Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War

by Christie Golden

  He shook his head angrily. That was a dangerous path down which to travel, one that could only end in despair. There was no room for the enormous yet tiny word “if.” That was the siren song of utter failure, disguised in its own costume of wishful thinking. What was, was, and he needed all the wisdom and clearheadedness and confidence he could muster if disaster was to be averted.

  • • •

  Jaina found, somewhat to her surprise, that she missed Kalec’s presence. He was never inappropriately dismissive of the direness of their situation—indeed, he more than anyone bore the burden of locating the Focusing Iris, since it belonged to his flight—but he brought a certain lightness to an otherwise dark and frightening quest. His wit and mind were quick, his manner gentle and kind, his insight great. He seemed to know exactly when to suggest a break, or when to push for the breakthrough, the new place to look, or the new way of thinking that made all four of them want to continue despite the odds.

  And, she had to admit, in his half-elven form, he was not at all unpleasant to look at. She realized with mild surprise that it had been a long time since she had allowed herself to enjoy simple things like male company and quiet conversation. Even longer since she had felt… well… safe enough to open up to work so fully and completely with another. Jaina had learned through bitter experience that part of being a good diplomat was never truly letting your guard down, nor showing all your cards. To do so was to expose yourself, to become vulnerable. And while a diplomat could certainly make gestures of trust, and honestly work for what was best for everyone, he or she should never become vulnerable. To become so was to lose all. Jaina had once thought she had lost all, when Arthas fell to darkness. She had learned that she had not, but nonetheless she had remained guarded—as a diplomat and as a person.

  She realized she’d become vulnerable with Kalecgos. He seemed to coax it from her without her even being aware of it. How odd, she thought, the drollness of the situation curving her lips in a smile, I feel safe with a dragon. Then again, she had felt safe with Go’el, too—an orc, for Light’s sake, the warchief of the Horde—but she had never allowed herself to be truly vulnerable.

  Though they all hoped that Kalec would be able to locate the Focusing Iris now that he could once again properly identify it, there was still work to be done in case the trail went cold. Tervosh was investigating distance-confinement spells, and Kinndy had returned to Dalaran to rummage through a trunk of scrolls that had been tucked in the far back of the library. “You’d envy me,” she had told Jaina when they spoke through the mirror. “There’s dust everywhere.”

  On a less hopeful and more brutally practical note, Jaina, Tervosh, and Pained had begun to examine ways, both magical and mundane, to evacuate the major Alliance cities if the abductors chose to strike using the Focusing Iris. Jaina had wondered aloud about notifying the Horde, but Pained gave her a sharp look. “My lady,” she said, “we cannot discount the possibility that it is members of the Horde who stole the thing in the first place.”

  “Nor can we discount that it might be members of the Alliance,” Jaina said. “Magic is known to both, Pained. Kel’Thuzad used to be a member of the Kirin Tor. Or it could be some other race entirely. Kalimdor is a large continent.”

  “Then let us create some possibilities for the Horde, too,” suggested Tervosh, long used to finding common ground between the two women. “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “And if the Horde is attacked, then perhaps offering aid swiftly can help build trust,” Jaina the diplomat said. Pained grimaced but said nothing.

  After so long feeling as if she were wrestling with air, with no idea what to search for or where to turn, plotting something concrete like evacuation strategies for the major cities of Kalimdor was a relief. Jaina dropped easily, almost mechanically, into her logical, rational mind. Kalec had taught her what she already knew but did not realize she knew—that magic was mathematics. There was always some way for things to fit together correctly, and if there was not, well, you just hadn’t found that way yet.

  The afternoon wound down into evening. After so many late nights and early mornings, Jaina welcomed rest. She crawled into bed almost as soon as the sun had set. Certain that Kalec would locate the Iris now, and that their troubles at least from that quarter would shortly be resolved, she fell asleep quickly.

  • • •

  “My lady.”

  Jaina was so groggy that the urgent voice seemed part of her dream. She blinked awake to see a tall form with long ears silhouetted against the window. “Pained?” she murmured.

  “A messenger has come. We have intercepted”—and Pained’s voice conveyed her doubt—“a Horde member who insists he speak with you.”

  Now Jaina was fully awake. She slipped out of bed and grabbed a wrap, lighting the lamps with a quick gesture. Pained was dressed in her usual armor. “He claims to have been sent from Northwatch Hold, where the Alliance has fallen to the Horde.”

  Jaina’s breath caught. Perhaps she should have gone to Northwatch after Kalecgos left. She sighed bitterly. “I am relieved that whoever found him didn’t kill him on sight.”

  “He openly approached the guards,” Pained said. “And he brought this as a token. He assured them you would recognize it and wish to speak with him. The guards thought they should at least confirm his story.”

  Pained held out a white, covered bundle. Jaina accepted it, noting that it was quite heavy. She gently removed the linen, and her eyes widened.

  It was a mace, a thing of great beauty and clearly of dwarven craftsmanship. The head was silver, wrapped in intersecting bands of gold. Small gems were inlaid here and there, and it had runes etched upon it as well.

  Jaina gazed at it raptly for a moment, then looked up at Pained. “Bring him to me,” was all she said.

  A few moments later, the Horde messenger—Jaina no longer thought of him as a spy—was escorted in.

  He was a huge shape, his form concealed by an encompassing cloak, and towered over the guards. Jaina got the feeling that, had he wished to, he could easily have dispatched both of them in a moment. Instead, he permitted himself to be roughly led in.

  “Leave us,” Jaina said.

  “My lady?” one of them asked. “Leave you alone with this… creature?”

  She glanced at the guard sharply. “He has come to me in good faith, and you will not speak so of him.”

  The guard colored slightly. The two bowed to their mistress, then withdrew, closing the parlor doors behind them.

  The huge shape straightened. One hand emerged from the depths of the cloak to shrug off the hood, and Jaina found herself gazing into the calm, proud visage of a tauren.

  “Lady Jaina Proudmoore,” he said, inclining his head. “My name is Perith Stormhoof. I come on orders from my high chieftain. He asked me to give you the mace. He said… it would help you to believe my words are truth.”

  Jaina clutched the mace. “I would never mistake Fearbreaker,” she said. She recalled the time when she, Baine Bloodhoof, and Anduin Wrynn had sat together in this very chamber. Moved by Baine’s loss and uncertainty at assuming the title of his slain father, the human prince had rushed to his room and returned with this mace. It had been given to Anduin by King Magni Bronzebeard, and Jaina was touched to see the boy offering it to Baine—the child of an Alliance king gifting the child of a Horde high chieftain with something precious and beautiful. When Baine had accepted the gift, Fearbreaker had shown its approval by glowing softly in the tauren’s giant hand.

  “He knew you would not. Lady Jaina—my high chieftain thinks gratefully and highly of you, and it is because of the memory of the night when he received Fearbreaker that he has sent me with this warning. Northwatch Hold has fallen to the Horde.” He did not speak with pleasure; indeed, Perith seemed grim and sad. “It further wounds him that this victory was won with the usage of dark shamanic magic. He despises these actions, but to protect his people, Baine has agreed that the tauren will continue to serve th
e Horde as they are needed. He wishes me to emphasize that at times, this obligation brings him little joy.”

  Jaina nodded. “Well do I believe that. Still, he has participated in an act of violence against the Alliance. Northwatch Hold—”

  “Is only a start,” Perith said, interrupting her. “Hellscream would reach much farther than a simple hold.”

  “What?”

  “His goal is nothing less than the conquest of the continent,” said Perith, the words relentless and horrifying even when spoken by this calm tauren. “He will shortly be ordering the Horde to march on Theramore. And mark me well, their numbers are strong. As you are now, you will fall.”

  The statement was not delivered to intimidate. It was blunt and to the point—simple reality. Jaina swallowed.

  “My high chieftain remembers the aid you gave him and asked me to warn you. He has no wish to see you caught unawares.”

  Jaina was overwhelmed at the gesture. “Your high chieftain,” she said, her heart full, “is a truly honorable tauren. I am proud to be so highly regarded by him. I thank him for this timely warning. Please tell him it will help save innocent lives.”

  “He regrets that a warning is all he can give you, my lady. And… he asks you to please take Fearbreaker, and return it to the one who so kindly gifted it to him. Baine feels that it is no longer his to keep.”

  Jaina nodded, though quick tears stung her eyes. She had hoped that that night would be the beginning of healing, of understanding, but it was not to be. Baine was telling her, in his typically gentle but firm fashion, that their friendship only went so far—he was not, and would never become, a member of the Alliance. He would stand and fight with the Horde. She understood. She was fully aware of how vulnerable the tauren people would be if they stood against Garrosh now, and she had no wish to see them come to harm.

  “I will see to it that Fearbreaker is returned to its former owner,” she said, with the few simple words conveying all the shades and complexities of what was in her heart.

  Perith was a fine courier. He understood and bowed deeply. Jaina went to the small desk that was on the far end of the room. Locating parchment, ink, quill, and wax, she quickly wrote a brief note. She dusted powder on the ink to dry it, folded the missive, then sealed it with red wax and her own personal stamp. Rising, she handed it to the waiting tauren.

  “This will ensure your safe passage through Alliance territory, if you are caught.”

  He chuckled. “I will not be, but your concern is appreciated.”

  “And tell your noble high chieftain there will be no rumors of a tauren Longwalker visiting me. To all who would ask, I will say that word reached me from an Alliance scout who managed to escape the battle. Take refreshment, then return safely.”

  “May the Earth Mother smile upon you, Lady,” said Perith. “I understand my high chieftain’s choice even better now that I have met you.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “One day, perhaps we will fight on the same side.”

  “One day, perhaps. But that day is not today.”

  Jaina acknowledged this truth with a nod. “Light be with you, Perith Stormhoof.”

  “And the Earth Mother’s blessing be upon you.”

  She watched him go, fighting an irrational urge to call him back, to offer him, Baine, all the tauren people asylum. She did not want to have to face Baine in battle, to utter spells that would kill these gentle, wise beings. But the tauren were hunters, warriors, and would never shirk their duty. Baine had already done all he could—more, in fact, than Jaina had ever expected. Some would call this warning treason.

  She hoped that Baine’s gesture would not result in tragedy for the tauren high chieftain.

  Jaina buried her face in her hands, gathering strength. Then, composing herself, she called for Pained.

  “Rouse Tervosh and recall Kinndy. Have them meet me in the library.”

  “May I ask what is going on?”

  Jaina turned a tired visage to her bodyguard and friend. “War,” was all she said.

  10

  The Focusing Iris appeared to have sprouted wings, so swiftly was it traveling. Like a mastiff on the scent, Kalecgos had spent most of the day dutifully following where it led. It had been to the northwest of Theramore when he had departed that isle, and Kalecgos suspected it was now in Mulgore, perhaps near Thunder Bluff. When Kalecgos had made it to the Great Gate, the Iris stopped for a moment, then began moving northeast toward Orgrimmar. Kalec followed, flying as quickly as his wings would allow in an attempt to catch up. No sooner had he gotten to the Crossroads than the Focusing Iris shifted course yet again, this time heading almost directly south.

  A realization struck him, as shocking as lightning, and his wing beats faltered.

  “You are clever, my enemy,” he said softly.

  They were no fools. But he had been one, more than once on this journey. First he had failed to see through a simple spell. And then he had arrogantly assumed that the thieves who had absconded with the Focusing Iris hadn’t counted on being followed.

  Of course they had. One didn’t steal a priceless magical artifact from a dragonflight without being prepared for repercussions. They had known someone from the blue dragonflight, probably Kalecgos himself, would come in search of the Focusing Iris. They had not only disguised the object but were now ferrying it about somehow from place to place in an effort to exhaust him as he followed something he would never get close enough to find.

  He believed the human phrase for such a useless pursuit was “a wild goose chase.”

  His temper got the better of him, and he bellowed in anger. Not even a dragon could fly ceaselessly. He could never hope to catch it. Even as he realized this, the artifact took a turn toward the southwest.

  Kalecgos thrashed his tail and beat his wings, then calmed himself. It was true that as long as the thieves were toying with him like this, he would never get close enough to the Focusing Iris to retrieve it.

  But they could not do this forever. As long as the Focusing Iris was flitting erratically from place to place, Azeroth was safe. It would have to come to a halt in order for any use to be made of it.

  His path over the last several hours, during which he had been forced to pause and rest, had taken him over Silithus, the Un’Goro Crater, Feralas, Mulgore, the Barrens, and now to—

  Northwatch Hold. Or rather, what remained of Northwatch Hold.

  Once it had boasted towers, and walls to enclose its inhabitants safely. Once it had been a military stronghold that had sent out scouts and siege weapons, warriors and generals. The troops that had destroyed Camp Taurajo had been garrisoned there. Now it looked as if some giant hand had smashed it like a toy. The towers were reduced to just a pile of stones, as were the walls. The cannons were silent, and smoke wafted upward in a thin gray-black line from a large fire. And swarming around the ruins of a once-proud Alliance hold were hundreds of tiny figures.

  Horde. From this height Kalec could not distinguish what races, but he could spot the basic colors of each banner. All were represented here. The wind shifted, and Kalec grimaced as his sharp nose caught an acrid scent. The victors were burning bodies—whether their own in a sober ceremony or those of their enemies, Kalec could not tell, and had no wish to.

  The trail of the Focusing Iris continued blithely along. It turned yet again, heading back toward Mulgore, but Kalecgos was no longer following it. With one strong downward beat of his wings, Kalec repositioned his body and changed direction, flying now directly to the south. He knew what he needed to do.

  He could track the Focusing Iris from Theramore. And he would. He would wait until it finally came to a stop, until the thieves had tired of the game, and then head directly for it. In the meantime, he would return to Jaina Proudmoore.

  From what he had seen, she was going to need all the help she could get.

  • • •

  “How many did he say?” asked Pained. She, Tervosh, Kinndy, and Jaina were in the library, but
the long table at which they had spent so many hours recently was no longer covered with books or scrolls. Instead, a large map of Kalimdor was spread out over it, the only books remaining on the table serving to anchor the parchment at each corner.

  “He didn’t,” Jaina said. “At least not specifically. He said only that the Horde’s numbers were strong, and as we are now, we would fall.”

  “Are you sure you can trust him?” asked Kinndy. “I mean, come on—he’s a member of the Horde. This could be a trap of some sort. We end up calling in reinforcements and bracing Theramore, and then they attack Stormwind or something.”

  “For someone so young, Kinndy, you have quite a suspicious mind,” said a voice.

  Jaina whirled, her heart lightening as Kalec strode into the room. Her pleasure faded somewhat as she caught sight of his face. It was still handsome and smiling, but he was paler than she recalled, and there were furrows in his brow.

  “You couldn’t find it,” she said quietly.

  Kalec shook his head. “They’re playing a little game with me,” he said. “Whenever I get close to the Focusing Iris, they move it somewhere else.”

  “Trying to wear you out,” said Pained. “It is a sound strategy.”

  “Sound or not, it’s as frustrating as trying to haggle with a goblin,” said Kalec. “I can sense it from here. I will wait until it slows and stops. Then I will go in search of it.”

  “Is it safe to wait?” asked Pained.

  Jaina answered for him. “We don’t know what they’re planning, but attuning so ancient an artifact toward whatever it is they want to do will take time and effort. Especially as they aren’t blue dragons, and therefore have no innate connection with the Focusing Iris. They cannot perform such complex work if they are traveling with it. Kalecgos is right. When the Iris ceases to move, then he can track it down.”

  “I hope you have enough time,” said Kinndy.