“Was it only five years ago that I chose my path?” she whispered. “I chose to ally with strangers, with the enemy, with orcs, instead of you, Papa. Instead of my own blood. I called you intolerant. Said that peace was the way. You said you would always hate them, that you would never stop fighting them. And I told you they were people. They deserved a chance. And now you are dead. My city is dead.”
Tears slipped down her face. In a detached part of her brain, she observed that they were light purple and glowing—liquid arcane energy. As they splashed onto the stone base upon which the statue stood, the tears evaporated in violet mist.
“Papa… forgive me. Forgive me for letting the Horde grow so strong. Forgive me for giving them the chance to slaughter so many of our people.” She lifted her eyes up again, seeing the implacable statue through a haze of purple-white. “You were right, Papa. You were right! I should have listened! Now, now that it’s too late, I see that. It took… this… for me to understand.”
She dragged a sleeve across her streaming eyes. “But it’s not too late for me to avenge you. To avenge K-Kinndy, and Pained, and Tervosh, and Rhonin, Aubrey and all the generals—to avenge everyone who fell last night in Theramore. They’ll pay. The Horde will pay. I’ll destroy Garrosh; you’ll see. With my own hands, if I can. I’ll destroy him, and every one of those cursed green-skinned butchers. I promise you, Papa. I won’t betray you again. I won’t let them kill any more of our people, ever. I promise, I promise…”
• • •
Jaina had taken a few moments to compose herself before returning to await her summons. That newfound composure was shattered when, after being announced and ushered into Varian’s private chambers, she was greeted not by the tall, dark-haired former gladiator but by a slender, towheaded boy.
“Aunt Jaina!” said Anduin, relief on his face as he hurried toward her. “You’re alive!”
He hugged her tightly. Jaina was stiff in the embrace. He sensed it at once and pulled back. His eyes went wide as he fully took in her arcane-altered appearance.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, more sharply than she had intended.
“I was worried about you,” he said. “When word reached us about what happened in Theramore… I wanted to be here. I knew that if you had survived, you’d come to Stormwind.”
She stared at him, mute. What could she possibly say? How could she speak to this child, who was so naive, about the true horror of what she had witnessed? He was so innocent, so ignorant of the real nature of their enemy. As naive and ignorant as I was, once…
“Jaina! Thank the Light!” She turned, relieved, to address the warrior king who strode into the room. Varian had long nursed a personal hatred of the orcs. Anduin was too young to understand, but he would, one day. Varian, she knew, would understand now—now, when it counted the most.
He was dressed informally and looked exhausted and harried, but there was relief and pleasure on his face. It too turned to surprise at her appearance.
Irritated, Jaina snapped, “The only reason I survived was because Archmage Rhonin pushed me through a portal to safety. I was affected at least somewhat by the blast.”
Varian raised an eyebrow at the bluntness of her statement, but he nodded, accepting the explanation and not dwelling on it. “You’ll be glad to know you weren’t the only survivor,” he said. “Vereesa Windrunner and Shandris Feathermoon and their scouting parties are also alive. They were far enough away from the center of the blast. They’ve returned to their respective homes and are talking to their people about war.”
Jaina didn’t want to think about the widowed Vereesa and her two fatherless children. “I am glad to hear that,” she said, “all of it. Oh, Varian, I owe you an apology. You’ve been right all along. I kept telling you that we could somehow reach the Horde, find some way to peace. But we can’t. This proves that we can’t, and you knew it even when I was too blinded by hope to see it. We need to retaliate against the Horde. Now. They’ll all go back to Orgrimmar. Garrosh won’t be able to resist a celebration of his brave victory over the Alliance.”
Anduin flinched slightly at the bitterness in her voice. She pressed on, the words rushing out of her. “The streets will run with ale, and the whole army will be assembled. There will be no better time to strike.”
Varian tried to speak. “Jaina—”
She barreled on, starting to pace and gesturing with her hands. “We’ll get the kaldorei to send their ships along with ours. We’ll take them completely by surprise. We’ll kill the orcs and raze their city. Make sure that they don’t ever recover from this blow. We’ll—”
“Jaina.” Varian’s deep voice was level as he caught hold of her wrists and gently halted her nearly frantic pacing. “I need you to be calm right now.”
She turned her face up to his, questioning. How could he speak of calmness?
“I’m sure you don’t know this, but the Horde has built up a very effective blockade around the entire continent. The kaldorei couldn’t come help us even if they wanted to. I’m not saying we don’t strike back. We will. But we’ve got to do so intelligently. Have a strategy. Figure out first how to break the blockade and then regain Northwatch.”
“Don’t you know what they did to it?” Jaina snapped.
“I know,” Varian said, “but it’s still a strategic foothold that we’ve got to get back before we can make a move. We’ve got to rebuild the fleet. We lost a lot of good people at Theramore; it’s going to take time to call back others from their posts to fill their positions. We need to do this right, or we’re just throwing more lives away.”
Jaina was shaking her head. “No. We’ve got no time for that.”
“We don’t have time to not do it,” Varian said. He kept his voice measured and calm. For some reason, it irritated Jaina. “We’re looking at war that could stretch out over two continents. Maybe even into Northrend. If I am to enter into a world war, where there are no boundaries, I’m going to do so wisely. If we rush in now, we do the Horde’s work for them.”
Jaina looked over at Anduin. He stood silently, his face pale and his blue eyes sad. He made no effort to interrupt his father and his friend in their discussion about a worldwide war. She returned her attention to Varian.
“I have something that can help,” she said. “A very great weapon has come into my keeping. It will destroy Orgrimmar just as surely as the Horde destroyed Theramore. But we will need to act now, when the armies are foolishly gathered together in Orgrimmar. If we don’t, the moment will be lost!”
Her voice rose on the last word, and she realized she’d clenched her fists. It would be more than just, to use the Focusing Iris on Garrosh and his beloved Orgrimmar. “We can wipe out every one of those green-skinned sons of—”
“Jaina!” The word was a pained, sharp exclamation from Anduin. Surprised, Jaina fell silent.
“What happened in Theramore was more than a tragedy,” Varian said, turning Jaina gently to regard him. “It was an irreparable loss, and a vile and cowardly act. But we mustn’t compound the loss by losing more Alliance soldiers needlessly.”
“There could even be some in the Horde who disagree with what happened,” Anduin said. “The tauren, for instance. And even most orcs prize honor.”
Jaina shook her head. “No. Not anymore. It’s too late for that, Anduin. Far too late. There’s no going back from what they’ve done. You didn’t see what—” Her voice caught and she struggled to speak for a moment. “We must retaliate. And we can’t wait. Who knows what atrocity Garrosh and the Horde will perpetrate if we do? We can’t have another Theramore, Varian! Don’t you see?”
“We will fight them, don’t worry—but we’ll do so on our terms.”
She jerked free from his hands on her arms and stepped back. “I don’t know what’s happened to you, Varian Wrynn, but you’ve turned into a coward. And you, Anduin, I am sorry for my part in keeping you a gullible child. There’s no hope for peace; there’s no time for strategy. I
have their ruination in my grasp. You’re a fool for not seizing the chance!”
They spoke her name at once, father and son, so different but so oddly similar in how they stepped forward imploringly.
She turned her back on both of them.
21
It was with a wounded body and a heavy heart that Kalecgos returned to Northrend and the Nexus. He had, despite Jaina’s words, followed her. Partially because he feared for her safety and her state of mind, and also because he sensed that the Focusing Iris was still in Theramore. It took him time—he had to fly, bearing not-insignificant injuries from the battle, and she had teleported.
He had beheld the huge crater and what the mana bomb had left of Theramore. It was sickeningly little. But the Focusing Iris was nowhere to be found. Someone had to have found it. He suspected Garrosh; the lives of a few loyal subjects of the Horde were nothing compared to the power of the Focusing Iris. Of course he would send a party to retrieve it.
Thus he had left Kalimdor, flying bleakly and laboriously northward with nothing to show for his efforts on the blues’ behalf other than a dead city that was mute testimony to his failure. He had, unexpectedly but certainly, fallen in love. Now she, too, had been broken because of what he had done—or failed to do. Part of him simply wanted to head in a random direction and just keep going. But Kalecgos could not do that. The blue dragons had put their faith in him. He had to tell them what had transpired and determine what course they wished him to take now.
Kirygosa met him as he approached from the south. She darted around him for a moment, showing her pleasure at his return, then settled in to fly beside him the rest of the way to the Nexus.
“You are wounded,” she said worriedly. Many scales had been ripped from Kalecgos’s azure form, and the skin beneath bore ugly bruises. He could fly still but ached with every wing beat.
“It is a little hurt,” he said.
“It is not,” she replied. “What has happened? We sensed something terrible… and you do not have the Focusing Iris.”
“It is a story I wish to have to tell but once,” he said, his voice revealing the deep pain of his heart. “Will you gather the flight, dearest Kiry?”
For answer, she dipped beneath him, nuzzling his head with her own, then flew off to obey. They awaited him, and he saw with renewed bleakness that their numbers had dwindled even further since his departure. He was pleased to see that Narygos, Teralygos, Banagos, and Alagosa had remained.
He landed among them, retaining his dragon form, and looked about. “I have returned, but the news I bear is grim.” They stood quietly as he spoke, telling them of the cooperation he’d had from Rhonin and the Kirin Tor, from Jaina. Of his difficulty in pinning down the location of the Focusing Iris. And finally, keeping his voice emotionless because he could not bear to feel it all again, of the Horde using their artifact against the Alliance with so devastating an effect.
They listened in silence. No one asked questions. No one interrupted. He had expected anger, but instead they seemed to grow more melancholy than furious at the thought that their magic, their Focusing Iris, had been used to wreak such malicious destruction. It was as if something had broken inside each of them. Kalec understood that. It was a reflection of his own torment.
No one spoke for a long time. Then Teralygos lifted his head and regarded Kalecgos sadly. “We have failed,” he said. “Our charge has ever been to ensure that magic was used wisely. To manage it. And look how badly we have executed that duty.”
“The failure is mine, Teralygos,” Kalec said. “I was the Aspect. I could sense the Focusing Iris, but I failed to locate it in time.”
“It was stolen from all of us, not only you, Kalecgos. We all must shoulder the responsibility for this abhorrent event.”
“I am your leader, as long as you will have me,” Kalec said, though the words were like ash in his mouth as he spoke them. “I will do all that is in my power to recover it.” Even though it has gone missing—again. If only I had been able to destroy it when the sky galleon still bore it!
“You are as lost as you were before this started,” said Alagosa. There was only sorrow in her voice, not censure, but even so, the words stung. She was right.
“It was in Theramore,” Kalec said. “It was not destroyed in the attack. Someone has spirited it away again, and I am certain that it is the Horde.”
“I am not. I believe that it is in the possession of Jaina Proudmoore. You said she reached Theramore before you, and by the time you arrived, the Focusing Iris was gone.”
It was not what was said that surprised Kalec so much as who had said it. The accusation, spoken in gentle tones but no less stunning for that, came from Kirygosa. She had lingered in the back, listening quietly, but now she moved forward.
“Jaina helped me to find it,” Kalec retorted defensively. “She knew even before the—even before, what kind of havoc it could wreak. Why would she willingly take it without telling me?”
“Perhaps because she doesn’t trust you to keep it safe,” said Kiry. Again, there was no attack in her voice or mien, but Kalec still felt wounded. “Or perhaps because she plans to use it against the Horde.”
“Jaina would never—”
“You do not know what she would and would not do,” said Kirygosa. “She is human, Kalec, and you are not. Her kingdom has been removed from the map as surely as if it had been blotted out with ink. She is a powerful mage, and the Focusing Iris—the very instrument of death to her people—was within her grasp. We need to consider this a possibility and prepare for it. If she has it, we must find out—and take it back. Whatever the cost. It is our artifact, and much of that blood is on our heads. We must not allow it to be used so again.”
Her logic was unassailable. Kalec recalled how furious and grief-stricken Jaina had been when she teleported away from him. Too, she had been visibly affected by the arcane magic from the blast. It had whitened her hair; caused her eyes to glow—if it had done this to her body, what might it have done to her mind?
“I will find the Focusing Iris,” he said heavily. “Whoever has it—Garrosh or Jaina.”
Kiry hesitated now, glancing at Teralygos. “Perhaps it would be best if a party joined you in your search.”
Kalec bit back an angry retort. Kiry had ever been a good friend; she was his sister of the spirit, although they were not clutch mates. She did not cast aspersions on Jaina to hurt him; she did so because she was worried. Worried that he might be too affected by his feelings for Jaina Proudmoore to complete his duty to his flight, and knowing him well enough to understand that if Kiry was right, Kalec would never forgive himself if something went wrong.
“I thank you for your concern,” he said, “and I know you have only the good of our people in mind when you speak so. Please believe that I do as well. I can—I must—handle this on my own.”
He waited. If there was too much of a protest, he would acquiesce to what the rest of the flight wished. He certainly had not done a faultless job by himself thus far.
Fortunately, most of the blues did not share Kiry’s opinion. Kalec suspected that it was because they discounted Jaina, a single human, as a true threat. It was because Kiry recognized Jaina’s abilities as being exceptionally strong that the dragoness did not follow suit.
“Then it is settled,” Kalec said. “I will not fail you again.”
He spoke the words with conviction, hoping beyond hope that he was right. This wounded world could not bear it if he wasn’t.
• • •
Not so long ago, the former warchief of the Horde had held a celebration to welcome home the veterans who had fought against Arthas and in the Nexus War in Northrend. Garrosh well remembered the glorious parade to Orgrimmar—he himself had suggested it. It was at this celebration that Thrall had honored him, given him his father’s weapon, which now rested securely against Garrosh’s broad back.
Garrosh was proud of how he had fought in those wars. But he was even prouder of wha
t he had done at Northwatch Hold and Theramore. In Northrend, at least part of the victory had been owed to the Alliance. The thought filled his mouth with ashy loathing. Now things were as they should be. Now the battle was against the Alliance. It was a war Thrall had had the power to start, but he had been too cowed by the fair-haired female mage. Instead, Thrall had fought for “peace,” whatever that could possibly be between the orcs and their former oppressors. Garrosh was determined to be to the Alliance what Grommash Hellscream had been to the demons. As the father had overthrown obedience and enslavement to fel creatures by slaying Mannoroth, so the son would overthrow the subtler chains of “peace” with the Alliance. He was sure that even stubborn Baine and Vol’jin would come around eventually, and a true peace—on the Horde’s terms, bought with blood and enforced with the same—would occur.
And so, he had given instructions that this celebration, this victor’s triumphal march to the capital of the Horde, would put Thrall’s to shame. Nor would the march and a single feast be all. No, Garrosh had ordered six days’ worth of festivities. Raptor fights in the arena! Sparring battles, with heavy purses to the greatest warriors of the Horde! Feast after feast, set to the accompaniment of lok’tras and lok’vadnods, while the streets would flow with good orcish grog.
At one point, as Garrosh and his retinue headed toward the gates of Orgrimmar, he saw with satisfaction that the throngs of cheering Horde members would not part for him. They chanted his name until it rose like thunder, and Garrosh gave Malkorok a delighted look as he drank it in.
Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War Page 24
