“High Chieftain,” said one of the scouts, forcing his voice to be soft, “the trolls—the hills are thick with them. They only await your order.”
“The number of soldiers is no greater than usual, judging by the fires,” said another. “They are not expecting an attack.”
Baine’s heart ached at what he was about to do. “Report back to Vol’jin. Tell him his people may attack at will. Once they have engaged the Alliance, we will open the Great Gate and follow up with our own weapons.”
The scout nodded, turning and climbing up the hill at the juncture where the gate met it. Baine looked out over the assembled crowd of tauren, their shapes barely visible in the light of the few torches they bore. There were several dozen braves and many others who would serve vital purposes when the conflict came in but a few seconds: druids, shaman, healers, and other fighters of all kinds.
He lifted his arm, making sure that it was seen, and waited. His heart beat quickly: one, two, three—
And then came the blood-chilling war cries. The trolls had attacked. Baine snapped his arm down. From the other side of the gate were the clang of weaponry, the defiant shouts of humans and dwarves, and the thud of ballista arrows striking home. On this side of the gate, two tauren grunted and strained, their massive bodies trembling with the effort, as the thick ropes were laboriously pulled and the gate groaned.
The Northwatch soldiers were taken completely by surprise. Tauren braves streamed through, bellowing and hurling themselves into the fray. The humans and dwarves didn’t stand a chance. They were vastly outnumbered by furred and green- and blue-skinned bodies, and their weapons, while dangerous, needed time to be directed and prepped. There was no time for anything but desperate and ill-fated resistance.
One foolish soldier charged Baine himself, crying, “For the Alliance!” His simple military-issue sword snapped as Baine swung his mace. The piece went flying, flashing brightly in the faint light, and then was swallowed up by darkness. Baine swung again. The soldier’s chain-mail armor offered no protection from the blunt instrument. The body hurtled a distance away from the force of the blow.
There were a few more shouts from tauren and trolls, and then the clang of weaponry ceased.
“Trolls, hold!” Vol’jin ordered.
“Tauren, to me!” Baine shouted.
There was a pause, and then whoops of triumph filled the night air. Baine looked around. It was over, mere moments after it had started.
“Dis bodes well for de attack,” Vol’jin said.
Baine shook his head. “Not if any Alliance escaped. Under the cloak of night, they could warn Northwatch Hold.”
“Den we best be about gettin’ ta Nort’watch.”
They took a moment to select a few scouts to go ahead and report back as the rest of the troll-and-tauren army regrouped and began the march east toward Northwatch. Vol’jin pulled his raptor up alongside Baine’s kodo as they went.
“After we left Orgrimmar,” Vol’jin said, “some of da orcs dat were noddin’ dey heads when ol’ Eitrigg was talkin’ been kinda… absent.”
Baine felt a jolt surge through him. “Garrosh is executing those who don’t agree with him?”
“Not yet. Dem Kor’kron, especially dat gray-skinned one, they be walkin’ tru da streets jest waitin’ to overhear somethin’ they doan like. If they do—well, some dey arrest right on da spot. Some dey come for all quiet. Dat mushroom seller, he close shop for a few days. He come back lookin’ all beat-up, like he be in da wrong end of a fight. And some… dey doan come back at all.”
“Political prisoners?”
Vol’jin nodded. “We trolls be keepin’ our mouths shut.”
Baine grunted. “Perhaps if Garrosh knew what the Kor’kron are up to… He is a hothead, but… surely he cannot be ordering this.”
Vol’jin made a dismissive sound and waved a gangly arm in disgust. “No one gets to Garrosh. I hear dat even Eitrigg only sees him when Garrosh feels like it, and den dat boy surrounded by his big ol’ bodyguards. He be all, ‘Da Horde can do dis; da Horde can do dat.’ All confident, wit’out any reason for it. I can’t say for certain dat he knows what’s goin’ on. But I can’t say for certain dat he don’t. Either way… I be more scared of Orgrimmar these days dan de darkest voodoo.”
“Then… there is no stopping him. No reaching him, no reasoning. And insanity abounds.”
“Dat’s about da size of it, mon.”
Baine growled softly, looking over his troops. An idea was forming. It was audacious; it was risky; and it might cost him dearly.
But it might save the tauren people.
It might even save the Horde.
• • •
“Why can’t we find anything?”
The words burst as if of their own volition from Jaina, and she wished them back as soon as she had uttered them. Kalec, Tervosh, and Kinndy—who had returned from Dalaran with two entire trunks full of scrolls, magical items, and books that the Kirin Tor thought might help—all looked up from their various studies and stared at her.
She bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m… usually not like this.”
Tervosh gave her a kind smile. “No, Lady, you’re not,” he said. “But then again, this is hardly a usual situation.”
Normally, she was both idealist and pragmatist. “Practical” was what Arthas had dubbed her. The combination was part of what made her such a skilled mage. Her curious mind worked methodically around a problem until it was solved. It served her well in diplomatic endeavors too. While she cared deeply about the outcome of what she worked toward, she also worked toward it. She didn’t just stomp her foot or weep or say whiny things like Why can’t we find anything?
“The archmage is correct,” Kalecgos said. “We’re all under a lot of strain. Perhaps we should take a brief respite.”
“We broke for lunch,” Kinndy said.
“Four hours ago,” Kalec reminded her. “Since then, we’ve not stretched or moved or done anything but stare at books. We may have lost the ability to even spot something if we do come across it.”
Jaina rubbed her aching eyes. “I apologize again. Kalec may have hit on the very reason for, uh, why we haven’t found anything.” She put a little extra emphasis on the words to let them all know that she was fully aware of how she had sounded.
“I don’t think—” Kinndy began.
“You’re young,” Tervosh said. “You can go forever. We old folks need our little breaks. You’re welcome to stay here and keep perusing the documents, Kinndy, but I’m going to go and work in the garden for a bit. There are some herbs that need harvesting.”
He rose and pressed his hands to his back. There was an audible crack. Jaina knew she, too, would creak as she rose after sitting in one position for too long. She and Tervosh were not, as he had joked, “old folks,” but the seemingly endless energy of her youth, which had sustained her through her ordeals with the plague and the war with demons, appeared to elude her now that she had reached thirty.
“Care to show me around?” asked Kalec, interrupting her thoughts.
She started. “Oh! Yes, of course!” She rose, attempting to cover her embarrassment at being caught woolgathering. “I am very proud of the order and harmony we have here in Theramore. The Cataclysm damaged the city, but we rebuilt with a will.”
They descended the long, winding stairs of Jaina’s tower and stepped out into a surprisingly sunny day. Jaina nodded to the guards, who saluted smartly, and to the mounted lieutenant Aden. Kalecgos looked about with open interest.
“Over there is Foothold Citadel,” Jaina said. There was a training area on their right as they walked by where Theramore’s guards “fought” against practice dummies, their swords thunking against wood. Coming from their left, however, were the bright sounds of steel clashing against steel as the young recruits trained in the open air. Their commanders barked orders while priests watched carefully, ready to call upon the Light for healing the instant anyone
was injured.
“It’s… rather martial,” Kalec observed.
“We’re at the entrance to a very dangerous swamp on one side and the ocean on the other,” Jaina said. They continued to walk, turning away from the practicing warriors and passing the inn. “We’ve got a lot to protect against.”
“The Horde, obviously.”
She gave him a look. “We are the most martial Alliance presence on the continent, but honestly, the majority of the danger comes from the wildlife and various unsavory characters.”
Kalec put a hand to his chest and widened his eyes in feigned shock and hurt. Jaina smiled. “Don’t worry. The only dragons I take issue with are the black dragons in the swamp,” she said. “The Horde seems to keep to itself, as long as we do. And that’s an arrangement I can live with, although there are many who don’t understand that.”
“Is the Alliance pressing for war?” Kalec asked quietly. Jaina grimaced.
“Ah, now you have found a sore spot,” she said. “We’ll discuss that later. How are your blues faring, Kalec? Most magi may resent them, as Kinndy did, but I know you have undergone a great deal. First the Nexus War, then finding and losing an Aspect, then this theft—”
“Now you have found a sore spot,” Kalec said, but his voice was kind.
“My apologies,” Jaina said. Their path was leading them out of the city, the cobblestones becoming less well tended and slightly muddy. “I meant no offense. And here I am, supposed to be a diplomat.”
“No offense was taken, and a good diplomat can often see clearly what is troubling another,” Kalec said. “It has indeed been difficult. For so many ages, dragons were among the most powerful beings in Azeroth. We alone had the Aspects to guard our flights and the world. Even the least of us had a life that must seem impossibly long to you and abilities that made many of my race feel superior. Deathwing—what is the phrase you humans use?—gave us a good helping of humble cake.”
Jaina fought to keep from laughing. “I think the phrase is usually ‘humble pie.’”
He chuckled. “It would seem that even though I like the younger races more than most of my kin do, I still have a lot to learn.”
Jaina waved her hand. “Human slang should not be high on your list of things to master,” she said.
“I wish I could say that I had nothing more pressing to do,” Kalec replied, sobering again.
“Halt!” a voice cried sharply. Kalecgos stopped, looking at Jaina with curiosity as several guards approached with drawn swords and axes. Jaina waved at them and they immediately put away their weapons and bowed as they recognized her. One of them, a fair-haired, bearded man, saluted.
“Lady Jaina,” he said. “I wasn’t informed that you and your guest would be passing through. Do you wish an escort?”
The two magi exchanged slightly amused glances. “Thank you, Captain Wymor. I appreciate the offer, but I think this gentleman will be able to protect me,” Jaina said, keeping a straight face.
“As you will, my lady.”
Kalec waited until they had passed out of earshot before saying in a completely serious tone of voice, “I don’t know, Jaina; I might be the one who needs rescuing.”
“Why then, I shall come to your rescue,” Jaina said, keeping her face as serious as his.
Kalec sighed. “You are already doing so,” he said quietly.
She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing. “I’m helping,” she said. “I’m not rescuing.”
“In a way, you are. You all are. We’re… not what we were. I want so much to protect my flight, to take care of them.”
Something clicked in Jaina’s mind. “As you wanted to protect Anveena.”
A muscle twitched in his cheek, but his steps didn’t falter. “Yes.”
“You didn’t fail her.”
“Yes, I did. She was captured and used,” Kalec said, his voice harsh with self-loathing. “Used to try to bring Kil’jaeden into Azeroth. And I couldn’t save her.”
“You had no control over that, if what I understand is true,” Jaina said softly, feeling her way. She wasn’t sure how much Kalecgos was ready to share with her. “You were possessed yourself by a dreadlord. And once you were freed from that horrible existence, you went to her.”
“But I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t stop them from hurting her.”
“Yes, you did,” Jaina said, pressing him. “You let Anveena become what she really was—the Sunwell. And because of your love and her courage, Kil’jaeden was defeated. You were selfless enough not to deny her her destiny.”
“And the Aspects were destined to lose our powers in order for us to succeed against Deathwing, I know,” Kalec said. “It’s not wrong, what is going on. But… it is hard. It is hard to watch their hope failing, and—”
“To know yours is failing as well?”
He turned sharply to look at her, and for a moment she thought she had gone too far. But it was not anger in his eyes; it was anguish. “You,” he said, “are not nearly as old as I. How is it you are so insightful?”
She hooked her arm through his as they walked. “Because I’m wrestling with the same thing.”
“Why are you here, Jaina?” he asked. She raised a golden eyebrow at his bluntness. “I’ve heard that you were considered one of the finest magi of the order. Why are you not in Dalaran? Why are you here, standing between swamp and ocean, between Horde and Alliance?”
“Because someone has to.”
“Truly?” His brow was furrowed. He came to a stop and turned her to face him.
“Of course!” she retorted. Anger rose in her. “Do you want war between the Alliance and Horde, Kalec? Is that what the dragons have decided to do with their time these days? Go around stirring up trouble?”
His blue eyes showed hurt from the blow her words had landed.
She winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
Kalec nodded. “What did you mean, then?” he asked, but there was no rancor in his voice.
She stared at him mutely. She didn’t know. Then words came tumbling out from somewhere. “I didn’t want to be part of the order after Dalaran fell. After… Antonidas died. Arthas killed him, Kalec. Killed so many of them. The man I had once thought I would marry. Had loved. I didn’t… I couldn’t be around that. I had changed, and the Kirin Tor had changed too. They’re more than simply neutral… I think, perhaps without realizing it, they may look down on anyone who’s not one of them. I had learned that to really foster peace, you have to embrace the people—all of them. And although I was the last one to suspect it, I do have diplomatic gifts,” she said earnestly.
The hurt was gone from his kind face, and he lifted one hand to stroke her golden hair, almost as if he were comforting a child. “Jaina?” he asked. “If you believe that—and I am not saying you are wrong—why are you trying so very hard to convince yourself?”
And there it was. He had plunged a dagger in her heart, keen and sharp and so painful that she gasped as if it were a physical blow. She stared up at him, unable to drag her gaze away, feeling tears sting her eyes.
“They don’t listen,” she said, barely audible. “No one listens. Not Varian, not Thrall, certainly not Garrosh. I feel that I am standing alone on a cliff, and the wind snatches the words from my lips even as I speak them. No matter what I do, no matter what I say, it is all… pointless. It has no meaning. I… have no meaning.”
As she spoke, she saw a sad smile of recognition touch Kalec’s lips.
“And so, this we share, Lady Jaina Proudmoore,” Kalec said. “We fear being of no use. Of no help. All that we have known to do is useless.”
The tears spilled down her cheeks. Gently, he wiped them away. “But I do know this much. There is a rhythm, a cycle to such things. Nothing stays the same, Jaina. Not even dragons, so long-lived and supposedly so wise. How much, then, must humans change? Once, you were an eager young apprentice, curious and studious, content to stay in Dalaran and master your spells. Then the world c
ame and ripped you away from your safe place. You changed. You survived, even thrived, in the new role of a diplomat. You had puzzles and challenges, but of a different variety. And that is how you served. This world—” He shook his head sadly, looking up into the sky. “This world is not as it was. No thing, no one, is as it was. Here—let me show you something.”
He lifted his hands, his long, clever fingers moving. Arcane energy sparked from his fingertips. It formed a whirling ball, hovering in front of them.
“Look at this,” he said.
Jaina did, forcing her foolish tears—where had they come from?—down and focusing on the little orb of arcane magic. Deftly Kalec touched it. It seemed to shatter and then reform, with a difference.
“There—it’s a pattern!” Jaina said, marveling.
“Watch again,” Kalec said. A second time he touched it. A third. Each time, the patterns became clearer. There was a moment when, baffled and enraptured both, Jaina wondered if she was looking at a gnomish schematic rather than a ball of arcane energy. Signs and symbols and numbers whirled, then jumbled together, then arranged themselves in a certain formation.
“It’s… so beautiful,” she whispered.
Kalec splayed his fingers and drew his hand through the orb. As if it were mist he disturbed, it fragmented, then reformed in still another way. It was a ceaselessly shifting kaleidoscope of magic, of precise patterns and order.
“Do you understand, Jaina?” he asked. She continued to stare, almost hypnotized by the exquisite patterns of formation, shattering, and reconfiguration.
“It’s… more than spells,” she said.
Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War Page 7
