The Quest of Sylvanas
Part I

Chapter I
To Northrend

Just when the Burning Legion had been defeated, a new threat emerged from the north. The blight of the Lich-king was spreading rapidly across the land and threatened to touch the shores of Azeroth. Across the world, the people wondered how their leaders would respond.

"Arthas is rabble-rousing!" they said. "What shall be done?"

A week later, they had their answer. Sylvanas herself would lead the charge across the sea, taking with her her new blood elf allies.

A sense of relief swept the land. The undead had long questioned the worth of the blood elf alliance, having gained nothing but grief and embarrassment from it till then, but now they celebrated, seeing their Queen off to Silvermoon in the highest spirits.

There she spent a week gathering her armies.

On the eve of their departure, the Queen was attended by the blood elf Bodine. He had risen from slavehood as a young man to become the squire of Ratfort, the first blood elf paladin. In that capacity he had learned all about adventure and the way of the Light. Now he was a paladin in his own right and foremost among Sylvanas's confidants.

That evening he presented the Queen with a small rock, calling it a soul stone. There would be time to discuss it later, so Sylvanas promised to keep it on her person until then.

"Tomorrow we will be sailing toward Northrend," she sighed, pressing her body against his. "I want to thank you, Mr. Bodine, for treating us so lavishly."

As her aide, Bodine enjoyed a certain rapport with the Queen that extended into the bedroom. "It is standard elven hospitality."

"Tell me more," she cooed. "I must hear the whole story from your dear lips."

"Quality," he said. "We blood elves strive to be the best hosts in the world. If that means waking up at the crack of dawn to hold your hand on the way to the bathroom, then we do it."

As he finished, he kissed her hard on the mouth. Engorged with passion, she took his hand in her own and tried vainly to lead him toward the bed.

"Kiss me under the sheets," she moaned.

The elf, however, was unmoved. "I am married to the Light," he said.

"Oh, Mr. Bodine!"

The paladin was deaf to her pleas. As the lady sunk writhing onto the bed, the steeled fighting-man looked casually at a nautical map.

"Northrend is a week away," said he. "I've arranged for us to meet a shaman upon our arrival. Can you compose yourself by then?"

The lady only moaned, begging for his company. She could not think of their future in Northrend nor speak a reply, only writhe insensibly. Her breaths cascaded into amorous purrs as she crawled beneath the sheets, one hand clasped enticingly around her bosom. One night with the elven Adonis was all she craved, if only his tiny body would come close to hers. Then she might find her purpose in childrearing.

Bodine watched from across the room, laughing at her foolishness. "Your sweltering, milady, could thaw the Frozen Throne."

He was not altogether displeased with the effect his good looks had on her, but it ended there. He was a soldier and a man of the cloth, caring only for justice, prayer, and roquefort cheese. Rather than give in to her lust, he bid the lady goodnight.

"May the Light forgive your feminine weakness."

Chapter II
The Soul Stone

On the seventh day at sea, Northrend appeared on the horizon. The shore was bare and approachable, with hardly even a shoal to slow their approach. The sun, which they had valued more with each passing mile they spent venturing into the cold north, reached its midpoint just as the first anchors dropped.

Within a few minutes of landing, each ship was emptied and the beach blanketed with chests, drums, and barrels. Most of these contained velour sleeping caps, which the elves recognized as their own make. Everyone searching his belongings found five or six tucked away inside. The hats fit snuggly on the head, to the point that even the undead soldiers enjoyed them, but no one could explain why there were so many.

The ships themselves were set adrift by Bosun Larry. He and Bodine had agreed beforehand to strand the men on Northrend, making defeat all that more unappealing. This, however, came as a shock to the others. They had long thought they might return home if things got ugly, but now there was no escape.

In the end, they agreed it was better this way, but the men were more eager than ever to get situated. As soon as their boots had dried, they began gathering wood from inland.

The officers, meanwhile, urged the men to take at least an hour-long nap, fearing they might overtax themselves after the long voyage. Very few obliged. The place had to feel like home if they were to live there, and that meant building a settlement. Despite the ready availability of blankets and night caps, work continued into the night, infuriating the officers.

It was later decided not to reprimand anyone, but at the time many came close to death.

The next day, Bodine and Sylvanas met with the shaman that Bodine had mentioned a week earlier. She turned to be an orc, one of the few to have made the journey.

"Ummi jummi!" she exclaimed as she cradled the soul stone in her clawed hands. "This be powerful magic."

"I know," Bodine said impatiently. "We face many dangers in Northrend, Apirga. I would ask you to ward the Queen against death."

But the orc shook her head: "I cannot."

"It is magic," Bodine insisted. "Certainly not outside your league."

"That be true."

"Then please attune it for us!"

"I cannot."

Bodine reacted quickly. With tremendous pressure he had pinched one ear of the insolent woman and forced her to her knees. "By my sword," he said, drawing his weapon, "you will do it or be hacked to pieces, orc!"

Apirga winced and cowered. "Please, Master Bodine!"

"Fool!" he roared.

"It be attuned to another, sir, I swears it!"

The elf wavered in dismay. Apirga, sensing him falter, rolled out of his grip onto the floor, clutching her reddened lobe.

Though concerned for her feelings, Sylvanas was more disturbed by her words and their effect on Bodine. "My lord! What is the matter?" she pleaded. "Where did you get this stone?"

The paladin was still stunned, tears speckling his snowy cheeks.

"My dear Queen, we have been blessed," he said weeping. "This stone…" He clutched it preciously. "Before it came down to me, milady, it belonged to my mentor, whose soul must now occupy it. I speak of the greatest hero in elven history: Ratfort, the first blood elf paladin!"

Chapter III
Old Friends

"Without a body," Apirga had said, "the stone be the new vessel."

Understanding the shaman's words, Bodine took the soul stone to the top of a hill which was very far from the settlement, and sitting under the shade of a fig tree, he nestled it between his buttocks. There it would spend the next few weeks incubating.

During this time, Sylvanas visited Bodine to feed him roquefort cheese and, moreover, to fawn over his maternal glow. She wished that she could share his burden with him, offering to serve in his place, but the honor belonged to Bodine alone.

"Someday," she promised him, "I will carry your child, and the honor will be all mine."

Bodine stayed current by reading the Howling Fort Gazette, which the eighth, ninth, and tenth bridages had started in lieu of a fighting spirit. It discussed all the goings-on in the army and the progress of their mission, but also dished authoritative gossip. By the third week, he was reading the paper aloud, for in addition to a half-formed hand and a leg down to the knee, the stone had already developed a complete ear.

"Soon you will be back to your wonderful self," Bodine whispered into it. The stone, now three times the size it had been at the meeting with the shaman, was no longer a sphere, but budded jaggedly with the nubs of forming bone.

When the shape became recognizably that of Ratfort, Sylvanas kept a constant vigil, for the task had so exhausted Bodine that he might sleep through his friend's awakening.

After three days of waiting, Sylvanas watched two sockets appear in the head and fill with eyes, completing the transformation. An hour later, the eyes blinked, and the lips underneath parted. "Well, if dis don't beat all!"

"Ratfort! Ratfort!"

Bodine leapt off his friend and hoisted the risen elf to his feet.

"Hey, watch da material!" Ratfort scolded him. "What is dis place? A minute ago I was sick in bed, wit' all my friends leanin' ovah me cryin', like my goose was cooked. Den I remembah slippin' away…."

His eyes glazed over mysteriously, but any displacement he felt from the miraculous return to life was jostled out of him by Bodine's embrace.

"Bless the Light! It really is you, Ratfort! But what you speak of occured five years ago, my friend. We only learned about your soul stone recently, bringing you back to life as soon as we could, and now you are alive and well!"

He then told his friend everything he knew about the collapse of the Burning Legion, the unfortunate rise of the Lich-king, and finally their current place in spearheading the offensive.

Ratfort took everything in excitedly, then clucked his tongue. "Dat ol' Lich-king don't scare me. I'll lead ya straight to 'is door, brother! Where's da army?"

An earnest pause gave him hesitation, as all energy left Bodine. "I'm afraid it can't be that way," he said, eyes downcast.

"What do ya mean? What haven't ya told me, brother?"

"There was an inquiry after your death, Ratfort. It concluded that you had murdered countless people. Oh, I know it's madness! I never believed it! But it was enough to turn the people against you. I'm very sorry. But announcing yourself now, or leading any kind of public life, would be disastrous."

"Is dat so?" Ratfort said, put-out; popular support had long sustained him. "Well, I been in heaps o' trouble before. Dis is no different. Yeah, dat's da spirit! Until dis thing blows ovah, I'll jus' lie low and counsel ya behind closed doors."

"Thank you, Ratfort," Bodine said, truly affected. "Your advice and support mean more to me than the backing of a thousand armies."

"Likewise, chowdahead."

They spent the rest of the day talking about old times, how Ratfort had freed Bodine from Ork the Slaver, their old companion Anzibar, and what dying from rancid meat had felt like.

Chapter IV
A Royal Din-din

In a remarkable show of solidarity, the orcs decided to join their Horde brethren in Northrend. They surprised the established armies in the second month, arriving in more ships than what had carried the elves and undead over combined. (These too, however, were destroyed for the same reason as before.)

To celebrate the occasion, Thrall invited the armies together for a royal din-din. Bodine, Sylvanas, Thrall and his brother Cairne, together with their top generals, would all dine at the same table. Everyone agreed to this. Moreover, they began preparing for the meal by fasting for the next few days, and vomiting what food they had already eaten.

Before the big day, Bodine led Thrall and Cairne on a tour of the Howling Fort, so named because of the howling wind. Though the catapults and ballistas rivaled those they had in Orgrimmar, the orc leader was most impressed by the offices of the Gazette, bemoaning the time he lost to being a warchief when he and his brother longed instead to be reporters.

The editor-in-chief encouraged Thrall in his hobby, telling him to never lay down his pen. The warchief took this to heart.

"Zug zug!" he said. "Maybe before this all over, Thrall contribute something to paper. Mm?"

"I'd like that," said the editor.

Next they visited the frontline troops, who were bivouacked on the hills overlooking a wide expanse of dangerous wilderness. What most surprised Thrall was not the scope of the campaign, but the fastidiousness of the elven soldiers.

"You bathe every day?" he asked.

Bodine answered in the affirmative. "Our system of warfare is designed around the comfort of the fighting men."

He demonstrated his point with a look inside the trenches. Each soldier was equipped with the luxuries of home -- floral-print stationery, scented oils, ring cleaner -- as well as the items necessitated by a foreign climate. At the foot of each bed was an armoir filled not only with colored blouses and jewelry, but also seasonal wear. Spring would be fast upon them, and no one would bear it without capri pants.

They then made their way back, stopping only at a few waystations, which among other things warehoused supplies on its way to the frontlines.

"This lot of food," said Thrall.

"It's not all food," Bodine replied.

A few boxes were opened and their contents spilled onto the ground, revealing the bread and butter of the elven supply chain. Most important of these was warm enema water, gallons of which were consumed every day. This stemmed not from the treatment of blockage or disease, but from the elven practice of immaculate hygiene. As delicate as they were, elves were especially vulnerable to toxins. As such, they cleaned regularly, aware that even a few germs could tucker them out before a big fracas. Officers, caring as much for duty as for the comfort of their men, were often trained to administer colonics and ipecac, the grease of the elven war machine.

In the end, the tour was very illuminating to Thrall and Cairne.

At the hour of the din-din, when all the other guests came pouring in, Bodine was found already seated at the table. Sylvanas naturally seated herself next to him but discovered too late that he, having guessed that she might, had decided to play a mean trick on her by not wearing any pants.

This made the Queen helpless to look and, even worse, imagine throughout the meal. While none of the other guests were aware of the nudity taking place, she was consumed by it and the thought of creation.

"Oh, Mr. Bodine," she began to moan. The others looked quizzically at her and the elf, who pretended not to notice, but were want of an explanation.

Two courses into the meal, the lady could stand no more. She rose from her seat and surprised everyone by tearing off her pants, clutching Bodine under the table, and kissing him hard on the mouth.

"Heavens to Betsy!"

Dishes clattered to the floor. Even Bodine, who had never imagined the Queen would lose control, shrunk away in revulsion. He had intended only to cause her some discomfort, punishment for her constant proximity, and gasped at her wantonness with as much horror as the others.

"She is mad!" they cried.

Excusing themselves silently amid the uproar, the orc brothers were gone like a shot. With the chance at a journalistic career practically laid at their feet, they carried the story with them all the way to the Gazette.

"What have I done!" Sylvanas shrieked.

Bodine fired back: "You've brought disgrace and embarrassment upon yourself, you harlot!"

The lady ran crying from the room.

Chapter V
Elven Tiptoes

The Queen's public disgrace went public the next day via the Gazette, whose frontpage lede began: "While noble heroes of the Horde die in battle, the Banshee Queen molests her generals with deplorable acts of love."

The whole article was a brilliant mix of straight reporting, opinion, and self-promotion, cutting straight to the heart of the readers. No one would have guessed it was authored by two cub reporters, otherwise known as Thrall and Cairne.

Far from demoralizing the men, however, the scandal seemed to revitalize the entire offensive. Sylvanas became such an easy target for would-be comedians that even the least popular troops were scoring zingers off her. For a time, a man could go so far as to harvest his regiment's organs for personal consumption, only to joke his way out of a court-martial by dropping Sylvanas's name. It was a golden age for mischief.

Meanwhile, the fight against the Lich-king was heating up. Scourge patrols were coming nearer with every pass, establishing a regular routine outside Howling Fort. The Horde presence seemed to surprise them at first, but now that word had carried back to Arthas, they were arriving with dizzying frequency.

"I see you!" Bodine called from the ramparts. All the watchmen did the same, even when they saw nothing. There was no telling when a scourge patrol might be concealed in the thickets.

"I see you too!" the scourge would sometimes call back. It was a meaningless retort. The watchmen could only expect to be seen along the ramparts, whereas recons generally predicated concealment. By declaring themselves, they were only undermining their position. On the other hand, it could be said that the scourge were adapting to a new situation by taking on a new role. After being discovered, they were turning the tables on the watchmen, effectively psyching them out. From the perspective of some military strategists, the value of these mind games far outweighed the value of covert reconnaisance, especially when other patrols were picking up where they had failed.

This argument played out every night between the watchmen and the scourge below.

As exciting as this was, the men had their greatest thrill later on. A few miles from Howling Fort, a scourge war party had set up camp beneath a secluded ridge. Trying very hard not to be seen, they had leaned tall branches against the rock wall to create a makeshift roof, concealing themselves to anyone on the ridge above.

"They had a prisoner with them," said a scout.

"A prisoner?"

"Yes, sir, but not one of our men. It was a strange creature: part walrus, part man. A native of the continent, perhaps."

"We can't risk charging in," Bodine said. "They may harm the prisoner if they see us coming."

"Then what can we do?"

"Gentlemen," Bodine said, "all my people train en pointe. By walking on my elven tiptoes, I can sneak quietly into the camp and free the prisoner."

Just as he described, Bodine tiptoed in and returned a short time later with the walrus-man. The prisoner thus freed, the scourge were then mercilessly put down, their bones scattered into the wind.

At the end of the day, Bodine sought Ratfort. The walrus people could prove to be valuable allies and he wanted the elder elf's advice.

Ratfort, however, despite everything he owed to Bodine, had grown increasingly distant. Due to his reputation, he could not venture outside the underground roquefort silo where he lived, but this did not stop him from maintaining an active life. The few times Bodine saw him, the elf was adorned in a bulky greatcloak and porkpie hat, swinging a diamond-studded cane with all the swagger of a city father. He risked being found out, Bodine thought, but abjured some danger by calling himself "Mo Stevens." This, along with the matching name-plate, cast off suspicion.

Yet Bodine could not get inside to meet with him. Ratfort, it seemed, had installed a bodyguard outside the doorway.

For the next few days, Bodine observed strange activities around the silo as he tried to gain admittance. Ratfort's office, as he came to know it, was receiving shipments at all hours of the day, even when the rest of Howling Fort was disrupted by attack or alarum. Each time the carrier was stopped by the guard, engaged in a rigorous handshake, then sent away with his goods lain at the doorside. The discreet packaging, meanwhile, made it impossible to guess what was inside.

This gave Bodine pause, but his attentions were already stretched to the limit.

Chapter VI
The Goosing Incident

Darkness as had not been seen since the corruption of Arthas Menethil swept the land. The Lich-king himself was surprised, as this foreboding emanated not from his domain, but from Howling Fort. Could a rival appear to challenge him? The thought worried him more than all the armies of the world.

In her shack, Apirga sensed the same danger. "Ummi jummi!" she exclaimed. "Some new evil be emerging. Show me, cauldron! Let us see the face of this evil!"

She stirred faster and faster. "Poubar, throw on more voodoo sticks!"

Her troll servant complied. Tossing a handful of the wooden twigs onto the bubbling water, a noxious cloud burst forth. It seemed to shift idly, then settled on a shape resembling that of a face.

"It's here, Poubar, it's here!" she cried. "That be a living face! Master Bodine must be warned!"

She rushed hurriedly away.

Bodine, however, was too embroiled in other troubles to meet with the shaman. Ahead of a royal din-din with Tuskarr diplomats, he was faced with a potentially catastrophic scenario. The weapons they had on Northrend were breaking and disappearing faster than the smiths could replace them. As a result, attacks were being planned not by how many men were needed, but by how many weapons they could muster. The offensive, throttled by dwindling supplies, had to be curtailed across the board. If the scourge were to find out why, they could easily clinch an early victory.

In the end, Bodine agreed that a ship should be made to bring weapons over from Silvermoon. It was a small and forgivable reversal of his no-escape policy, but it tormented him nonetheless.

Meanwhile, there was a man in the regiment whose practice it was to greet Bodine with a goosing from behind. A lax reprimand following the first occurence had instilled in this senior officer the notion that his behavior was acceptable and, moreover, appreciated.

Unfortunately, being goosed was the last thing Bodine needed. He was already tense and resentful, but this new shock sent him over the edge. The goosing seemed to have a corrupting effect on him, turning his mind toward rash and vile thoughts. It was said for a long time that the wound never healed, that the place of the pinch on his buttock was red forever after.

Addled as he was, Bodine made a brash decision, sending three unarmed brigades into battle. Their opponents, a sizable scourge war party, decimated everything coming their way. This included two more brigades, which Bodine had outfitted with their remaining weapons.

Altogether 15,000 men died.

While these losses might well have put a damper on the evening, everyone agreed to make the most of it. Everyone present at the last royal din-din, excepting Sylvanas, attended with the same revelry as before. This time, however, Thrall and Cairne were not present as leaders, but as distinguished members of the press. They had quickly climbed the ladder at the Gazette to become its star reporters, never hiding their dedication to responsible journalism.

"Look for Thrall op-ed this Sunday," said the warchief. "Me review elastic products. Consumer not getting whole picture."

"Mm, very good," said Cairne. "Elastic in underpants."

"Yeah, and headbands."

"Yeah, important issue."

Bodine arrived late. Still reeling from the goosing incident, he was clearly out-of-sorts and too pained to sit.

"Friends and esteemed guests," he said, acknowledging the Tuskarr diplomats, "I would like a fluffy pillow to sit on."

When a pillow could not be procured, he eyed the Tuskarrs and their ample whiskers.

"Put your faces on my chair," he said.

The diplomats walked slowly over and knelt down, leaning their heads backward onto the seat. Satisfied with their cooperation, Bodine lifted his haunches overhead and lowered his swollen buttock onto their faces.

He might never have been pinched, the Tuskarr whiskers were so fluffy and the relief they provided so complete. Unconcerned for anything else, he tucked ravenously into his meal.

Chapter VII
A Different Approach

"Oh, Mr. Bodine!"

Sylvanas tugged at his arm.

"Please, sir!"

Bodine shooed the lady away from his bedside. "I have lost all patience for your accursed affection!"

"Oh, but you must awake, my lord! You must see Ratfort at once!"

"I've tried many times," he barked. "I can't get inside. Yet I would give anything to have his counsel now!"

Sylvanas shook her head excitedly. "You will have it, sir! He has called for you. You must go at once!"

Bodine got up, dressing hurriedly, and left without a word. He would have liked to leave the lady behind, but she was adament on going along.

"I have been staying with Ratfort these past few days," she said. "He has brought me into the fold."

With the Queen at his side, Bodine passed by the bodyguard without a word.

Once inside, he saw little trace of the shipments he knew were arriving around the clock. Except for one large, oblong crate and a desk and chair, the room was completely bare.

Ratfort stood calmly at the desk, and Bodine threw himself at his feet.

"You must advise me, friend! We are crumbling!"

Ratfort half-smiled. "Is dat so?"

"The scourge push us back further every day," he cried, hoping to see more concern from his old friend, but Ratfort was unmoved. "The Tuskarr have taken up arms against us! The Silvermoon supply ship is unfinished. We have no weapons, no allies, no escape, and no hope!"

"Say no more, brother," said Ratfort. "Dere's always hope. Pray with me."

"Are you mad?"

"Are you?"

Sylvanas ran between them, throwing out her arms. "Bodine, please listen to him!"

The elf, folding his arms in mild obstinance, nonetheless sat obeisantly in the desk chair.

"You been fightin' dis battle all wrong, brother. Ya swing yer sword like ya was tryin' ta hoit someone. But dat ain't what it's about."

"What do you mean?"

"Love, brother. When I took da pledge, I gave up da sword. Dat's what it means ta follow da Light."

Bodine was ready to burst out of his chair. "We must crush our enemies," he said deliberately. "Lest they crush us."

"Wise guy, eh? I tells ya love is da only way."

Ratfort turned away, rapping his cane on the floor. In response, two burly workmen appeared from a trap door.

"Jimmy dis thing open," he ordered, indicating the oblong crate. "I wanna show our friend here our latest success case."

"Sure thing, Boss Ratfort."

"They know your real name?"

"Ain't dat da truth," said Ratfort. "Yep, I'm a changed man, brother. Dey know who I am and dey's forgiven me for everything."

When the front panel of the crate was loosened, the workmen held it in place in hesitation, awaiting further word from the boss.

"I said open it!" Ratfort shouted. "Or do I gotta tell ya twice?"

As the lid fell away, Bodine gasped in horror. Propped upright in the casket was a putrid and decaying body. To his relief, however, it was that of a scourge ghoul, and not one of their own men.

"Dere, ya see?"

"See what?" Bodine asked, unamused. "In all the time we've been here, you've killed one enemy with the power of love?"

"Killed? Oh, brother!" Ratfort snickered. "Not killed -- saved, brother! It's a convert to our cause."

The elder elf tapped his cane again. After a few tense moments, the ghoul lurched awkwardly forward.

"IT'S ALIVE!"

Bodine struggled for his sword.

"Look out! What are you doing!?"

The workmen had dragged him to the floor, knocking the sword out of his reach. Bodine fought against them until Ratfort leaned over his heaving body and pinned him under the weight of his cane.

"You ain't gonna kill nobody, brother."

"You're insane! You can't save the scourge! They all must die!"

"You call me insane? Me, da Big Boozler?"

Sylvanas burst into tears. "He's always been this way, Ratfort! You can't make him listen!"

"Den we's through talkin'."

Ratfort would say no more. The workmen, clenched and ready to pull Bodine apart if so commanded, instead lifted him to his feet. However disappointing it was for everyone involved, the meeting ended there. Bodine especially, having held out hope that Ratfort would come through, had never imagined a falling out.

As Sylvanas led him away, Ratfort, the workmen, and the ghoul could be heard praying together.

"What are they praying for?" Bodine scoffed.

The lady, still crying, supported him on her arm. "Oh, Mr. Bodine…" she wept. "If only you understood…. They are praying for your soul."

Chapter VIII
The Sundering

As their numbers shrunk by the droves, the proposed supply ship soon became an escape ship.

When it was finished, the survivors found it more than spacious enough for them all. Tens of ships had brought them over, but now they filled only one.

"I have taken roll three times," Bodine said to Bosun Larry ahead of their departure, "but a man named Mo Stevens is absent among us when I know him to be alive."

"Never heard of him, sir."

Ratfort probably had not revealed himself to the men at large, so Bodine did not ask for him by that name. Instead he trusted that Ratfort had made it aboard and had concealed himself below-deck.

As they prepared to cast off, Bodine shifted his weight uncomfortably atop a chair of Tuskarr heads.

"I would like to see the Queen."

The lady was brought to him. She curtsied respectfully, but could not meet his gaze.

"Now do you see what can be accomplished with weapons?" Bodine said resentfully. "The scourge have driven us off, and seized our ipecac. Luckily you are enough to make me retch, you hag!"

Sylvanas said nothing, but her hardening features revealed her frustration.

Bodine drew back in sudden pain. "Oh, the wound!" he bawled. "It will never leave me, never-ever! -- And yet these Tuskarr heads, the only thing to give me any relief, wear out so quickly. If only we had killed more of our primitive enemies, I could have filled the hold!"

He sunk back into his seat, sighing.

"And to think, that fool Ratfort wanted us to yield to love…. Where is he, that I might mock him?"

"He is not here."

"I see that, but where aboard is he?"

"He is not aboard."

"What!"

Bodine looked to the shore. Even now the fort was burning.

"It is true, my lord. He stayed behind, aiming to carry out his mission of love."

"Love, milady? Love?" Bodine gripped the arms of his chair. "That silly emotion that reduces you to a soft pulp? Feh! I curse love! I curse the very notion!"

She bowed her head. "I did not expect you to understand, sir. You are too weak to wield it." She followed his gaze to the shore, then said, "Mr. Bodine, I am not sailing with you."

"Oh?"

"Ratfort is right," she said, trembling with sudden feeling. "Arthas loved me once, you see. And I--I loved him too. Now we are both undead, shattered vessels that can only be filled with the breath of love. I can change him."

"You foolish, wretched dunderhead!" Bodine spat. "If love is as strong as you say, then you will stay! Don't you see?" He pointed a vile finger at her. "I have a hold on you, my pretty!"--he cackled--"It is I whom you love now. Try as you might, but you will never get me out of your blood!"

"Maybe so," Sylvanas said. "But love has to stop someplace short of suicide."

The deckhands and soldiers crowding the ship created a blanket of cover, but Bodine was so intently following the lady that he picked her out every step of the way. His eyes were like saucers as she approached the gangplank.

She ran now. The men retracting the plank stopped short as she forced her way past them.

"The lady will miss the boat!" they yelled.

But it was too late; she had slid out of sight. The call to push off was made and the plank retracted.

Loud and terrible, Bodine roared.

"She's gone ashore! SHE'S GONE ASHORE!"