** DOUBLE AWARD WINNER IN THE PROSE FICTION AWARDS 2017**
Imagine finding yourself in Azeroth for real, a parallel universe of the game World of Warcraft and knowing of certain events about to occur. What would you do? Who would you trust? And would...
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Khadgar stood outside his front door. Just - staring at it. He wondered what kind of reception he was going to be subjected to. He imagined she would be a little annoyed with him.
Possibly even quite angry.
More likely - furious.
He remembered their last time together; her consumption of Dwarven ale in The Golden Keg, then red wine behind this very door. She was certainly vocal with alcohol. His mouth twitched at the corners. He sincerely hoped she had not been drinking today.
In his half-dozen (or so) dalliances over the years, never had his emotions been in such turmoil as they were now. He swallowed. Then again, he had never abandoned anyone as he had Sarah Metcalfe.
He looked down at his boots, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Aargh! He inwardly chastised himself. I'm a grown man, for goodness sake, he reasoned. Then why did I treat her so dismally? He sighed, frustration with his own behaviour overtaking concerns that she would – how was it Varian had put it? Slap you silly. That was it. And if she did, would she not be entitled?
Even so, he sorely wished he had handled things differently. At the time, however, it seemed the only way. Logical. Practical. Justifiable.
Well, he was here now and whatever reaction she saw fit to award him, he would accept, without question. He took a deep breath. Rounding his shoulders and flexing his neck, he gripped the door handle.
For just a beat, he almost withdrew his hand but, conforming to the inevitable, he opened the door and stepped inside. He exhaled loudly. No sign of her. He moved through the rooms, each step becoming bolder as he realised she was not on the premises.
She could not have gone far, however. Raimond had kept a close eye on her activities, carefully creating a catalogue of behaviours and patterns.
The Archmage grinned and shook his head. The boy had taken the task far too seriously, in Khadgar's opinion, but he did not wish to deter the lad from being thorough. It was an exercise, after all, that would serve him well when he graduated as a mage in later years.
Raimond had been excruciatingly precise with his accounts of Sarah's comings and goings from Khadgar's quarters. The times she would leave the building were marked down to the exact second. The kind of day it was, whether sunny, overcast or even raining would then lead him into describing her choice of attire and commenting as to whether he considered it appropriate for the weather.
He described goods which she browsed in the shops and those she purchased. Some items, however, had the boy flummoxed and his descriptions were – well, comical, to say the least.
Her trips to the auction houses, patisseries, outfitters, jewellers even her ventures to the Underbelly; everything was documented in articulate detail.
