Nikolas Tien knew it was a losing battle, but he tried anyway to fight the tears welling up in his eyes. The first of them fell down his cheek as he knelt down to brush moss off the tombstone in front of him. It wasn’t difficult- the moss was soft and lightly attached, falling easily to the ground as Nikolas touched it. When he finished, he sat back on the grass beside the grave, barely able to read the name in the twilight:
Altus Galor Tien
Knight of the Order of the Silver Hand
Sacrificed his life defending the
Free people of Azeroth from the Scourge
It had been five years, almost to the day, since Nikolas’ father was killed at Darrowshire, keeping the Undead at bay while villagers and soldiers alike ran for their lives. Nikolas had tried to stay and help, but the look his father gave him said everything: that he needed Nikolas to make sure everyone got away safely, even if it cost Altus his life.
Nikolas had watched as that price was paid- an Abomination, a grotesque collection of body parts fused into a giant monstrosity, had knocked Altus into a wall with one swipe of its maul. When he didn’t see his father get up, Nikolas knew it was too late. It took every ounce of his will not to go running back, but he knew what his father expected him to do.
So he had run, like everyone else, fleeing the dark horror of the Scourge, fighting when necessary to survive. There hadn’t even been a chance to go back for his father’s body. His only solace at the time had come knowing he had done as Altus had asked, had fulfilled his father’s dying wish. But that comfort was short-lived, and the memories of that day had followed Nikolas and haunted his nightmares since.
The tombstone here at the Northshire Abbey had been placed at the request of Nikolas’ mother, Naya. Altus had trained to become a priest of the Holy Light here; he and Naya had been married in the chapel here; Nikolas and his sister, Katia, were born here. This was the place where the Tien family had hoped to call home. Those dreams were shattered when the Horde arrived.
Nikolas stood and wiped his eyes. This was the first time he’d come to Northshire, though his mother had invited him often. Nikolas had used his responsibilities on the merchant ship Queen’s Gambit as an excuse, but the truth was that he’d been avoiding his mother since Altus’ death. He had never been able to shake the feeling that his mother blamed him for not going back, for not even trying to save his father. Nikolas knew it was all probably in his head, but that didn’t make it any less difficult. Only in the realization that five years had passed already did Nikolas muster up the courage to come to Northshire.
With one last glance at the tombstone, standing over a grave with no body, Nikolas turned and walked toward the abbey, where the priests had graciously given him a room for the night. The inside of the abbey was nearly empty, populated only by the odd monk or priestess sitting in meditation or deep thought. Nikolas walked as quietly as he could so as not to disturb them.
Moonlight flowed into Nikolas’ room on the west side of the abbey as he walked in, taking his shows off and leaving them by the door. He dressed for bed, knowing this was much earlier than usual for him to go to sleep. Still, he felt tired, weighed down by the memory of his father’s death and the grief that came this time every year. As he laid his head to his pillow, he hoped that those memories wouldn’t invade his dreams, but knowing full well they probably would.
Alterac Mountains
Hundreds of miles away, far north of Northshire or Stormwind, driving rain obscured any moonlight that would have shone on the Alterac Mountains. It had been raining for three straight days now, and the man now huddled in a thick canvas tent again cursed whatever power or deity was responsible for such miserable weather.
He had been waiting here for two of those rainy days, high in the mountains where few would have dared go for any meeting, no matter how important. The man knew, though, that the remote location would ensure privacy, something he greatly valued as a purveyor of services considered by many to be less than savory. He cared little for popular opinions, however; he knew that while the efforts he led were illegal, they were of noble and fair intent. Like his colleagues, the man simply wanted to reclaim what had been taken from him unfairly.
A shout from outside told him his guest had arrived. He wrapped a thick cloak around his shoulders, pulled the hood over his head and stepped outside. Through the rain he could see his guards gathered at the head of the trail leading up to the small clearing, surrounded on three sides by high cliffs. Beyond them, the outline of a mounted rider was barely visible; the man watched as that rider dismounted and was escorted nearer by the guards. Both men then took seats below a canvas overhang attached to the host’s tent.
The newcomer had the look that would make all but those who lived in the dark places of society shiver. Rough stubble did little to hide the numerous scars covering the man’s face; his eyes moved about quickly, as if expecting an ambush at any moment; and his breath smelled strongly of dwarven ale. His half-open mouth showed broken and missing teeth, glistening half from rain, half from spittle. He had a wheezy kind of breathing, like he had run up the mountain rather than rode on a horse.
“You got my money?” the newcomer asked, his gravelly voice loud and abrasive against the constant sound of rain. His sneer made it even more clear than the question that he wanted to conclude business quickly.
“Show me what I’m willing to pay so much for first,” was the response, as terse and impatient as the man who had waited long for this transaction.
With a growl of irritation, the newcomer reached into his cloak. The guards surrounding him moved their hands, almost as one, to their swords, ready to draw and take action if this stranger tried anything dangerous. But all he pulled out from a pocket was a small box, wooden and aged, about the size of a fist.
“The money, if you please.” The man holding the box glared hard at the man he expected money from. But the buyer didn’t shrink.
“Open it. I need to see it if I’m to pay so handsomely for it.”
Grumbling again, the scruffy man opened the box and held it out for his buyer to see. To himself, he mused on why this trinket was of such interest. It was a simple ring, unadorned and hardly ornate, though clearly made of fine silver. The buyer, however, hoped the man holding the ring didn’t know what it was he held in his hands. If he did, he surely would ask for more, and the buyer was in no mood to bargain or haggle. He looked up at one of the guards.
“Give him the money,” he ordered. The guard pulled a pouch from under his cloak, bulging with silver coins. The newcomer’s eyes lit up with greed as he took the bag and felt how heavy it was. He got up to leave, but was pushed back down into his seat by the guard who had given him the money.
“Not just yet,” the buyer said, staring at the ring in his hands. “I need to be sure this is what I paid for.”
The newcomer spat. “It’s what you wanted, alright. I don’t like you questioning my honest nature like that.”
The buyer scoffed. “I’m certain you’ve never had an honest nature, now keep you mouth shut for a minute.”
The seller opened his mouth to protest, but looked around at the guards and thought better of it. Turning his attention back to his buyer, he saw the man take the ring from the box and weigh it in his hands. He then reached into his cloak, pulled something out and hold it up next to the ring: it was another ring, similar in shape but slightly darker in color. The seller’s breath caught in his chest- did the color difference mean the ring wasn’t what the other man wanted.? The buyer’s eyes narrowed as he turned back to his guest.
“You may go. I am satisfied you found what I wanted,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.
The seller got up quicker than he might normally have; something about his host suddenly unsettled him, and he wanted nothing more than to be far away right now. Gathering his cloak around him, he returned to his horse, got on and rode toward the mouth of the small clearing.
The buyer’s chief guard watched the scruffy man ride off. “That heavy purse will slow him down,” he said.
Turning back to the tent entrance, the boss gave a nod and went inside. As he settled onto his cot, he heard the sound of a bowstring being drawn and released, followed by a distant yelp of pain. He ignored all this however, his mind now singly upon his purchase. Holding the ring up to eye level again, he smiled. Months of searching and inquiring and poring over records had paid off. Finally, he was just one small step away from achieving that which he had set out two years ago to accomplish.
On that day, fate had dropped not one, but two unexpected surprises into his lap. A third came along some months later. Today, he had purchased the fourth piece of the puzzle, and he knew where the last one was.
And once it was in his hands, he would take back what was once his and more.
