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| - The gnome looked up as a shadow darkened the pages of the book in his hands. “Are you the gnome named Min?” the woman asked. “Gnome named Min,” he said, closing the book. “Try saying that five times fast. Even three times slowly might be enough.” He slipped the book into his pack, sizing the woman up with a surreptitious glance. Dress of fine silk cut to precise measurements, diamonds set in delicate gold filigree adorning her ring fingers, and hair that cost more to maintain than a month’s budget at the orphanage. Not Stormwind Guard. “Templar?” he asked. “Beg your pardon?” “Nevermind.” The gnome looked around before relaxing. “I’m Min. Nice to meet you. What can I do for you, ma’am?” “I was told you have a talent for finding people, Sir Min.” “Not sir. Too formal.” Annoyance twisted the woman’s composure, but only for a moment. “Then you are Mister…?” “Just Min, ma’am.” “Min, then. About finding people-“ “Yes, people and things, but not places, strangely enough. People move around, things can change hands, but something about the stability of places discombobulates me. Dalaran notwithstanding.” Min smiled up at the flustered woman. He was accustomed to such a reaction. If she didn’t turn around and vow to forget this odd gnome, she had to be desperate enough to need his help. The woman closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Only a cold resolve shone in her eyes when she opened them. “I need you to find my husband, Min.” Min nodded and stood. “My office would be a better place to discuss this,” he said, gathering his things. “Come with me.” They reached the bottom of the cathedral steps when Min heard a familiar sound. His hand caught a handful of the woman’s dress, pulling her back from the pathway just as a mechanohog roared past, its rider unleashing a torrent of threats against any and all orphans. The woman’s shocked gaze followed hog and rider out of sight before settling on Min. Her mouth worked in a vain attempt to form words. “Better if you don’t know, ma’am,” Min said. She kept close to Min’s heels as they left the cathedral behind. Was this really her last hope…this plain, unremarkable gnome waddling along in front of her? “Are you not curious as to why I have not taken this matter to the Guard?” she asked. “Nope,” Min said, not breaking his pace. “You have some reason, I’m sure. Many, I’ll wager.” “Flamewright said you knew how to be discreet.” “That answers how someone of your…means…heard of me.” “Yes, I had commissioned a chandelier from him. He delivered it after my husband disappeared. Once he heard of my plight, he mentioned you. He said you found his daughter after she had been taken by Twilight Cultists. That you rescued her.” His moustache rose as he smiled. “True.” “How many of them did you kill?” she asked, a vindictive grin spreading across her face. “None.” The woman stopped. “Not one.” “I was there for the girl, not to kill,” Min said, still walking. “If you want to hire a killer, then don’t follow me. Otherwise, catch up. It’s hard to stop once I get started, what with this armor and all.” Min glanced around the Stormwind Park, taking in the people milling about. He led the woman around behind the Moonwell, stopping to kneel at a red flower. His callused hand brushed the flower’s healthy petals. With a nod of approval, he stood and faced the woman. “We were on our way to your office, correct?” she asked, her annoyance lending the words an edge. “And here we are,” Min said, patting the bench beside him. “Welcome to my office, my study, and, at night, my house. Have a seat, ma’am.” Min swept a hand at the bench, an invitation to sit. After a few moments of the woman’s incredulous stare, he shrugged and climbed up onto it. “Now, who am I looking for, and for whom?” he asked. “I am Miriam Constance Castille,” she said, mustering as much dignity as she could while speaking to a gnome whose home was a park bench. Min did all he could to keep from smiling at the display. “My husband is Roderick Theodore Montgomery Castille.” Her voice added weight to the name, as though it possessed a gravity all its own. “Okay,” Min said, shrugging. Miriam deflated in front of the gnome, her eyes blinking in short bursts. “I never really understood having all those names,” he said, reaching into his pack. “Do you earn one for each couple thousand gold you have laying around? And do you expect people to remember them all? Seems people have a hard enough time with Min. Would hate to compound their difficulties.” Assorted items of questionable nature and usage flew from Min’s pack. A bout of gnomish curses later, he set a metal sphere and silver ring next to him on the bench. He held his hand over the orb and concentrated. Soothing harp music emanated from the sphere. “And just what is the point of that?” Miriam asked. “I like music when conducting business.” He looked up at Miriam, a slight smile on his face. “That…and anyone trying to listen in by magical or mundane means will only hear the music of a very good minstrel who really should command more for his performances than a few coppers.” “Can we get started, please?” “Already have, ma’am. He left on his own, someone snatched him, or he’s dead and buried.” Miriam flinched at the last. “He’s not dead. Can’t be.” “And you know how?” Min asked, head tilting a bit. “We…share a special bond. I’d know.” Min nodded. “Good. That leaves high-tailing it himself, or kidnapped. Are any of his things missing? Any gold not in the bank that should be?” Miriam shook her head. “If he left, he took nothing with him, then,” Min said. “And given the conditions he would be used to living in, I doubt roughing it is part of his vocabulary. Right?” “Roderick wouldn’t stay in a palace if the sheets were anything but the finest silk.” Min smirked, thinking of how he uses a cloak for a pillow. “Then your husband appears to have been kidnapped. How long has he been gone, ma’am?” “A week.” “No ransom demand?” “No, not yet.” Min ran a hand through his hair. “A week’s a long time to hold someone without asking for gold. Whoever did it isn’t concerned with the cost of feeding and sheltering their captive.” “So why would anyone take him?” Miriam, forgetting her dignity, finally sat next to the gnome. “Ma’am, there’s only a couple reasons I can think of to take a wealthy man to keep alive and want no compensation, and none of them are nice.” He handed Miriam the silver ring. “Put this on, and don’t take it off. I can use it to find you. Again, do not take it off. Not till I come back, or it turns gray and brittle on your finger.” “Gray and brittle?” Miriam asked, slipping it on her index finger, not taking her eyes off the plain band. “What does it mean if it does?” “Means I’m dead, ma’am.” * * * * * Min and Miriam walked along the Stormwind canals, heading for the Deeprun Tram. Ironforge, the last place anyone had seen Roderick Castille. The face of a gnome child flashed across Min’s thoughts…and he hoped Roderick hadn’t shared a similar fate. The present came crashing back as he caught sight of two men standing at the tunnel entrance to the Dwarven District. “Ma’am,” Min said, voice low and calm, “I need you to stop walking and pretend you’re crying.” “I beg your—” “Now, please.” Miriam stopped, hands to her face, her body wracked with false sobs. “Is this good?” she said with only a trace of annoyance. “You won’t earn a spot in any troupes, but it’ll do.” Min turned to face Miriam, stealing a moment’s glance past her. “See the men behind me?” She hid a nod behind another series of sobs. “You have two behind you, about thirty yards out.” Miriam started to turn, unable to suppress the habitual need to look. Min took her elbow in a gentle grip. “Not a good idea, ma’am. When we get closer, the two behind me will go down the tunnel to stop us there, while the other two cut off the tunnel behind us. They’re not going to get a chance. We’re going to keep walking, hand in hand. Follow my lead. Don’t try to stop, and don’t talk.” “Has it occurred to you that maybe they are just regular people?” Miriam said from behind her hands. “Of course,” he said, smiling, “If they are, I only risk looking ridiculous. Nothing wrong with that. Do it all the time. But I’d rather look ridiculous than have you in danger, ma’am.” He nodded, releasing her elbow. Miriam slipped her hand into his. A few paces later, the two men entered the tunnel. Min shook his head, a gnomish curse under his breath. He heard the footsteps behind them drawing closer…faster. Min tightened his grip on Miriam’s hand. He bolted for the alleyway to their right, almost taking Miriam off her feet. Shouts followed them as they ran. Min snapped a pouch off his belt and dumped its contents. Small pieces of dark metal now littered the stone path behind them, sharpened points sticking up. “What was that?” Miriam asked. “Caltrops. Won’t stop them, but it’ll slow ’em down…and hurt like hell.” The pair followed the alley’s right turn, running straight into a dead end. They reached the wall just as a scream of pain split the air. “You fool!” Miriam shouted, any regal dignity forgotten. “Now they have us. There’s nowhere to run.” Min smiled up at Miriam’s reddening face. “Running wasn’t my intention, ma’am. Now they can’t surround us. Know how to use a sword?” Sputtering anger was the only reply. “Keep your back to the wall,” he said, drawing his sword. He reversed his grip, holding it out to Miriam. She took the sword after a moment’s hesitation. Min unhooked the shield from his back and slipped it onto his left arm with the ease of long practice. “What will you use, then?” Miriam asked. “Oh, I’ll get by, ma’am.” Min turned to face the men just as they rounded the corner. “Evening, gentlemen,” he said. “Something I can help you with tonight?” One of the men limped forward, a pair of daggers in his hands. “No one said anything about her having a gnome, Bludmane,” Limpy said. The tallest of them, a full head taller to be exact, relaxed his broadsword on his shoulder. He nodded, moonlight catching his dark red hair. “Kill it, and subdue the woman,” he said. “She’s not to be harmed.” Min’s hand drifted to a pouch on his right hip. A glass orb appeared, shimmering into existence. “Did you really have to call me an it? Gnomes do have feelings, you know.” The three underlings formed a line, advancing on Min. Bludmane kept his sword on his shoulder, a grim smile creasing his face, watching. With a sad, resigned sigh, Min launched himself at Limpy. Min’s hand snapped out mid-leap, the orb sailing for the thug to his right. It shattered against the man’s chest plate, green gas suffusing the air around his head. He tried to wave it away, but his hand made it half the way before sleep overwhelmed him. Injured from the caltrops and surprised by the gnome’s charge, Limpy only had time to put his daggers in the way in the hopes the gnome would impale himself. The sound of daggers meeting shield echoed in the alley as Min collided with Limpy, the momentum sending them rolling across the dirty stones. Min shifted his weight at the last moment to end up on top, burying his knees into Limpy’s chest. He held the edge of his shield against the thug’s throat, his right fist raised for the knockout blow. The strike never came as Min rolled away; noticing Limpy wasn’t looking at him, but past him. Min heard the axe tear through armor, flesh, and bone…and a scream of mortal terror and shock. Limpy’s cohort stood stunned at the sight of his axe buried in his friend’s chest. He never saw the edge of the shield as it smashed into the side of his knee. It was almost a relief as the shield came around again, sending him into unconsciousness. “Min!” Miriam screamed. The gnome dived under Bludmane’s massive sword as it slashed the air where he once stood. He rolled onto one knee, spinning to face the man, shield raised over his head anticipating a crushing overhead attack. There Bludmane stood, towering over Min, the sword held high over his head. The huge man swayed on his feet. His sword slipped from numb hands, clattering to the stone path. He looked down at Min, the light going out of his eyes as he coughed once, blood misting onto the gnome’s face. Min stood and stepped aside as Bludmane fell, the hilt of a dagger protruding from his back. “Was wondering if you’d make an appearance,” Min said. He took a rag from his pocket and wiped the blood from his face. “Next time, though, could you keep the coughing of blood to a minimum?” The shadows giggled. “Miriam Castille,” Min said, smiling, “I’d like you to meet Starheart Rainewind. Ciera to those of us lucky enough to know her.” “Always had a talent for making new friends, Min,” a voice from the shadows said; a voice brimming with all things mischievous. “These guys?” Min said. “Nah. The Stormwind Navy bumped up their recruitment drive from merely annoying to downright aggressive.” A bright laugh filled the alley as a gnome stepped from concealment. Starheart stood in front of Min, hands on her hips. “They’d have to be desperate to snag a gnome so directionally backward that he ended up stranded on an island off the coast of Stranglethorn while trying to reach Ironforge.” Min blushed, trying to sputter a reply…any reply. After letting him shift through various shades of red, Starheart giggled and hugged the flustered gnome. “Make it too easy som-” A pained moan cut her off. She was out of Min’s arms and holding a dagger to the thug’s throat before the moan was finished. “Ciera,” Min shouted, rushing to stand over the injured man, “we need him alive.” “You sure?” “Yes. The other one won’t wake up for hours.” “He would have killed you,” she said. A thin line of blood appeared along the edge of her dagger. All light left her eyes, leaving them cold. “Ci-” Starheart sighed, the dagger sheathed on her hip in a movement faster than Min could follow. “Fine.” “Thank you,” Min said. He held the edge of his shield to the man’s throat. “C’mon, wake up.” The thug’s eyes fluttered open. His hand moved to feel the knot on his head. Min applied enough pressure to make a clear point. “None of that. Stay still, or it’s lights out again.” The man complied. “Good. Going to make this easy for you because I know from experience that you feel like an Elekk with its rear on fire just kicked you in the head. Who hired you?” The man glanced at the shield, a plea in his eyes. Min eased the pressure enough for the man to speak. “Get bent, gnome,” he said. He smiled…and spit in Min’s face. Min didn’t move. “Sorry, know that trick, too. You’re just going to spit on me again if I ask again, aren’t you?” The thug continued to smile up at the gnome. “Have it your way,” Min said. Glass shattered on the stones next to the thug’s head, soporific gas sending the man back into unconsciousness. “Think the other one will be more cooperative?” Starheart asked. “Not bloody likely,” Min said. “Best to leave them for the Guard.” “Oh…you are mean,” she said, her smile returning. “How about you? Hear anything about a grab job for a Roderick Castille?” “Now, Min…you know I wouldn’t have any information on something like that.” “Of course you wouldn’t. How dare I even think such a thing?” “I can tell you I would know nothing about anyone hiring out for a kidnapping of anyone named Roderick Castille.” “Silly me.” “Yes, you are a silly gnome. If I even knew how to find out about such a deed, which I certainly don’t, then I couldn’t tell you because I wouldn’t know.” “All true.” The gnomes smiled at one another. Without a sound, or so much as a disturbance of the air, Starheart was gone. “That was pointless,” Miriam said, standing beside Min. “She knew nothing.” “On the contrary,” Min said, “she told me everything I needed to know.” “Meaning?” “Meaning I’m heading on to Ironforge.” “What about me?” “You?” Min wiped the spit from his face, hooked his shield to his back, and began walking. “You’re going to find a deep hole somewhere, jump in, and pull it in after you. Disappear till I come back. Because someone wants to complete their Castille collection.” Miriam Castille gave their attackers a last glance before hurrying to catch Min. She matched his pace to the alley’s entrance. The gnome held his hand out, stopping her. He peered out of the entryway. “All clear,” he said. “Just making sure I didn’t miss any lookouts. You can give me my sword back now, ma’am.” “Oh, of course,” Miriam said. The sword almost leapt from her hands as happy as she was to be rid of the thing. “You are just going to leave them?” “They’ll both wake up and put as much distance between them and this alley as possible, or the Guard will find them. If it’s the Guard, they’ll just make something up and be free in less than an hour. Probably some story about how they got jumped.” “You let them live to come after me again.” “Wrong,” Min said, a smile lifting his moustache. “How so?” “They’re going to run - well, the one will hobble, but you get my meaning - going to run to the person who holds their leashes with a description of a certain bothersome gnome. With you in hiding, the only lead they’ll have for finding you is me.” Miriam’s hand grasped Min’s shoulder, stopping him and turning him around. “You would risk yourself?” she asked, at once confused and curious. “Ma’am, you came to me for help. Shouldn’t be surprised when I give it.” “Where will I go?” Min shrugged. “No idea. Make it somewhere no one would expect. And disguises are a good thing.” “I know. There is this-” “Gah!” Min shouted, covering his ears. “Don’t ruddy tell me!” “Why? You’ll need to find me eventually.” Min took his hands from his ears and pointed at the ring adorning Miriam’s finger. “I can find you by that. Even then, it only tells me a direction. If things go sideways, they’ll try to get me to give you up. I swear…do all you nobles need everything spelled out for you?” Min spun on his heel, muttering as he walked. Miriam followed in silence. They arrived at the tunnel entrance to the Deeprun Tram, the gnome’s mumbled diatribe finished. He patted his pouches and ran his hand through his hair. Satisfied, he turned to Miriam. “This is where you go poof,” Min said. Miriam hesitated, not sure how to proceed. “Be careful, Min,” she said. Min flashed a confident grin. “Don’t worry, ma’am. I’m like the food at the Jester. You think you’ve got me finished and down, but I always come back up.” * * * * * Kothrin stood next to his partner, wondering how he had ended up in this situation. A simple grab of a noblewoman had become a debacle…all because of one gnome. It just wasn’t right. Now Bludmane and Drakus were dead in an alley, and Timith was nursing a wrecked knee. It took all his patience to keep from tossing Timith into the Stormwind Canal and being done with the whole affair. But there was no way he was going to face the consequences alone. He took a quick look at the chamber around him. The place was straight out of a bard’s tale of what a villain’s lair should look like…if the bard had little talent or imagination: damp walls, guttering candles, and a makeshift dais for the man bankrolling the grab. As if summoned by the thought of him, the man appeared from out of the shadows and took his usual seat on the dais. Kothrin once again tried to sneak a look at his face, but the cowl of his cloak obscured it. “Congratulations, gentlemen,” the man spoke. Kothrin guessed the cowl held an enchantment to alter his voice…no human’s voice was that deep. “You managed to survive against a pampered noblewoman and a gnome.” Timith stepped forward to defend himself until the weight on his knee almost sent him to the ground. He gritted his teeth to hold back a gasp of pain. “You didn’t tell us about him.” “You are right. Because I did not know of him until now. Even now, my sources have only his name. Min. No last name, no history on him. This is just as well. He will not live long enough to have any tales to be told about him.” Kothrin suppressed a grin. Yes, he would like to see that happen. Bludmane was an ass, but the pay had been good. He took a slow step back, making sure Timith had their boss’ full attention. “Now what?” Timith asked the cowled man. “I want the gnome brought to me alive.” The man leaned forward in his seat. “Miriam Castille has gone to ground. He will know where to find her. Even if he does not, I want to make sure he knows he stuck his bulbous nose into matters far beyond his control.” “It will be done,” Timith said, the words passing through a vicious smile. “Yes, it will,” the man said, “but not by the likes of a limping fool.” The man’s gloved hand reached out. Candles dimmed even more as shadows crept from the corners of the chamber. Timith made to turn and run. His knee buckled and he hit the ground screaming in fear as much as pain. The shadows crawled over him, and where they passed, rot followed. He opened his mouth for a final scream, but the shadows silenced him as they rushed into his mouth. His eyes turned to putrescent ichor, the shadows forcing through them to still his thoughts. The shadows receded, their work done. What remained of Timith gave one last spasm before settling. The cowled man stood, hand disappearing into the folds of his robe. “Gather more men, Kothrin.” * * * * * Min sat at the table pretending to read the book propped up in front of him. He read the same sentence for what seemed the hundredth time. His thoughts wouldn’t settle. Twenty-four hours, plenty of time for whispers to hit all the right ears about a certain gnome looking for a kidnapped noble, and all he had was a Taurenesque ball of nothing. Another twelve and he’d start to take the lack of attention personally. “More water, Mr. Sparkpistol?” the inn matron asked. He set his book aside and looked up at the dwarven woman. Her braided blonde hair tumbled past her shoulders, framing a round, friendly face with blue eyes that seemed to shine right along with her pale skin. About a year ago, a warlock’s rogue demon had tried to kill her…would have succeeded, too, if not for a gnome with a distinct lack of self-preservation. The attention he garnered for saving an innkeeper’s wife was more than he wanted, and he was forced to give a false name, but the benefit of free room and board for life had its appeals. “No, thank you, ma’am,” Min said, sure to return her smile, even if his was a lot less heartfelt. “I need to be leaving. Appointments, you know.” “Aye, Mr. Sparkpistol. You know you’re welcome within these walls any time.” Book tucked under his arm, Min stood and bowed to the woman. He left without another word…had to. The heat from the Great Forge prickled his skin as he made a hard right turn. An exasperated cry, tinged with a hint of amusement, came from inside the inn. She’d found the gold coins he had slipped under his empty mug. The smile on his face was short lived. The Forlorn Cavern spread out before him…not his favorite place in Azeroth. And the person he was going there to find was far from his favorite gnome. He wasn’t hard to find. Min just had to look for a gnome who offended even a rat’s dignity. Sitting by himself in the alley, perched on a crate of likely ill-gotten goods, was Nit. It took a single look at the gnome to figure out how he earned the name. Upon meeting him, one wanted him out of their hair faster than a Forsaken was told to leave the dinner table. “Aye, yes, Sir Rutherford, ‘ow nice to see you ‘gan,” Nit said, a smile plastered to his face. He spit into his hand and ran it through his oily black hair, which looked like it had about a year’s worth of the stuff, then offered it to Min for a friendly shake. Min looked at the hand, still glistening, and shook his head. “Not if you paid me, Nit.” “Is that a way to treat me?” “I’m not one of your clients. I’m here to talk.” “Then I’ve words to sell, my friend.” Nit pushed himself off his box, and Min had to suppress the urge to punch him just for decency’s sake. “Just so happens I showed up with nothing to spend. Tell you what I could do, I could find one of those nice dwarven guards and tell him where to find some merchandise I’m certain belongs to someone else, and that you were magnanimous enough to keep an eye on for the owner. I’m sure both owner and guard would take no notice of anything already sold…I mean missing.” The smile on Nit’s face didn’t so much disappear as change. Any mirth it held evaporated, leaving behind grating teeth and dead eyes. “What you want, Sir Rutherford?” “Any information you have on the murkier financial dealings of one Roderick Castille.” Nit shook his head. “All up-and-up, as I know. Monied by inheritance and land. Although….” “No, you’re still not getting paid. Just tell me.” “Can’t blame a businessman for tryin’. Not long ago, courier of his got pinched.” “Pinched?” “Aye, up and gone. Found the horse. Looked like it got perished real ugly. All rotted and nasty, I heard.” “How long ago?” “Lil’ over a week.” Min let that information play around his thoughts. Courier goes missing just before his employer. “By any chance do you know what the man was carrying?” “Gold from a sale, and a book to be delivered to his wife.” Mirth crept back into Nit’s smile. “Wanna know how I know?” “No,” Min said. He took the book from under his arm and tossed it to Nit. “What’s this for?” “Good way to pass the time for when the day comes you make one sale too many.” Min left the gnome sputtering. One didn’t spend more time with Nit than absolutely necessary. So intent was he on getting out of the Forlorn Cavern that Min didn’t notice as one shadow slithered away from the others. He was just about to cross the cavern’s threshold when he was driven to one knee, stars exploding across his vision. His thoughts screamed for him to move, but his muscles weren’t listening. His thoughts ceased altogether as the next blow dimmed the stars…and everything went black. * * * * * “Min? Min, where are you? I can’t see you.” The voice drifted to him on the blistering winds, the desert sun searing his skin. “Please, Min. Where are you? Where were you?” Someone in the distance. Shimmering like a mirage, a fever dream. Small, her black hair flying on the wind. Sands rose to obscure her. “No!” Min yelled. The image was lost as the storm swelled. Burning, sudden and breathtaking. He tore the bracer from his wrist. Black as the day it was given, the mark of the hourglass. His scream was cut short as the desert sands filled his lungs. * * * * * Wet…cold, then voices. “C’mon, wake up, ya little bastard.” Min kept his head down and eyes closed as the water dripped off him. “How hard ya hit him, Kothrin?” His shoulders ached from his hands being shackled behind his back. The chair having been made for someone much larger didn’t help matters. Pounding headache from the knockout shots, but otherwise all right. Still alive, that’s all that mattered. “Took two hits to put him down.” “That’s because I’ve been hit harder by a little girl having a tantrum, you sissy-armed mouth-breather,” Min said, raising his head. He recognized the man from the alley. “Well, hello, Sleepyhead. Enjoy the nap?” “Not nearly as much as I’m going to enjoy seeing you die slowly.” “Poor fella. Think you need more sleep.” Min took in his surroundings while Kothrin was restrained by his partner. He was in a dark chamber, hewn walls lit by guttering candles, a raised section with a single chair in front of him. The shackles around his wrists were made for larger prisoners, but held well enough. He’d take care of those later. “So…when does the host for this little shindig-” The appearance of a man in heavy robes interrupted Min. The man stood in front of him. Even looking up into the cowl, Min was unable to discern a face in the shadows. “You are Min,” the man said. “Min? Black hair and moustache? Kinda short and annoying? Nope, never met him.” The figure did not move. “You will tell me the location of Miriam Castille.” “Hm...Miriam Castille. Sounds snotty to me. Maybe I can interest you in a nice Troll female. I hear they bite. And I like the idea of you getting bitten. Hard. Twice.” “You will not tell me, so I will take the knowledge from you.” The candles dimmed as power radiated from the robed man. Min sensed a crawling sensation across his consciousness, tendrils of living shadow trying to seep into his mind. He almost smiled as mental defenses not of his making slammed down, rendering the man’s attempts hopeless. “Wish I could say I was sorry, but someone’s already tampered in my braincase,” Min said. “And he’s much better than you. You’d have better luck beating it out of me. Hope you and your goons packed lunches.” The man bent at the waist, bringing the cowl close to Min. The gnome wished it was just a little closer…within headbutting range…when the smell killed any notion of getting any closer. He’d thought Bumble’s feet were terrible, but the stench pouring from the cowl reeked of a body left to the rats for days before being discovered. “Take him to the cell,” the robed man said. “I will devise a way to extract the information.” Rough hands lifted Min from the chair. “Oh, sure, carry the gnome,” Min said as they hauled him away. He looked at Kothrin. “Guess what, Sleepyhead, this hits my dignity harder than you hit my head.” Min hit the cell floor hard as the door closed. He flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders, working some life back into them. “Least they could’ve brought the chair, too,” he said. “Not even decent kidnappers.” “Who’s there?” a voice said from a dark corner. Min smiled. “The gnome your wife sent to find you. Hi, Roderick. I’m Min.” Roderick Castille stepped into the wan torchlight. Despite his dirty finery and desperate need of a shave, the man retained his noble posture; perhaps more so because of his condition. “All given, you look well,” Min said. “Fed and unharmed. At least they know how to treat their hostage. Certainly better than their prisoners.” “They have been…civil,” Roderick said. His composure cracked, dark eyes staring into the distance. “Hey, no, stay with me, Roddy.” Min nudged his shoulder into the man’s hip. Roderick looked down at the gnome, his vacant eyes blinking. Lucidity returned. “My apologies. It…has been difficult.” “Not a problem,” Min said, giving what he hoped was a reassuring grin. “Understood. Now, if we’re to get out of here, I’m going to need you help.” “What can I do?” Min rattled the chain behind his back. “Wouldn’t happen to be a locksmith, would you?” The nobleman shook his head. “No, that would’ve been too easy…and a lot less painful.” Min turned his back to Roderick and sighed. “Okay, there’s not enough slack in the chain for me to get my legs through. Since I can’t change that….” “I am unsure what you need of me,” Roderick said. “Take hold of my left arm, just above the manacle. On three, pull down. Hard.” Roderick knelt and clasped the gnome’s arm as instructed. “Like so?” Min nodded. “Don’t get squeamish on me now. One.” Min felt the human’s hands tighten. “Two.” Jaw tense, Min planted his feet while relaxing the muscles in his shoulders. “Three.” Breath hissed through clenched teeth as Min’s shoulder tore from its socket. He wanted to scream, but that would bring guards. And he didn’t want that. Not yet. Aghast, Roderick let go and fell back into the dirt of the cell floor. His wide eyes stared at the gnome’s awkwardly dangling arm. Wasting no time, Min dropped to his back and worked his left leg over the chain, then his right. Hands in front of him now, he closed his eyes and lay in the dirt breathing hard and fast. “Min?” Roderick said. “Yeah, I’m here,” Min replied, voice weak. “Are you all right?” “Will be. Just need a moment before…” “Before what?” Min got to his feet without answering. He threw himself to the ground, landing with all his weight on his left elbow. The sickening crack of Min’s shoulder slamming into place made Roderick flinch. As repulsed as he was by the display, he could not look away. He watched as the gnome writhed in agony, a muted whimper floating on the stale air. Moments later, the gnome came to rest. “Glad that part’s over,” Min said. He gave a quick, tight laugh. “Enjoying the show so far?” “How…?” Min sat up. “Easy. Once your shoulder’s been dislocated, you can do it whenever. A dwarf taught me that.” “Why would he teach you anything like that?” “She. She taught me a lot of ways to get out of tight spots. She was even kind enough to dislocate it for me that ever-important first time. I’m just glad she was in a good mood when she did it else your gracious hosts would have had trouble knowing where to attach the second shackle.” Roderick stared. “Now for my next trick,” Min said. The gnome ran a hand through his hair. “You see, people think I do this as a nervous habit, or even a vanity trait. What they don’t know is what can be done with a dab of theatrical adhesive and some paint. Really, it’s just to make sure it’s-. Ah, yep, still there.” Min tugged, wincing a bit as some hair came out along with a slim metal wire, painted black to match his hair. He held it up to the nobleman, an impish smile lighting his eyes. “One day I’ll have Star teach me how to do this behind my back so I never have to disassemble myself again,” Min said. “But, for now, can you keep an ear out for anyone coming. I’m terrible at this and need to concentrate.” “You do not know how to pick the lock?” Roderick asked. “I can…just need time.” Min slipped the wire into the left manacle’s lock. “Look, I’m not as good as...um, well…just about anyone at this, but I can do it. Luckily for us, these locks would simply roll over and die for someone like Star, meaning I’ll need a few minutes.” Roderick stood at the door. While trying his best to listen for any approaching danger, he couldn’t help but hear the many whispered gnomish curses coming from the floor behind him. After an eternity, the gnome let loose with a victorious, if subdued, shout. “Good,” Roderick said, turning his back to the door to look at the gnome. “Can we leave-” Min held up his arm, the chain swinging from the manacle attached to his right wrist. “Got the first one!” he said. The nobleman glared. “What?” Min asked. “Oh, let’s see you do it! What do you know other than tea parties and doilies?” * * * * * “Footsteps,” said Roderick Castille. “Someone’s coming.” He turned in time to see Min free himself from the second shackle and toss them into a dark corner. “How many?” asked the gnome. “Sounds like one.” “They often come singly?” “Only one brings me food.” “Good.” Min looked around the room. A single torch on the wall and a pair of shackles equaled not much to work with. “On the floor,” Min said, pointing. “On your side, facing the door with your hands visible.” Roderick’s gaze went from the gnome to the ground and back. “Why?” “Because I like to see nobles rolling around in the dirt when I’m trying to rescue them.” Min raised his hand, cutting off any response. The footsteps stopped outside the call door followed by the sound of a key slipping into a lock. Min thrust his finger at the ground as he flattened himself against the wall next to the doorway. Spurred by the tumbling lock, Roderick dropped to his side, eyes closing just as the door opened. “Now what the hell?” the guard said, dropping a wooden tray and rushing in to kneel in front of the nobleman. He looked back over his shoulder in time to see a gnomish left hook. Min helped Roderick out from under the man’s dead weight before grabbing the manacles and locking his arms behind his back. “Need you for a moment, Roddy,” Min said. “Something I can help you-” The gnome reached up and took hold of Roderick’s sleeve with both hands and ripped it off at the seam. He smiled up at the nobleman. With the gag in place, Min set to searching the man. He stood, grinning, as he spun a ring of keys on his finger. “No weapon, though,” Min said. “Probably didn’t want to risk you getting a hold of it. This the same one as before?” Roderick nodded. “Always this one.” “That leaves Sleepyhead, his buddy, and Mr. Oogie Boogie. That I know of, that is.” Min opened the cell door and poked his head out. The cell was at the end of a hallway, another door across from it. He turned to Roderick and held a finger to his lips. After locking the cell, they crossed the hall to the other door, the gnome keeping his eye on the hall. Flinching at the jangling, Min fit key after key into the lock before finding the right one. He opened the door and pulled Roderick in by his belt. “We are wasting time,” Roderick said. “They will notice he has not come back soon.” “Listen,” Min said, “I wouldn’t ask you to make an escape without clothing. Don’t ask me to do the same without my shield.” “You did not think to bring a weapon?” “Of course I did! I thought about and brought a weapon. So both.” Min turned away, his gnomish muttering about ridiculous humans cut short as he noticed the room. There, resting on a table and gleaming in the torch light, was his shield. “Ha! See?” Min slipped the shield onto his arm, its weight comforting. He hefted a pouch in his hand, reminding himself to thank Alara again for designing it. No matter how many of his crafted orbs he put in it, the thing never got heavier. He tied the pouch to his hip and started for the door when faded leather caught his eye. “A book,” said Min. “Can we leave now, gnome?” Roderick said, standing at the door. “Give me a moment. Might not have read this one yet.” “Min.” The name spoken in a harsh whisper. The gnome’s brow furrowed. Blank, not a drop of ink on any of the pages. “Not a very interesting read. Did Mr. Oogie Boogie look the type to need a diary to you?” He closed the book and shrugged. “Your sword?” Roderick asked, pointing to the table. “Oh, that. Well…you any good with a sword?” Roderick gave the gnome an incredulous look. “You are not? Why carry one?” “It goes so well with the shield,” Min said. “Of course I can use a sword. Can you?” “I am an accomplished duelist.” Min wondered if the man could get his nose much higher in the air. He took the sword and handed it to Roderick. The nobleman took his stance and went into a standard routine of swings and parries. “A duelist, huh,” Min said. “C’mere a moment.” Roderick stood in front of the gnome, resting the sword on his shoulder. Min stomped down on the nobleman’s instep. The nobleman lifted his foot, sword forgotten, and hit the ground hard after Min swept the other out from underneath him. The gnome stood over Roderick, looking down at him. “You’re a duelist,” Min said. “They’re mercenaries. They’re not going to stop fighting at the sight of first blood. They’ll kick, punch, poke, and spit if that’s what it takes.” Min held out his hand to the nobleman. “Time to go.” * * * * * “Oh, hell,” Min said, raising his shield. The gnome and Roderick Castille had rounded a turn…straight into the crossbow sights of Kothrin and another mercenary. Twin bolts splintered against Min’s shield, his other hand at the pouch on his hip. An orb shimmered into existence, summoned from the space within the enchanted bag. Kothrin dove, crossbow discarded, as the gnome’s orb flew. Caught reloading, the other mercenary saw the glass sphere too late to move. Dirt crumbled off the hewn walls from the blast of force released by the orb as it shattered against the man’s breastplate. The rasp of unsheathed steel broke the silent aftermath. Kothrin charged through the falling dirt without even a glance to his unconscious comrade. Sword raised, a battle cry rising in his throat, Kothrin closed in on the gnome. He knew Castille posed no threat, but that gnome…that annoying, infuriating gnome was going to die. Min stood his ground, shield steady. Time slowed in his perception as he watched Kothrin’s steps, measuring them, calculating. The mercenary couldn’t see Min’s face behind the shield, or the smile spreading across it. Min sprang into the air, turning sideways. Kothrin’s battle cry stopped as the gnome’s rolling tackle caught him mid-stride across his insteps, sending him sprawling, and his sword spinning from his grasp. The gnome got to his knees, winded from the impact, in time to see Roderick standing over Kothrin’s prone back. He could only watch as the nobleman drove the sword down, pinning the mercenary. Kothrin thrashed, trying in futile desperation to reach the blade. He tried to shout, to scream, but blood drowned his lungs as the light left his eyes. “Dammit, Roderick,” Min said, using his shield to push himself to his feet. “You didn’t have to…. Just didn’t.” He winced as the nobleman withdrew the sword from Kothrin’s corpse. “It was you, gnome, who said they would do anything.” Roderick said, wiping the blade on the dead man’s clothing. “I merely returned their courtesy.” “He was down…and unarmed, Roderick. There’s a difference.” “You have never taken a life?” Min glared. “Hypocrite,” Roderick said. “Aren’t we all.” Min turned his back and started away. “Just leave the other one alone. He’ll be out till long after we’re gone.” Roderick caught up to the gnome and matched his pace. “You are certain?” “Of course. A tauren may be able to shake off one of those concussion orbs, but it’d have to be a tough side of beef to do so.” “You know the way out?” “No idea,” Min said, stopping at a door. “This is underground. I thought your kind possessed an innate sense of direction in these conditions.” Min rounded on the nobleman. “And I thought your kind had an innate sense of tact and decorum. How about I whip up some machine to drill our way out while I’m at it? If only I had a whirligig and a piece of string!” “Could you?” “Gah!” Min threw his hands in the air. “I don’t recall Miriam saying I had to bring all of you back. I was kinda on the wrong side of consciousness to remember anything from when they-” Roderick gasped and stumbled back against the wall. “Roddy?” Min said, at the nobleman’s side in an instant. “He…he knows,” Roderick said, his eyes losing focus. “I can…I can feel him. Almost here.” Min braced himself against Roderick’s hip, opened the door in front of them, and led the nobleman through. “We’ll hole up in here.” Torchlight lit the room, the same in which Min awoke to a splash of cold water. “Hey,” Min said, “at least I recognize this. You still with me?” He released Roderick, who slid down the wall. “No good,” Roderick said, his head resting on his knees. “Here…and angry.” He toppled to his side, curled around himself in fear. “Roderick,” Min said, shaking him. “Snap out of it! Bloody fel, not now.” He watched as Roderick’s eyes rolled back in his head, only the whites showing. “That can’t be good.” He gave the nobleman a sharp slap to the face. Nothing. Min raised his hand for another shot when a creeping dread washed over him. He knew someone else had arrived. He stood and turned, shield at his side. “I was enjoying that a bit too much,” Min said. “Not every day I get to smack a noble around.” The figure in the black robe did not respond. “I may be slow, but I’m sure you’re the one poor Roddy here was talking about. So…now what?” The cowled man’s hand twitched, almost too subtle to notice. Chains of shadow energy coalesced around Min before seizing him and slamming him to one knee. “That’s a good start,” Min said. The chains tightened, forcing the air from Min’s lungs. Darkness descended as the torches and candles guttered. Fragments of animated shadow crawled from the corners of the room, fueled by an insatiable desire to defile the gnome’s flesh. “Kill…kill me and lose…Miriam,” Min said. The shield slipped from his arm, fingers too numb to keep hold. He watched the shadows slither closer, his strength ebbing with every inch. “Regrettable, but not a defeat,” said the robed man. “I will find her another way.” Min shifted, suppressing a scream as the chains tore skin. His fingertips brushed the pouch hanging from his hip. “You won’t. Where I stashed her, you…you’ll never think…to look.” The shadows halted in place, roiling in defiance at having their feast delayed. “Tell me where you hid her and I will let you live,” the man said, his words slow and deliberate. “And Roderick?” “He stays. Your insignificant existence may continue, gnome, but they are mine.” “All right…all right.” Min focused on the pouch, calling on it to bring an orb to his hand. “I’ll tell you. Just…just let me go.” “Good.” The shadows resumed their deadly creep. “Best be quick, little coward.” As though through thick gloves, Min felt the glass sphere solidify in his hand. He tried to keep his thoughts from what he was about to do…and the pain if he survived. “She’s…” Min closed his eyes. “Go to hell,” he said. Glass shattered as Min crushed the orb in his hand. Searing white light exploded in the room, banishing the shadows. Driven from existence by the radiance, the chains weakened and fell away. Min lunged for his shield. Despite numb hands and closed eyes, he fixed the shield to his arm and crouched, steadying himself for a desperate tackle before the man could recover. He hesitated at the sound of a body dropping to the floor. “Min?” said a feeble voice behind the gnome. “Roderick, stay…” His words trailed off as he blinked his vision clear. “Down?” The robed man lay on his back, not moving. Min got to his feet and stood over the prone form. Cautious, Min prodded the body with his shield. “Is it over?” Roderick asked, now at Min’s side. Min shook his head. He knelt and reached a hand, trembling from the pain coursing through wakening nerves, to the man’s cowl. It fell back, revealing a human face ravaged by decay, its eyes putrid and staring. The gnome withdrew his hand and sat. “Pouch…left hip,” he said through clenched teeth. “Beg your-” Roderick started. “Oh, yes, of course.” The nobleman reached into the pouch and took out a tight roll of cloth. Min held out his hand and nodded. Roderick recoiled at seeing the blackened and torn skin. “You could have just dropped it,” Roderick said. He wound the cloth around the gnome’s injured hand. “In any case, it worked.” Min narrowed his eyes and hissed. “Ow. Yeah…it worked, didn’t it. No magic at all. Just powder and metal.” Roderick finished with the bandage. “Perhaps his magic was linked to those shadows. When the light sent them away, it may have created a backlash.” Min planted the edge of his shield on the ground and pushed himself to his feet. “Yeah.” “Can you make it back to Stormwind?” Roderick asked. The gnome nodded. “Is that where Miriam is?” “No idea, but we’ll find her.” “How?” Min hooked the shield to his back and flashed the plain silver band adorning his finger.
* * * * * The gnome and the nobleman rode side by side, horses at a canter. They crossed into Elwynn Forest, leaving the drought of Westfall behind. “Is it far now?” Roderick asked. “Not an exact thing,” said Min. They rode on in silence. The wind shifted, carrying the smells of Goldshire to the weary pair. “This whole time a filthy Forsaken was behind it,” Roderick said. “You think so?” Min asked, staring into the distance. “Dead, rotten, and moving. Kidnap a noble of the Alliance, hold them for ransom, and kill them once the gold is given. Sounds like a Forsaken to me.” Min sighed and reined his horse to a stop. He slid down, pain lancing up his sore, beaten body. His ring pulsed, its cadence quickening. Miriam was coming closer. He unwound the bandage from his hand. “Why have we stopped?” Roderick asked, dismounting. Grimacing, Min flexed his fingers, blood welling up in the fresh cracks of skin. “Min?” “All this for a book.” Min said, keeping his back to the nobleman. “What are you-” “The book meant for Miriam. But it was a fake, a blank fake.” Min faced Roderick. “Why did you want that book?” “Be careful who you accuse of such things, gnome,” Roderick said. “When you discovered the fake, you arranged your own kidnapping to cover your involvement and bring Miriam into the open. Once you had her, finding the book would have been easy. The man in the robes was the dead messenger.” Roderick’s feigned indignation dissipated, a cold resolve taking its place. “Yes, it was. Most useful that fool had ever been.” Min felt an insistent tug from the ring. Miriam should be in sight. “Didn’t count on your wife sending someone after you?” Min asked. “I should have. Should have known she would rather endanger me further than let herself be taken. She would have tried to stop me from learning even the lowliest magic. One does not ascend in the Cult of the Damned without it. When did you know?” “It must have taken all your concentration to control that poor man’s corpse. I wondered how you knew I didn’t drop that flash orb, being unconscious and all. The rest…I guessed. You just told me I was right.” Roderick lifted his hand, fingers contorted in casting. The horses bolted as the air soured, poisoned by the corrupt power radiating from him. “She sent you to your death.” Min’s eyes narrowed. The gathering power faltered, abandoning the nobleman. Roderick’s hands flew to his chest, his face a mask of agony as something unseen crushed the life from him. “Miri-” Roderick Castille fell dead. “I know you’re close,” Min shouted. “Come out!” Miriam Castille stepped from behind a tree. Peasant garb and lack of finery did nothing to detract from her regal presence. “Such a shame,” Miriam said, her grin predatory. “It was fun watching him stumble along, thinking himself so terribly clever. He thought teaching himself magic would put him ahead of me.” “He was your cover,” Min said. “Correct. Unfortunately, he discovered my secret. When he did, he also discovered his own ambitions. Ambitions his woefully limited talents could not support. His land dealings gave me ample contacts, but his idiocy outweighed his usefulness.” “And the book?” “A ruse, and a test. I wanted to see how far he would take the subterfuge. I even entertained the idea of bringing him into the Cult if he did well. He was my husband, after all.” She gave the corpse a look of disgust. “But he failed. Not only failed, but was thwarted by a gnome, three feet of nothing.” Tendrils of shadow burst from the ground, seizing Min at the wrists. “No more surprises from you,” Miriam said. “You will make a good servant once I have killed you. Consider it your reward for a job well done, and a punishment for daring to speak to me as you did.” Min didn’t struggle, only stared at the noblewoman. “Oh, I think I have one more surprise left in me.” “Goodbye, Min.” “Goodbye, Miriam Castille,” Min said. “Nockhavis modor.” A gasp escaped Miriam as her body shuddered once before the muscles went rigid, her eyes bulging in their sockets. The gnome watched as she fell unconscious. The ring on her index finger, now dull and brittle, crumbled to dust on impact. “Guess I forgot to tell you about that,” Min said as he stepped onto the road to Goldshire, putting the Castilles behind him. “And that I never trust a noble.”
* * * * * “Who do I kill?” asked Starheart Rainewind, swiping a stray lock of pink hair from her eye. It fell right back into place as she shook with rage. “No one,” Min said, smiling. “Roderick Castille is dead and Miriam Castille is in jail awaiting trial for the murder of her husband as well as an avalanche of cultist dealings.” “She’s a noble. She’ll beat it.” Starheart grabbed the nearest priestess and ordered her to check Min’s bandages…again. “Not likely,” Min said. He gave the priestess an apologetic look while waving her away. “She’ll refuse to name names for fear of her life, and her fellow nobles and cultists won’t lift a finger to help for fear of dirtying themselves. If she flips on them, her death is guaranteed. If she keeps quiet, she has a chance to avoid execution at trial.” “Optimist,” Starheart said. She reached behind her without looking and snagged the robe of another priest unlucky enough to get within her range. She turned and glared up at the startled man. “Do I have to tear this cathedral apart to get someone to tend to this gnome?” Too tired to resist, Min settled into his cot and let the priest do his work. As his eyes closed, his gaze rested on Starheart. He could not think of a better image on which to drift off to sleep.
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