“Nnggh.”

“Wake up, Ringo,” the voice said again.

“Mmmph!”

“Wake up!” a finger poked him this time.

“Grrrph!”

“Damn it, stop coddlin’ him!” Ely Flinthammer barked, jerking the blankets off of his brother, shocking Ringo into awakening with the blast of pre-dawn arctic air.

Ringo sat up instantly, grabbing for his axe and gun, his eyes burning with rage. Beli had anticipated this, and moved them out of the way.

“Don’t yell,” she hissed. “Who knows what will hear us.”

Voca Lodestone said a word and the smoldering campfire returned to blazing life, illuminating the sheltered campsite and warming the bleary-eyed group.

“Zhar’nos has news,” Voca said, nodding her head to the side, to where her succubus was sitting, buffing her nails and ignoring Belsun’s offer to share a blanket for warmth.

“What, again?” the demon sighed, glaring at Ringo. “OK, fine. Vilynn and I were hanging out in the Twisting Nether. That little creep Thulnar was offering to shave her legs again …”

“Why do I care about this?” Ringo growled. “Let me go back to sleep.”

“Shut up and listen,” Voca snapped. “Tell him what Vilynn told you about Stormwind, Zhar’nos.”

“Oh,” Zhar’nos blinked. “Vilynn said that the Scourge was attacking Stormwind when she was there earlier. There were necropoli moving through the sky and zombies were attacking the city.”

“What?” Ringo said, shooting a look at Beli. “Is everyone OK?”

The succubus shrugged.

“The king apparently made some speech about taking the fight to Northrend.”

“The wee boy king made a speech?” Beli interrupted.

“Not him, the man king,” Zhar’nos purred. “He’s back. There’s some ridiculous story about how he lost his memory and was a gladiator in Kalimdor, but who cares? He’s …”

“And they’re coming here for revenge,” Ringo said. “Aye, good. Someone will know about  … our son and Beli’s family. If they’ve been hurt, or worse, I’ll tear down the Frozen Throne meself.”

“Not if I get there first,” Beli muttered, staring into the flames.