Before the Storm

by Christie Golden

  The Prime Governor herself stood not on the topmost stair but one step below it. This time, someone else—someone who should have been at every single meeting of the council—would finally be present and occupying that place. Archbishop Faol, who had become a regular at the Undercity over the last few weeks, stood beside Elsie. They put their heads together and talked quietly.

  The room was filled to capacity. Those who drew breath doubtless would have difficulty doing so in this room; Parqual was well aware that although some of the Forsaken had dried out rather than decayed, most of their number had been raised while they rotted, and the smell could not be a pleasant one.

  Elsie was smiling. So were most of those assembled. They were excited to be present for this meeting. Parqual was glad, too, but was not as hopeful as they were about the end results. He and a few others wanted to move much faster than patient, forgiving Elsie did. He did not expect Sylvanas to move at a rapid pace, but he was willing to listen to what she had to say.

  All at once, the room went quiet. Parqual turned and saw the figure of Nathanos Blightcaller standing in the doorway at the end of the long corridor that led into the large room.

  Nathanos waited for a moment, then announced: “Queen Sylvanas Windrunner, warchief of the Horde and beloved Dark Lady of the Forsaken, has arrived.”

  A cheer arose. Not as lively as an orc’s bellow or as sweet as a hurrah from a blood elf, but as genuine as it could possibly be coming from dead throats. And then she was there.

  Even here, in the safest place in the world for her, Sylvanas Windrunner had chosen not to shed her armor, Parqual mused. Did she simply never remove it?

  She stood straight and tall, unlike so many of those who adored her. Beautiful still, whereas they had been ravaged by death and rebirth. Then she inclined her head in acceptance of their adoration and strode with a smooth, elegant gait toward her place as queen of the Forsaken.

  “I have missed this place,” she said as she looked around fondly, nodding to a few individuals she recognized. “And I have missed you, my people. The orcs, blood elves, trolls, tauren, goblins, and pandaren are worthy and loyal members of the Horde, but they do not have the unique bond that you, the Forsaken, and I do.”

  There was a rumble of appreciation for the acknowledgment. With other races, it would be applause and stamping of feet. The Forsaken, however, had learned it wasn’t wise to unduly wear out their appendages prematurely with such gestures. Clapping was terrible for the hands.

  Sylvanas looked down at Elsie. “Prime Governor. I hear from my loyal Nathanos that you have taken good care of my realm in my absence.”

  Elsie inclined her head and bowed as deeply as she could. “Only because you were absent, my queen. We are dearly glad that you have come back.”

  “Only for a few hours, unfortunately,” Sylvanas said. The regret in her voice sounded sincere. “But in that time, I hope I will be able to settle some things that will please everyone here.” She looked out again at all of them.

  “I understand that the Prime Governor has also received a letter from the king of Stormwind. He proposes a day’s cease-fire in the Arathi Highlands in order to hold a gathering of Forsaken and humans. Families or friends who have been separated by the slaughter that took place in this city only a few years past.”

  Sylvanas turned her crimson gaze to Archbishop Faol. “Archbishop Faol has been speaking both to him and to the Desolate Council. What are your thoughts on this, Archbishop?”

  Faol didn’t reply at once. He looked out at the gathered crowd, then back at Sylvanas. “You can trust King Anduin, Your Majesty. He means no ill. I know from my conversations with the Prime Governor and others in the Undercity that all those here today—and more than a few Forsaken who could not be present—are in favor of this gathering. It remains to be seen if the human half of this plan is also amenable. If they are, I and another priest from the Conclave would be honored to supervise the event.”

  Excited murmuring swept through the hall. The Dark Lady paced back and forth for a moment, considering. Or pretending to consider, Parqual thought. She already knows what she will do. This moment is for our benefit.

  Finally, she stopped and faced the throng. “I will permit this.”

  A cheer went up. Not a murmuring of approval but a genuine cheer, even louder than the one that had greeted the Dark Lady. Sylvanas let her lips curve in a faint smile, then lifted her hand, calling for silence.

  “But I must above all ensure the safety of my beloved Forsaken,” she said. “So here is what I will say to the king when I reply. Each member of the Desolate Council will submit five names, in order of preference, of people in Stormwind they would like to meet. If these individuals are still alive, they will be contacted and asked if they wish to participate. The king and a priest selected by the good archbishop will permit only those whom they deem sincere to attend. I will tell him that his people may assemble at Stromgarde Keep. On the selected date, we will fly to Thoradin’s Wall before dawn. Champion Blightcaller, I, and two hundred of my finest archers will be there…in case the human king decides to betray our trust.”

  It was possible. It was unlikely from this king if half the things Parqual had heard about him were true, but it was indeed possible. And he had to admit Sylvanas’s words were a comfort.

  “Twenty-five priests will be mounted on bats and actively patrolling the field. In case of an open attack, teams of my dark rangers and others will be sent to defend you. I will allow the king to field a similar number of priest defenders, although I do not expect any member of the council to initiate hostilities.”

  It was a lot to protect twenty-two Forsaken. But Parqual was highly aware of the significance of this meeting, as, clearly, were Anduin and Sylvanas.

  “At sunrise, you will walk forward to a halfway point that will be marked by Horde and Alliance banners. Archbishop Faol and his assistant will meet you there. As will your Alliance counterparts.”

  Parqual had thought he had passed beyond the ability of such things to cause deep emotion, but apparently not.

  Philia. Would they be able to find her? Would she want to come? What would she think if she did? He was suddenly acutely aware of how bent and twisted his body was, of flesh that stank, hanging off exposed bones. Would she be horrified?

  No. Now that the possibility was manifesting, he realized he had wronged her by fearing her revulsion. Not his Philia. He was quietly certain of that. If his heart could still beat, it would be racing with excitement. He felt a gentle touch on his right shoulder and turned to Elsie. She was smiling for him. Oh, Elsie, if only your Wyll had lived just a little bit longer.

  But Sylvanas, apparently unaware of how profoundly her words had affected him and others, continued. “All participants will be allowed to remain on the field until dusk. At that time, you will return to the wall, and the humans to Stromgarde Keep.”

  She paused, again scanning the crowd. “Obviously, what I have just said assumes that everything goes smoothly. There is a chance that it will not. If I perceive any kind of danger to you, my people, I shall immediately order a retreat. A Forsaken flag—not a Horde one—will fly on the ramparts of the wall, and the horn will sound. If the Alliance decides to order a retreat, the same thing will happen, except they will fly the Stormwind flag on Stromgarde Keep and sound their own horn. If either horn is sounded, you must turn around and return to the wall at once.”

  Her voice cracked like a whip and echoed in the vast chamber. The effect was chilling, and the crowd was utterly silent.

  “Now, then. Are there any questions?”

  Parqual steadied himself and raised his hand. The glowing red gaze fell upon him. “Speak,” Sylvanas said.

  “Will we be allowed to exchange anything?”

  “Exchanges of trinkets will be permitted in the following manner,” Sylvanas said. “Prior to the event, anyth
ing you wish to give to your counterparts will be examined. There will be areas on the field where they may be placed on tables when you reach the meeting site. The Alliance will do the same. Do not touch anything they have left on the tables while you are on the field. At the end of the day, these items will be collected and gone through to ensure they are safe and contain nothing seditious. They will be distributed to you at a later date. The Alliance will, I hope, do the same with your gifts.”

  “Our Dark Lady is most generous,” Parqual said.

  Sylvanas inclined her head. “I take it you have an item you wish to share.”

  “I do.” He thought fondly of a toy Philia once had loved. She had left it behind when—

  “Then it is my sincere hope that the Alliance does not decide to throw it away,” Sylvanas said in that soft, purring voice. It was a cruel thought, and Parqual did not like to entertain it.

  “Any other questions?”

  Another hand was raised. “May we touch them? Our loved ones?”

  “You may,” Sylvanas replied. “Although I cannot guarantee that such a touch would be welcome.”

  Again, an unkind thought. Doubt stirred in Parqual’s mind, but he forced it back. Not his Philia. He had hoped hearing from his leader would make him feel better, but instead, he felt unsettled and unhappy. Others seemed to feel that way, too. And then he understood.

  Sylvanas didn’t want them to do this, but she couldn’t come out and simply forbid it. There were too many of them. Their ideas were spreading. Even people like Elsie, who were completely loyal to the Dark Lady, who loved her…even Elsie wanted to take the Forsaken in a different direction. So Sylvanas was doing what she could to rob them of any little pleasure in the planning.

  Suddenly he saw his “queen” in a new light. He saw many, many things in a new light.

  As if reading his mind, Sylvanas said, “I realize I do not sound optimistic. That is because I am not. I confess to you now, I wish you would not do this. Not because I would deny you any joy but because I would not see you hurt. You are ready to embrace your living relatives. But do they feel the same? What will you do if they do not wish to see you? If they think you abominations, monstrosities instead of the remarkable, courageous Forsaken that you are? If I am cruel, it is only to be compassionate.”

  “Everyone knows that, my lady!” Elsie exclaimed.

  “Thank you, Prime Governor,” Sylvanas said. “Are there any more questions?”

  There had to be. But no one was daring to ask them, and Parqual thought he had drawn enough attention to himself.

  “If there are not, Prime Governor, I have some for you. Will you join me later to discuss them?”

  “As my queen wishes,” Elsie said. She turned to the crowd. “Everyone, I hope you share my pleasure and anticipation of the coming reunion with our loved ones. I would like to thank Warchief Sylvanas again for permitting this to happen. It is my fondest wish in the world that this goes smoothly so that we may see our friends and families more in our future. For the Dark Lady!”

  Another cheer went up, and Sylvanas smiled fleetingly, then stepped down off the dais. The crowd of Forsaken parted for her. The cheering continued until Sylvanas, flanked by two dark rangers, disappeared into the corridor.

  Parqual turned to Elsie. “You seem a little melancholy,” he said. “I thought you would be happy.”

  “Oh! Oh, yes, I am. I do admit I’m feeling just a bit sorry for myself, though. I wish I’d been able to see my Wyll. To show him that after all this time I still have my wedding ring.”

  Surprised, Parqual glanced down at her hand. She chuckled. “Oh, no, of course it doesn’t fit on my finger anymore. My hands are too bony, and I wouldn’t want to risk losing it. But it’s safe and sound in my room at the inn nonetheless.”

  He thought of Philia. “Elsie, I’m so sorry,” he said.

  She waved a hand. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ve had more luck and love than most. Wyll’s legacy will be that many others are going to be able to experience something wonderful thanks to him. It’s all right if we two didn’t get to have it. One can’t have everything.”

  She leaned in conspiratorially to Parqual and whispered, “Even so, I’m going to loop the ring on a chain and wear it to the gathering.”

  “Somehow I think he’ll know,” Parqual said, and meant it.

  Anduin had frankly expected either an immediate refusal from Sylvanas or a dragged-out back-and-forth communication chain. To his pleasure—and surprise—the Horde leader had replied promptly that she was indeed interested in supporting his proposal. But, Sylvanas had written, we will start with a small, well-vetted group. I will not risk tempting the less noble among your people to assassination.

  There was a second letter, too. This one had cemented the rightness of his decision in his mind—and touched his heart as well.

  Dear King Anduin,

  Thank you for taking the time to write so kind a note informing me of my dear Wyll’s passing. He was terribly fond of your family, and it pleases me to know that the boy he took care of became the man who comforted him as he left this world.

  We all will die eventually, even we Forsaken. It moves me more than you might imagine to know his last thoughts were of me. He has never been far from mine.

  Archbishop Faol has been a very kind presence here, and I write today not only to thank you but to let you know that all twenty-two members of the Desolate Council gladly accept your offer to meet with our loved ones who yet breathe—if they want to meet with us.

  Our beloved Dark Lady has asked each member of the council for five names to submit to you. This way, if one person is no longer living or doesn’t wish to attend, there are other options for reunions.

  As for me, I’ve no one left that I know of to meet during this gathering of the living and the undead. Wyll and I weren’t young when death parted us, and most of our connections were with the royal families and servants.

  If pressed, I would say I should very much like to meet you to express my gratitude in person, but I would understand that such a thing would be far too risky for you. Even suggesting this gathering shows much courage, and I commend you.

  Know that your letter is now one of my most cherished belongings, such as they are, second only to the wedding ring Wyll gave me so long ago, when we were both young and happy and the world was full of hope.

  Thank you for making it full of hope once again, if only for a single day.

  With respect,

  ELSIE BENTON

  Anduin felt himself smiling. It faded as he mentally acknowledged that there were others who, though they would certainly be surprised by the pair of responses, would not be at all pleased.

  A knock on the door brought him out of his reverie. “Come in,” he called. He braced himself for another scolding from one of his advisers but was surprised when the guard opened the door and Calia Menethil entered.

  He rose and went to her. “Calia,” he exclaimed, “it’s good to see you. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” He had been working at a table and now pulled up a second chair for his guest.

  She slipped into the proffered seat. “I reached out to Laurena. I was worried about your friend. I’m so sorry, Anduin.” Her eyes, the same sea-blue that Anduin had seen in old paintings of Arthas, were filled with sympathy. “I understand that Wyll asked you not to heal him. As a priest, I know how hard a request that is to honor. Especially when it’s someone you love.”

  “Thank you. Wyll was such a constant presence in my life—and in my father’s, too. I’m ashamed I knew so little about him personally. To me, he was just…Wyll.” Anduin paused. “You’ve been with the dying, Calia. You know that sometimes when people pass, they believe they see their loved ones.”

  She nodded her golden head. “Yes. It happens frequently.”

  “In his last
moments, Wyll was searching for his wife, Elsie.” He looked at her intensely. “She was at Lordaeron.”

  Calia inhaled swiftly. “Oh,” she said. “And now you’re even more determined to make this gathering happen.”

  “I’m absolutely committed to it. My advisers were…not exactly happy with the idea, but it’s going to happen.” He held up both letters. “Two letters. One is from the warchief herself. She’s accepted.”

  Calia’s face melted into a smile. “Oh, Anduin, I’m so glad! And the second?”

  “From Elsie Benton. The head of the Undercity’s Desolate Council. She was Wyll’s wife. And she wants this meeting, too.”

  Suddenly Calia was up out of the chair and throwing her arms around him, laughing delightedly. He laughed a little, too, the first laughter that had passed his lips since Wyll’s death. He hugged her back. Calia was close to Jaina’s age, a little bit older. He had missed his “aunt,” and was glad to have found someone similar in Calia.

  She drew back, suddenly realizing what she’d done. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I was just so pleased—”

  “No apology needed. It’s good to have someone who…well, who’s similar to me in some ways. We both grew up royal children, and we both were called by the Light to become priests. If Moira were to drop in now, we could form a club.”

  Anduin regretted mentioning Calia’s former life almost at once. She stiffened and looked down. It was clearly still something she didn’t wish to discuss. Before the moment grew awkward, he spoke again, changing the subject.

  “Sylvanas sent along a list of names gathered from all the members of the Desolate Council. I’m wondering: Would you like to assist me when I interview these people?”

  They both knew, but Anduin did not say, that she would be of particular help because she might remember some of the Desolate Council from their time as living beings. And she also might recognize some of the names on the council’s list.

  She nodded. “Of course. I’ll be happy to.”