“You know, Greenie Girl,” Harrowmeiser mused, “once word about this cruel practice gets back to the Horde, this could be some kind of international incident. I mean”—and he stretched, working a flex or two into the movement—“I’m practically naked here.” He showed his sharp yellow teeth in a leer and waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the woman on his left.
The gritting of her teeth was almost audible. The emerald-eyed dwarf loathed the nickname, which of course only reinforced Harrowmeiser’s usage of it at every possible opportunity.
“Ach, dinna need to tell me,” Greenie Girl muttered. “Talk about a cruel practice!”
“Oh?” he asked. “Could it be that the sight of my glistening green skin, stretched taut against my rippling muscles—”
“—reminds us of plague vats? Why, yes,” chimed in Bluebell. Her name was something much less approachable, like Sergeant Somebody-or-other, but the woman’s eyes were the hue of the sky itself.
“Come now, ladies, you must have hearts somewhere underneath all that plate armor,” Harrowmeiser said. “I’ve been imprisoned here for a long time now, and I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. You want defense against those pirates down there?” He stabbed a sharp-nailed digit in the direction of the Shattered Straits, where a good half-dozen pirate galleons were harbored. Now and then they made incursions, but for the most part they lingered beyond reach of anyone on the land.
But not, Harrowmeiser thought, his small chest swelling with pride, beyond the reach of the brilliance and talents of the goblin people! “You got defense against those pirates down there! I’ve supervised this zeppelin on Alliance orders every single day, ferrying boatloads of adventurers, since you captured my ship, and only once has—”
“Seven hundred and thirteen.”
“I beg your pardon, Bluebell?”
The human’s eyes went a lot less sky-blue and a lot more glacier-blue. “Seven hundred and thirteen times. Your zeppelin has had some sort of malfunction or accident seven hundred and thirteen times. And today’s not yet over.”
“Madam! You wound me!”
A snort from Greenie Girl. “Ha! Don’t we wish! Dinna tease, goblin—it’s nae kind.”
“Me? Tease? Never! You know, they say, once you go goblin . . .” he began, but paused when he realized that neither of them was listening to him.
Their heads were turned to the right, looking in the direction of the main gate, and Harrowmeiser’s large ears caught what had gotten their full attention. Guttural sounds of indecipherable war cries rent the air, along with Alliance shouts of defiance. There was the too-familiar clash of steel, and the angry singing of arrows, and the shouts turned into screams of anguish.
“Oh, this is dandy,” he muttered. “I got these things strapped to my feet, and here come the vrykul all out for blood.”
“Stay here,” said Bluebell, and she took off running.
“Wow,” said Harrowmeiser, raising an eyebrow in appreciation, “she can move pretty fast in that armor.”
“So can I,” murmured Greenie Girl. They stood in silence for a moment, and the dwarf twitched. Suddenly she swore a colorful oath. Drawing her sword, she fixed Harrowmeiser with a glare through her visor. “Ye stay right here!” And then she took off to follow her companion, running at a brisk trot toward the commotion.
Harrowmeiser wasted no time. He went as far as the chains about his legs permitted him and reached a patch of earth next to the docking area. Groping frantically about, his fingers closed on a stone. His brow furrowed in concentration, he started slamming it against the locking mechanism. He glanced up toward the gate, trying to figure out what was going on, and then back at the zeppelin.
Hell with the lock, he thought. He hefted one of the heavy iron balls with a grunt and dragged the other with him as he inched toward the Lady Lug and sweet, sweet freedom. Ungrateful wenches. They’d miss him when he was gone. He was the only thing that brought a little humor, a little brightness, into their bleak, Alliance-colored world.
He heard the sound of running feet on the deck and froze. His ears drooping, Harrowmeiser saw what looked to be two human males racing toward him. One wore plate armor from head to toe; the other was probably a mage or a priest. His hand kept his hood low over his face. They weren’t wearing uniforms, and they were coming around the wall rather than directly from the fort, but it didn’t matter. They’d already been part of the fray—the warrior had a bloodied sword drawn.
The goblin gulped. “I was, uh, just getting the ship ready!” Harrowmeiser exclaimed with a ghastly attempt at a smile. “We could mount an aerial attack—really show those vrykul bastids, huh?” He balled his fists and punched the air, making what he hoped sounded like fierce grunting noises.
“Get on board,” the mage said in a silky but harried voice. “Hurry. Shokia and the others are buying us time.”
Harrowmeiser was completely confused, but hey, they were letting him get on the zeppelin. He started slogging toward the ship. The warrior let out an exasperated grunt, and Harrowmeiser realized he was a she, though wearing a male’s armor. To his astonishment and secret delight, she swept him up in her arms—iron balls and all—and carried him on board. She deposited him unceremoniously in front of the wheel, and his hands closed on the handles as if for dear life.
“Wow, you got some good muscles there! Where to, lady?” he shouted.
“Down there, and I am no lady!” the woman yelled back. Her voice was deep and husky, inviting no disobedience. She was looking back at the dock, doubtless wondering when the escape would be noticed.
“Hey, remember, you said it, not me,” Harrowmeiser retorted. Then he said, “Wait, wait . . . you mean you want me to take ’er down toward the pirates?”
“I did not realize I had liberated an imbecile,” the warrior woman snapped, glaring at him through the slits in her helm. Boy, and did she ever have a glare. Harrowmeiser didn’t even know that human eyes could look like that.
“There’s pirates down there,” he repeated. “Oh . . . oh no . . . I get it now. You’re pirates too, aren’t you? This is all about the attacks, isn’t it? Listen. I can explain everything! The Alliance made me do it!” For one of the few times in his life, Harrowmeiser was actually telling the truth.
The woman grunted and removed her helm, revealing gray skin and tufts of mashed-down, spiky black hair.
“Pirates, pagh,” the orc said, and spat. Right on the deck of his lovely zeppelin. “Drunken rum-swilling vermin. Unfortunately, we need their aid right now, and we will have it.”
“I’m rescued!” Harrowmeiser crowed. “It’s about time! Who are you guys, anyway?”
“I am Zaela, the leader of the Dragonmaw,” said the orc, drawing herself up.
“Holy cow,” gasped Harrowmeiser. Word of her exploits during the siege had reached him even in Northrend. Some Alliance “heroes” liked to rub in news of Horde defeats. “Warlord Zaela? I thought you were—”
Zaela swore colorfully. “I am alive, well, and burning for revenge, as I imagine are you, goblin.”
“Harrowmeiser’s the name. Indeed I am, but I am burning more to escape cleanly, and getting recaptured by pirates was not what I had in mind. What do you want with them?”
“We need people to fight for our cause, and they will do so. If we pay them well enough. My sources tell me you were once well connected, and may yet have access to significant funds. You will help us create an army.”
Suddenly it all made sense. This, he was comfortable with. “Oh yeah, sure, I got some good business partners and have made a copper or two in my day. But what’s your cause? I might not want to support it.” He folded his arms stubbornly.