King of the Castle

[Illidan Stormrage]

I looked out over the ramparts, mesmerised by the white, choppy flow of Poe River. How the demons could hope to cross such a raging current, especially without a bridge, baffled me. Surely they'd get swept away? Why even bother attacking? Some could fly across, I surmised, but the expert eyes of the Kingdom's archers would stick them easily. As I rubbed my hand over the stone parapets, I couldn't help but wonder why King Aragorn and the other leaders had invested so much time and effort in constructing such a grand defence, when it seemed like it was overkill.
 
Footsteps alerted me to the presence of another. I turned to face another patrolling archer, bow strung over his shoulders, helmet hugged against his hip.
 
"Taking in the view, are we?" Rob said with a smirk.
 
"Not much else to do, is there? The raids that manage to get this far don't hold up well against us. Plus I don't think we've seen any of them for a whole week."
 
Rob tipped his head. "True. However-" He straightened up and put on a mock Aragorn voice, "it might be dull, but we're here to do a job. Vigilance is of the utmost importance."
 
I laughed into my hand. "Shh! Rob! Someone'll hear you!"
 
"Ah, so what?" Rob leaned against the crenellated wall. "The King and his head mages are up in the top tower, doing gods know what. It's just you and me up here."
 
"We can heeeear youuuuuu," came a voice from below. John Boy's, from the sound of it.
 
"Just watch the gates!" Rob hollered down to him. He refocused on me. "So, I don't suppose the lovely Katarina is busy tonight, is she?"
 
My eyes darted to the river as an excitement fluttered in my chest. "Well, I was having dinner with King Aragorn tonight, you know, as the guest of honour."
 
Rob nodded dramatically. "But of course."
 
"But those banquets are so big and boring, and I never know what to say to all of those important people..." My eyes met his and I smiled.
 
Rob went totally serious. "Really?! Well maybe you'd like to dine with one of the peasants tonight. You know, for a change of pace. Just so you can catch your breath. It has the added bonus of endearing the common rabble to you."
 
"Hmm..." I said, gaze upwards, finger on lips. "You make a good point. But don't the peasants roll around in their own filth? And only use one set of utensils?" I couldn't stop the impish grin from spreading over my face.
 
"Well, yes, there might be a slight culture shock," Rob said, pacing the rampart, hands at his back. "But really, once you try it, I promise you it's hard to stop. Oh, and you'd be eating with your hands. After the rolling around in filth bit."
 
I giggled. Such a sweet man. "Well, when you put it like that... but I'll have to find one of the peasants to dine with me." I cast a welcome gaze at him.
 
Rob's eyes widened, and he stretched his arms out. "Why, now that I think of it, I'm one of those dirty peasants! Convenient, huh? Perhaps I could be so bold as to eat with you tonight?"
 
I gathered my composure, but a brief "pfft" got through my lips. "Why yes, that will save me searching! And besides, I doubt there's a dirtier peasant around than yourself!"
 
Rob dropped the facade and laughed. "Wow, low blow!"
 
I joined him until John Boy's admonishment reached our ears. "Yes, John Boy, we'll beha-"
 
"Hey Kat," Rob said, tapping me on my shoulder. "What's that?"
 
I followed his line of sight to the horizon. A black mass, shrouded by the distance, marched toward the river. A few sprouts of yellowy orange dappled it. The dull thud of a drumbeat reached my ears, relentless and far away.
 
It couldn't be. There hadn't been a force that large out here before. And it couldn't be the Kingdom's armies running a drill; they're much too far away to be safely practising formations. So the only option was...
 
"Rob! Sound the bells!"
 
Rob darted down the rampart and around the corner. I leaned over the crenellated walls, my eyes scouring the bailey below. "John Boy! John Boy, are you down there?"
 
A nonchalant guard stepped into view, wearing a chainmail shirt but nothing else that would protect him in a battle. "What is it now, Kat?"
 
I made an exasperated face at him to reflect the building anxiety in my chest. "Are you kidding me?! Look outside! There's an army approaching the castle! Sound the alarms!"
 
"Sound the ..." he said quietly, until he spotted the vanguard in the far distance. "Oh, shit!" He pivoted on a heel and sprinted into the courtyard. "We're under attack! We're under attack! Prepare the defences!"
 
A moment later, the deep, loud clanging of the war bells warped the atmosphere from peaceful indifference to startled resolve. Soldiers scattered over the bailey, running for their equipment. Leather boots slapping stone steps preceded the approach of the other archers, bows in hand and arrows slack in the bowstrings. Officers yelled orders over the din of the warning bells, whipping their assigned units into formation for battle. The steady whine of catapult wheels also reached my ears. Did they really need artillery for this?
 
My heart thudded in my chest. My tongue scraped against the inside of my mouth, dry as sandpaper. The castle had never been in such an uproar before. Every force that they met in the Moors had been little more than scouting parties. The looming threat on the horizon, closing the miles swiftly, was new, different. Organised.
 
As I stood, I caught a glimpse of the top tower. A window had been flung open, and no one other than King Aragorn peered into the distance, his face etched with concentration. He stayed a moment longer, then dipped back inside, the window slamming closed behind him.
 
I snatched my longbow from the ground and tried to will some saliva into my mouth. This wasn't supposed to happen. This was an easy relief gig, to clamp down on the middling raids that those disgusting beasts conducted, to protect Darkshire. I wasn't prepared. I wasn't.
 
My breaths came and left quickly. I balanced myself on the wall as the world felt like it shook at its foundations, as if something were rattling its supports. I overbalanced and tipped over.
 
Instead of ploughing into hard stone, I landed into the still solid but softer arms of another. "Hey! Are you OK?"
 
Rob. My wits returned at once. "Rob! Yeah, just ... slipped over. That's all."
 
Rob lifted me back to my feet and brushed off non-existent dust on my shoulders. "Try to keep your footing. Kinda important when you're aiming arrows, right?"
 
He smiled. I smiled back, and found a well of strength spring up in me. My nerves still claimed my hands, but I closed my eyes, steadied my breathing, and nocked my first arrow.

"Hey!" Rob said. "We got this."
 
I exhaled sharply and nodded. "Yeah."
 
The army reached the far side of the river. My commander strolled the length of the ramparts behind me, hard eyes on the enemy.
 
"Archers! Fire at will!"
 
I released, and my arrow joined a chorus of pointed death raining down on the foe. The projectiles found their marks thanks to the densely packed formation, finding soft sites of ingress for the angled steel. Shields rose and arrows thwacked harmlessly into them, but the front lines only appeared armed with whatever nature, if that was the correct 'entity', had granted them. Dozens of malicious creatures collapsed with new wooden protrusions, and a cheer left the lips of the archers. I joined them, though in truth it had more to do with frustrated nerves than any sense of victory.
 
"Archers!" my commander yelled, drowning out the jubilant cry. "Ready aim!"
 
My fingers snatched another arrow from my quiver and notched it in my longbow. The entire line of my comrades copied the action, holding our strings taut for the order. I took offence with an ugly, long eared imp, who constantly stuck its middle finger in the air. It shouted something with its wretched lips, but the sound didn't carry over the roar of the Poe River. Whatever it was, I was glad I couldn't hear it. I set my sights for its pudgy yellow eyeballs; a miraculous shot if it landed, but I knew my arrow would spear through some fleshy part of the foul demon.
 
A hundred snapping strings heralded a new storm of arrows, but I was still clutching my bowstring. I quickly swept a glance over my fellow archers, thinking I must have blocked out my commander while fixating on the imp, but I was wrong. Everyone else grasped tight strings, looking from one another in confusion.
 
The realisation dropped a thick ball of hot lead in my gut. I knew what that sound was. I stared into the sky, and dozens of glinting silver flashes filled my vision. These weren't stars, unfortunately. They arced and surged downwards, their twisted iron arrowheads screaming towards the ramparts. I loosed my arrow in a hurry, unsure of whether I'd even come close to snagging that little imp bastard, and dove for the crenellations.
 
Something cold and sharp slipped into my neck, tearing flesh on its way. The chill of the iron melted beneath the fire of the pain that pulsed through me, running red and hot down my chest. A second thudded into my stomach, birthing the same agony only quicker, since the shock had vanished.
 
I collapsed against the rampart wall. My breaths came in quick gasps, like when I was nervous, but much worse. I wrapped fingers around the protrusion in my neck and thought about yanking it free; a slight shift of the arrow's position told me that was a terrible idea.
 
My eyes grew heavy and tired. A flaming ball of tar soared overhead from within the bailey, leaving a black trail of smoke in its wake. I heard my commander shout for another volley of arrows, but I wasn't holding my longbow. I patted the stone around me, but I couldn't find it. I just wanted to sleep.
 
Rob skidded to his knees in front of me. An arrow sprouted from his shoulder but he didn't seem fazed by it. "Kat! Kat! Are you all right? Kat!"
 
I smiled at him. The pain dampened until the hot sensation faded entirely. Everything felt cold. "Don't forget! I'm dining with the peasants this evening..."
 
"Kat!"
 
"My name isn't Kat, you insufferable human trash!"
 
Wait, I didn't say that. I felt Rob's hands go to mine just before the feeling left me completely, and ... ugh! What is going on? What is that other ...
 
I am not Kat! I am the great ... the great ... argh! Get out of my head! I AM THE GREAT ILLIDAN!
 
"Raaaargh!"
 
Illidan roared into the sky, balanced on his knees. A bright flash of light jumped from his body and coalesced into the form of a female ghost. The night elf snatched up his warglaives and growled at the apparition. "Don't possess me, you filthy spectre! I'll drain what's left of your soul and feed it to my felhunter!"
 
The spirit hissed and flew back into the dilapidated outer wall, slipping through worn stone like it wasn't there at all.
 
Illidan took a knee and breathed. It had been a long time since he had to endure such a ghastly vicarious experience like that. His bones felt cold and tingly from the phantom's departure, and would likely stay that way for a time. He spat, as if he could collect the disgust and expel it in a simple motion.
 
Once the night elf had enough time to cool his pricked pride, he stood and ran magical eyes over the castle. So it was haunted. He wondered if those man-bats were dreaming through the memories of another fallen human, or if they were simply dead. Illidan's great demonic power had definitely helped him seize control of his body again; perhaps those winged beasts weren't so lucky.
 
His first instinct was dead on the money. Sending his forces into Poenari Castle would spell disaster. He had to delve deeper into the fortress and find out why these spirits still walked the living plane, what bound them to the fortress. Unfortunately, he was the only one would likely resist the ghostly invasions. Now he knew what he was dealing with, the next wraith to override him would have a harder time maintaining control of him.
 
Illidan signalled for Regis and he scuttled over, a dreary, uninterested countenance greeting him. "Yes, Lord Illidan?"
 
"I'm going into the castle. The place is haunted. If you see me launch a green flare into the sky, that's the signal to charge. If I do that, make sure the army knows to take no prisoners. You and Clawfang will be tasked with locating me and getting me clear. Do you understand?"
 
Regis inclined his head. "Of course, Lord Illidan. We will hold formation until, or if, you call for us."
 
Illidan blinked. He didn't know what was worse; a capable necromancer, or the fact that he was growing on him. "See that you do."
 
The night elf drank from the Burning Legion's well within his scarred soul, and his full demonic power came to bear. With a flap of his thin, bat-like wings, Illidan hopped over the wall and into the bailey of Poenari Castle.