His spirits were obviously lifting now, and his eyes were distant, focusing on the future and not the present with its stark message of ruination and disaster. “I thought too small—that was the problem. This is no longer about taking over Kalimdor. It is about crushing the Alliance utterly! Wiping their filth off the face of Azeroth! Burning Stormwind to the ground, and Wrynn with it! A war not for control of a single continent, but for conquest of this very world. We can do this; we are the Horde! But victory will be ours only if our plans are sound, our wills focused, our hearts strong and true!”
“Garrosh Hellscream,” said Baine calmly, “I ride now for Mulgore with my braves. There are far fewer of them than when I rode out to answer the call of the warchief of the Horde. My loyalty to the Horde is deep, and you cannot gainsay me on that. But know this: I fight for the true Horde, not one that utilizes methods both unnecessary and shameful. There must never be another Theramore—not if you wish the aid of Baine Bloodhoof!”
Garrosh stared at Baine with narrowed eyes and a slight smirk that Baine could not interpret. “Duly noted,” he said.
As he gathered up the reins of his kodo, Baine glanced at Vol’jin. The troll looked at him sadly and gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. Baine nodded slightly. He understood Vol’jin’s reasoning. It was the same as Baine’s own—Vol’jin needed to protect his people from the wrath of an offended Garrosh.
A world war.
As Baine headed west, toward home and the serenity of the rolling plains of his beloved Mulgore, he could not decide if Garrosh was mad with power… or simply mad.
• • •
How long had it been, Jaina wondered, since her own personal cataclysm? She had lost count of the days, but surely they had not been many; a fortnight would be too long. Only a fortnight, less, since she had been fretting about Thrall’s disinterest in deposing Garrosh, the restlessness in her spirit. Since she had eaten delicious pastries with Kinndy, and her biggest worry had been the thought of her apprentice smudging books with frosting.
Like a sword, she had been tempered, ruthlessly and efficiently—plunged into the coldness of hatred and revenge from the fire of anguish and back again, reshaped, remade, reforged. But now, like steel, she would withstand much. She would not break or shatter, not from grief or pain or rage. Not anymore.
She arrived in Theramore not by teleporting, and not alone, but on the broad back of a great blue dragon. Kalec landed outside the city limits, on the beach where once they had walked and talked, hand in hand. He crouched low to enable her to slip more easily to the earth.
Shifting into his half-elven shape, he stepped beside her. “Jaina,” he said, “it’s not too late to change your mind.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m all right, Kalec. I just… need to see. With my own eyes—clearer now.”
They were indeed clearer, both literally and figuratively. The arcane energy that had so poisoned her had faded. Her hair was still white with a single gold streak; that damage would not ever be undone. But the strange white glow was gone from her eyes. The arcane residue, too, had dissipated from Theramore. It was safe—physically, at least—for Jaina to return to the blasted city.
They walked up the slight hill to the path. There were no bodies here; there had been time before the bomb had fallen to gather Wymor and the others who had so gallantly defended the city by the sea, if not yet to bury them. The Horde, too, it seemed, had come for its dead. Though the glowing arcane energy had faded, the skies were still rent. Here and there, twisting ribbons of magic, glimpses into other worlds, could be seen, even in daylight. Jaina stared first at the wounded sky, then at the open gate, swallowing hard.
A warm hand slipped into hers. Kalec’s grasp was tentative; he would pull back if she wished him to. But she didn’t. They walked, slowly, into the city of the dead.
Having seen the destruction once before, Jaina was at least somewhat prepared for the sight. Though familiar, it remained horrifically tragic, and her heart was ripped in twain again and again as she beheld the fallen. The buildings still listed, deformed or broken by the arcane. But at least the earth was starting to heal; she no longer felt the wrongness pressing up against the soles of her feet.
She shivered as a cold wind brushed past her. Curiously, she turned to Kalec, who had created it; then she understood and felt a rush of sorrowful gratitude. Both the coldness and the vigor of the wind kept the stench of so many corpses from becoming overwhelming.
“They c-can’t just lie here,” Jaina said, aware that her voice shook.
“They won’t,” Kalec said, reassuring her swiftly. “Now that it is safe, we can give them a proper farewell.” He didn’t say “burial.” Not all the fallen had bodies left to bury. Those who had been peculiarly levitated had succumbed to gravity and now lay, more naturally, on the earth.
The items she had noticed on her first visit, which had been scattered with strange abandon, had mostly been scavenged. She felt a rush of anger but quickly damped it. The Horde had been defeated for now. Garrosh had been dealt a devastating and shameful blow. She wasn’t here to rage and hate. She was here to observe and mourn.
Her foot slipped, twisting slightly as she stepped on something partially buried. The sunlight glinted on a silver, metallic shape. Jaina bent to work the weapon free from the earth, and as she did so, astonishment and something akin to awe filled her. She lifted it up, and the dirt simply fell away from the beautiful, ancient weapon, as if nothing so base could sully it. It looked as new as the day it had been forged. She held it reverently, but it did not glow at her touch, as it had done for first a human prince and then a tauren chieftain.
“Fearbreaker,” she murmured, shaking her head in wonder. “I can’t believe it.”
“It is lovely,” Kalec said as he regarded the mace. “It looks to be of dwarven make, if I am not mistaken.”
“You aren’t,” Jaina replied. “Magni Bronzebeard gave it to Anduin, and he in turn gave it to—to Baine Bloodhoof.”
Kalec raised a blue eyebrow. “How that came about is a story I should like to hear one day.”
“One day,” Jaina said in agreement, but did not add, But not today. “How odd that I should come across this now.”
“Not odd at all,” said Kalec. “It is clearly a magical weapon. It wanted you to find it.”
“So that I could return it to Anduin,” she said, and felt sad at how events had played out. Such hope the three of them had had, once. Hope that had been dashed to pieces, like a ship against rocks in a storm, by Garrosh Hellscream and the stark horror of the mana bomb. “It will give me an excuse to speak to him. To—apologize. I was very harsh, the last time we spoke. I regret that. I regret… much.” She fastened the beautiful mace securely to her belt and nodded to Kalec that she was ready to continue.
They walked on, hand in hand, silent and respectful, and then Jaina’s heart was wrenched yet again. Here was Pained’s body, where Jaina had found it before. And Aubrey, and Marcus…
“Their bodies,” she said. “They look…”
“Unchanged,” Kalec said. “The arcane energy has faded from them.” He said no more; he didn’t have to. Jaina realized that if she were to gently stroke Pained’s dark blue hair, it would not shatter like spun glass. Not this time.
A sudden grief seized her. “Oh, Kalec… If I hadn’t touched Kinndy…”
“We will gather what remains of her, Jaina, gently and with love,” Kalec said, forestalling her self-recrimination. “From what I hear, her parents have already found a sweeter way to honor her memory.”
Jaina shattered. A sharp sound of grief, of helplessness, broke from her, and before she realized it Kalecgos had gathered her in his arms. They closed about her, warm and strong, and she pressed her cheek against his chest and sobbed. He rocked her, soothingly, as one might a child, and as her grief went from agonized sobs to subdued weeping, she realized she could hear two things: Kalec’s heart beating steadily against her ear, and his voice,
soft and low… singing.
Jaina couldn’t understand the language, but she didn’t have to. Sweet and sad, it was an elegy of some sort—a song to mourn the fallen, a song that had likely existed since before Kalecgos was born, perhaps before the Aspects had even been created. For as certain as there was always a new day dawning, that new day would eventually die in the west. Nothing was older than death… save life.
Kalec’s voice was as beautiful as the rest of him, and the song wound its way into her soul, quieting it. She felt his lips press against her white hair. The kiss was loving yet gentle, a gesture of comfort that asked for nothing in return. Even so, and even in this tragic place, Jaina felt her heart stir. After what had seemed like an eternity—when it had lain, hard and cold, a sullen diamond in her chest—it was awakening. Now, like a seed in springtime, it was struggling toward light and warmth through the ice of winter.
Held safely and sweetly, Jaina thought of the last conversation she and Thrall had had as friends.
Did you… need healing? Jaina had asked.
We all do, whether we see it or not, Thrall had replied. We bear the wounds of simply living in this life even if we never have a physical scar. A mate who can see one for who one is, truly and completely—ah, that is a gift, Jaina Proudmoore… Whatever journey you are on, whatever your path may lead to—I, at least, have found it to be sweeter by far with a life companion at my side.
Kalec had helped her to heal, from more than just the wounds of simply living this life. He had seen her at her best and at her worst, had enabled her to find her true self when she was lost in a maze of anguish and fury. Would he become her life companion, as Aggra had become Thrall’s? There was no way to know for certain. One thing Jaina knew now: nothing was for certain. The winds of change would blow as they willed.
But for now, she was content. She drew back and looked up at him. He gazed down at her, one hand brushing back the single lock of golden hair that yet remained.
“Rhonin,” Jaina said.
He nodded. As they drew apart, Jaina felt cold as air moved between them, but Kalec’s hand in hers was warm. They walked, slowly, reverently, toward the crater. Jaina winced as she recalled the archmage’s last moments—his shoving her through the portal, the tower tumbling, the purple ash that the wind had doubtless swiftly snatched away to blow to the four corners of Azeroth.
“It was not in vain,” Kalec said, reminding Jaina. “Had the bomb not been at least somewhat offset by the magic of the tower, the effect would have been much worse.”
“He wanted to save Vereesa,” Jaina said. “He wanted her to live… he wanted his children to have their mother, even if they couldn’t have their…” She couldn’t speak the rest of the words for a moment, then said, “He came… because I asked him to.” She turned to face Kalecgos. “I was struggling so very hard just a short time ago. I felt so out of place, trying to push for peace when no one else seemed to care about it.”
“Do you still care?” Kalec asked.
She thought about it for a moment, tilting her head to the side, her brow furrowing. “It isn’t that I no longer care. I do. I’m not what I was—I don’t burn for vengeance anymore. But… neither am I the woman who longed so much for harmony between the Horde and the Alliance. There… can’t be harmony, Kalec. Not while Garrosh leads the Horde, not after what he has done. I don’t believe peace is the answer anymore. Which means… I don’t know where I belong.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “I think you might, actually.”
Jaina gave him a quizzical look and then realized that he was right.
She wanted to go home. Home to a place that had once been a nourishing sanctuary, one she had left reluctantly to follow her destiny. Jaina recalled what Kalec had said, about there being a rhythm and a pattern to things. Perhaps she had come full circle.
“Dalaran,” she said. “The Kirin Tor. I did train very diligently, once upon a time. It feels right for me to be there now, in a way it never has before.” She looked again at the rubble. “Rhonin thought so. He made sure I survived. He told me that he thought I was the future of the Kirin Tor. I should at least give them the chance to politely tell me to go away.”
“You have become extremely powerful in your own right without them,” Kalec said. “I think they would be lucky to have you—and I believe they would consider themselves so as well. Rhonin could not have been alone in his sentiments.”
“And you, Kalec?” She braced herself for his announcement that he would leave her, return to the Nexus. He was, after all, the leader of the blue dragonflight. There was no place there for a member of the younger races.
“I think… if you have no objection… that I would like to accompany you to Dalaran.” She couldn’t hide her pleasure, and he smiled to see it, his eyes warm with affection. “I take it you don’t?”
“No, I… I would like that very much. But what about the blues?”
His smile faded. “The flight has dispersed,” he said. “We are all individuals now. I feel that we have a great debt to pay the Kirin Tor, for all that our poor stewardship has done to the world. I’d like to be the one to at least start repaying that debt.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “They already permitted one dragon membership in their ranks, even though many didn’t know exactly who Krasus was. Do you think I stand a chance?” he asked. Then he added, his voice unsure, “With them and… with you?”
Change, Jaina thought. It brings pain; it brings joy; and it is completely inescapable. We are, all of us, our own phoenixes, if we choose to be. Out of the ashes, we can be reborn.
She stepped forward and lifted her face for answer. With a gentleness that did not surprise her, and an intensity that did, Kalecgos of the blue dragonflight cupped her cheeks in his warm hands, searched her eyes, then leaned forward and kissed Lady Jaina Proudmoore… mage.
EPILOGUE
When Jaina and Kalecgos arrived in Dalaran and requested an audience with the council, she fully expected to be turned away or given a date in the future. Instead, the mage who greeted them assured Jaina and Kalec that the council would see them. At once. A very few moments later, Jaina and Kalec found themselves in the ever-changing, beautiful Chamber of the Air. Kalec could not help but glance around, marveling at the sights.
“The council welcomes Kalecgos of the blue dragonflight and Lady Jaina Proudmoore,” said Khadgar, his voice aged and yet strong. “The world has wagged on since we last saw you here, Lady. Why do you and your friend come to see us this day?”
“For many reasons,” Jaina said. “First… I owe you all an apology. This does not belong to me.” She held out the tome that had enabled her to make use of the Focusing Iris. “I took it without—” She shook her head. “No. I won’t mince words. I stole it, and I forced open the seal in order to utilize a dreadful weapon against my enemy.”
“You did not use the weapon, though, did you?” asked Khadgar. “For unless my news sources have become uncharacteristically derelict in their duties, Orgrimmar still stands—with a shamed Garrosh Hellscream sulking in Grommash Hold.”
“I did not use it against Orgrimmar, that much is true,” Jaina said. “I was brought to my senses by Kalecgos and by Thrall. But I did use it to defend the Alliance fleet. I now return the book to you, and I have returned the Focusing Iris to Kalecgos.”
“And I,” said Kalec, unexpectedly, “would like to donate the Focusing Iris to the Kirin Tor.”
A murmur went around the room. Even Jaina was startled. “Kalec—that has ever been the treasure of the blue dragonflight.”
“Which is scattered now,” Kalec said, “and no one is left to protect this treasure. We failed to keep it safe, to my shame, and I do not deem myself a fit guardian. Please—will you take it? I know there are many valuable artifacts in Dalaran. I can think of no safer place for it.”
Modera stepped forward and accepted both the stolen book and the Focusing Iris, bowing slightly to Kalecgos. “Your concern is for the safety of others before your
own ego, Kalecgos. This is duly noted.”
Karlain drew himself up to his full height and regarded Jaina with folded arms. “Lady Jaina Proudmoore,” he said, “you did not come here to simply return a book.”
“No,” she said. “I am… I humbly request permission to become a novice member of the Kirin Tor.”
The council had to have been surprised, after she had stayed away for so many years, but they did not appear so. Khadgar gestured, and the other four approached him. They spoke in soft whispers. Jaina turned away politely, to give them as much privacy as possible. Kalec reached for her hand.
“I’d tell you not to worry, but that wouldn’t do much good,” he said.
She smiled a little, then said, “I’m… not sure what I’ll do with myself if they refuse me. Even though I stopped short of destroying Orgrimmar—and I am glad that I did—I still believe Garrosh needs to be removed as warchief. That’s not exactly neutral.”
“You are skilled and intelligent and great of heart, Jaina,” Kalec said gently. “There will always be a place for such as you.”
“Lady Proudmoore?”
The voice belonged to Khadgar, and Jaina turned, her heart racing. “We must deny your request to be a novice member of our august body.”
Jaina felt a sharp stab of disappointment, keener than even she had expected. “I understand,” she said quietly. “My actions cannot be excused.”
Khadgar went on. “They can, however, be atoned for. And you can’t very well be a novice member of the Kirin Tor if you are its leader, now, can you?”
“What?” The word burst from her in a startled yelp more suited to the girl she had once been than the woman she now was. “But I’ve—I’ve not even…” Words failed her, and she stared at him, mute.
“Rhonin sacrificed his life to save you, Lady Jaina. He told you that you were the future of the Kirin Tor.”
Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War Page 32
