, and a bit of a reversal from her earlier lecture on her responsibilities as Guardian. Then again, at the time they had thought that she had failed in her banishment of Zmodlor, and now they knew that was not the case. Yet, she still felt some measure of responsibility. "I was facing dangers far worse than that little twerp of a demon when your great—great—grandparents were infants. We're wasting time."

Jaina smiled. "Then let's go."

Corporal Rych had no idea who it was who started the fighting.

One moment, he was standing there in the skirmish line in front of Northwatch Keep's wall, Private Hoban on his left, Private Allyn on his right. They stood about twenty paces behind Major Davin. The major himself was amazing, just standing up to that orc like the war hero he was, not scared or nothing. Did them all proud, the major did.

The next moment, the skirmish line was shattered, and orcs, trolls, and humans were getting into it. All around him, he heard the clang of metal on metal, and the shouts of both sides imploring their fellows to kill their foes.

Not that Rych minded all that much. The orcs had their nerve, they did. Wasn't enough they had to pull their stunts in trade at Ratchet, leading to a good man like Captain Joq getting pinched by the bruisers, now they had to come and try to kick them out of their rightful place in Northwatch.

Rych wasn't putting up with that, he wasn't.

He unsheathed the family claymore. Father was part of the Kul Tiras Irregulars back in the day, and used the claymore to good effect. After he died of the flu, Mother joined up and killed plenty. She died fighting the Burning Legion, and the claymore came to Rych—which was a relief, as the longsword he'd been using was crap.

Although he wasn't as good with it as Mother, he was better than Father was, and he intended to spill plenty of orc and troll blood with it.

One of the trolls came right at him, holding up a huge cleaver. Rych parried the cleaver, then kicked the troll in the stomach. That trick always worked on the drunks he used to clear out of Mowbry's Tavern back home.

Unfortunately, trolls had tougher bellies, and this one just laughed and swung again with the cleaver.

Blood pooled in the sand under him, but Rych couldn't spare a glance to see whose it was as he parried the cleaver again.

"You've had this comin' a long time," the troll said as he lifted the cleaver.

While the troll was wasting time saying this, Rych stabbed the troll in the chest.

His foe falling to the sand as Rych removed the claymore, he turned to see that the blood was from both Hoban and Allyn, who lay dead in the sand, blood pouring from multiple wounds. An orc was charging toward the keep gates, blood dripping from his ax. Screaming, Rych ran for the orc and stabbed the greenskin in the back.

"'Ey! Human!"

Rych whirled around to see another orc.

"You killed Gorx!"

"Gorx killed my friends," Rych said with a snarl.

"Yeah, fought 'em, but you stabbed 'im inna back!"

Not seeing the big deal, Rych said again, "He killed my friends!"

Raising his greatsword, the orc said, "Well, now I'm gonna kill you!"

The greatsword was a lot bigger than Rych's claymore, but that meant it took the orc a lot longer to swing it, as he had to wind up to strike, which gave Rych plenty of time to either dodge or parry. An attempt at the latter resulted in an impact of blade on blade that sent convulsions through his entire body, leaving Rych to embrace the efficacy of the former.

Or so he thought—the fourth time he dodged the greatsword, he bumped into Private Nash. That caused Nash to turn around in surprise, leaving him open to an attack from an orc's pulverizer.

Anger got Rych's blood boiling. It wasn't enough that these orcs had to attack, now they were making him screw up his fellow soldiers. Screaming incoherently, he ran at the orc with his claymore.

The orc stepped aside to his left, holding out his greatsword, which cut through Rych's chest plate and stomach as he ran past. White—hot agony sliced through his torso, and his scream became even more incoherent. He flailed his claymore about with his right hand while clutching his injured chest with his left.

Suddenly, the claymore stopped short and wouldn't move. Wincing in searing pain even as he did so, Rych turned to his right to see that the claymore had impaled the orc's head.

"Serves you right," he managed to blurt out through clenched teeth.

He yanked the claymore out of the orc's skull, which shot a lot more pain through his chest. For some reason, the sounds of battle had dimmed, and all Rych could hear was a persistent roaring in his ears.

Using the family weapon as a makeshift walking stick, he stumbled forward in the sand, looking for more orcs to kill.

A moment ago, Aegwynn had been standing in Theramore.

A moment ago, Lorena had taken a very deep breath and looked apprehensive. Aegwynn remembered the colonel's words about how she hated magic—not to mention her nausea in response to teleporting last time. Briefly, Aegwynn wondered if it was such a good idea for Lorena to have eaten prior to this.

A moment ago, Jaina Proudmoore had looked determined.

Now, they stood at the mouth of a cave surrounded by a foul—smelling orange mist, leading Aegwynn to understand why Lorena had been so unenthusiastic about coming here. The orange miasma hung in the air like the worst kind of fog. Aegwynn almost felt weighed down by it.

Aegwynn had long since grown inured to the effects of teleportation, so the only disorientation she felt was related to the mist. She shot a glance at Lorena, who looked a bit pale, but was still holding her sword before her, ready for anything.

Jaina, however, looked as pale as Lorena, which was not a good sign.

However, Aegwynn said nothing. There was no going back now, and the last thing Jaina needed was someone acting like a mother hen. Aegwynn herself had certainly hated it when someone—usually Scavell, or, when they were sleeping together, Jonas, or one of the council—fussed over her when she was exhausted and still had to do battle, so she saw no reason to inflict that on Jaina now.

Still, there was cause for concern. Jaina had cast four teleport spells today that Aegwynn knew about—herself to Bladescar, the thunder lizards to Bladescar, the three of them back to Theramore, and the three of them to this cave—plus scrying Zmodlor's location, doing whatever she did to keep the thunder lizards under control, and inuring the three of them to whatever this mist did under normal circumstances. That much casting in one day alone would start to take its toll, and for all Aegwynn knew there was more besides.

As Jaina led the way through the mouth of the cave, Aegwynn wondered when she had stopped thinking of the golden—haired mage as "Lady Proudmoore"—or "that annoying little girl"—and had started thinking of her as "Jaina."

Aloud, she said, "Zmodlor's here, all right." She shuddered. "He's everywhere." The demon had obviously set up shop in this cave, and his essence was in the very rock. She hadn't been so overwhelmed by foulness since she confronted her son at Kharazan—though some of the feeling might have been due to the mist. It only added to the general unpleasantness of the dank cave. Jaina cast a light spell that allowed them to see, but all that served to do was make the mist brighter. Then again, Aegwynn had no interest in getting a better look at the damp walls, stalactites—the points of which threatened the top of her head—and uneven stone floor.