"Dammit." She looked over at Paolo, who was now standing over Mal. "How is he?"
"Needs a real healer, but it'll keep till we get back to Theramore." He looked past Lorena toward the main part of Northwatch. "I wouldn't trust no infirmary in this place, ma'am."
Through gritted teeth, Mal said, "Second that, ma'am."
"Fine." Sheathing her sword without wiping it down—Strov assumed she'd do it once they were under way in the boat—Lorena started toward the docks. "Let's get to the ship and give him some of my whiskey to ease the pain when we board."
Smiling raggedly, Mal said, "The colonel's a generous woman."
Giving the corporal a half smile in return, Lorena said, "Not that generous—just two fingers, and no more. That stuff's expensive."
Paolo signaled to Clai, and the two of them picked Mal up, keeping his wounded leg steady while they carried him, each on a side, toward the docks. Strov, meanwhile, picked up Ian's bloodied corpse.
Lorena said to him as they walked, "Private, as soon as we're back in Theramore, I want you to talk to your brother. I want to know everything possible about this Burning Blade."
"Yes, ma'am."
Seven
The stone—walled room that housed Thrall's seat of power as Warchief of the Horde was chilly. Thrall liked it that way—orcs were not creatures of cold, so they were uncomfortable here. He found that it was best for people not to be comfortable while in the presence of their leader. So when the place was constructed, he had made sure the stonework was thick and there were no windows. Illumination was provided only by lanterns, rather than torches, since they gave off less heat.
Not that it was ever so cold as to be truly unpleasant. He did not want his people to suffer when they were petitioning him, but nor did he want them to be entirely at ease. It had been a difficult road that Thrall had traveled, and he knew how precious—and precarious—his current position was. He would therefore take advantage of every opportunity he could, even so minor a one as keeping his throne room a bit on the cold side.
He met now with Kalthar, his shaman, and Burx, his strongest warrior. Both stood before Thrall, who sat on the leather chair made from the hides of creatures Thrall himself had slain.
"The humans are still in Northwatch Keep. Last we heard, a ship with more troops was showing up. Sounds to me like they're reinforcing."
"Hardly." Thrall leaned back in his chair. "Lady Proudmoore informed me that she was sending one of her warriors to investigate Captain Bolik's report."
Burx drew himself up. "They don't trust a warrior's word?"
Kalthar, whose green skin had grown pale and wrinkled with age, laughed throatily. "I am sure, Burx, that they trust the word of an orc as much as you would trust the word of a human."
"Humans are cowardly and despicable," Burx said dismissively.
"The humans of Theramore are no such thing." Thrall leaned forward. "And I will not hear them being spoken ill of in my presence again."
Burx stamped his foot. Thrall had to restrain a laugh at the warrior's expense. The gesture reminded Thrall of a human child throwing a temper tantrum; however, among orcs, the action was a legitimate sign of displeasure. For all he was lord of the clans, there were times when Thrall had to forcibly remind himself that he had not been raised among his own kind.
"This is our land, Thrall! Ours! The humans don't have any claim to it. Let them go back across the Great Sea where they belong and let us get back to what life was like before the demons cursed us—away from all foul influences, mortal or not."
Thrall shook his head. He'd thought these arguments had ended two years ago. "The humans occupy the harshest land on Kalimdor, and precious little of it. We didn't even take the Dustwallow Marshes. Jaina's people—"
" ‘Jaina'?" Burx sneered the name.
Now Thrall stood. "Be very careful, Burx. Lady Proudmoore—Jaina—has earned my respect. You, on the other hand, are rapidly losing it."
Burx cowered a bit. "I'm sorry, Warchief—but you gotta understand, you were raised with them. It can sometimes—blind you to what's obvious to the rest of us."
"I am blind to nothing, Burx. You may recall that it was I who opened the eyes of orcs throughout this world who had fallen prey to the demonic curse and to human imprisonment, and reminded them of who they were. Do not presume to lecture me now on—"
They were interrupted by a breathless young orc who ran in. "Thunder lizards!"
Thrall blinked. Thunder Ridge, the home of the creatures in question, was far from here—if there were any in Orgrimmar, there would have been greater warning.
"Where?" Burx asked.
"Far from here, obviously," Kalthar said witheringly, "otherwise there would have been more than a young messenger."
The boy did indeed wear the lightning—shaped nose ring that indicated a messenger. No doubt he had run from Thunder Ridge to report to Thrall. "Speak," Thrall said to the youth.
"I'm from Drygulch Ravine, Warchief. The thunder lizards, they've escaped the ridge, they have."
"How's that possible?" Burx asked.
Glaring at the warrior, Thrall said, "Let him speak, and perhaps we shall learn." To the boy, he said, "Continue."
"A farmer, name of Tulk, he heard himself a stampede. He went callin' his sons to him, and they drove the lizards off, they did, afore they destroyed his crops. But nobody never heard of no thunder lizards leavin' the ridge afore, so he went gatherin' up his sons and the next farmer over and his sons, and they all went to the ridge, they did."
Thrall nodded. Thunder Ridge was bordered by a dense forest of thick—trunked trees that the lizards could not rampage through. One could travel gingerly or lithely through the forests, but thunder lizards were never creatures who moved thus.
"When they got there, they saw that the forest had been razed down to nothin', it had. Lizards, they got themselves a clear path outta the ridge. The farmers are fearin' for their crops, they are."
Thrall, however, was still back on the first part. "Razed? Razed how, precisely?"
"The trees, they was all cut down. Stumps left was only a handswidth or so above the ground."
Burx asked, "Where were they taken?"
The boy shrugged. "Dunno. They didn't see no branches, nothin', just the stumps."
Shaking his head, Thrall asked, "How is this possible?"
"Don't see how it is possible, Warchief," the boy said, "but that's what happened, sure as I'm talkin' to you."
"You've done well." Thrall saluted the boy. "Find yourself some food and drink. There may be more questions for you after you've had your fill."
Nodding, the boy said, "Thank you, Warchief," and ran out.
"The humans," Burx said as soon as the boy had left the throne room. "It's gotta be. They've asked for wood from the trees in Thunder Ridge lots of times. Certainly no orc would defile the land like that."
Although Thrall was reluctant to believe ill of the humans, Burx was right that no orc of Durotar would do such a thing. "They could not have transported so much lumber from Thunder Ridge to the coast without anyone noticing. If they went by land, they'd be seen—same if they went by airship."
"There is a third way," Kalthar said.
Sighing, Thrall shook his head again. "Magic."
"Yes, magic," Burx said. "And the most powerful wizard in Theramore is your precious Lady Proudmoore—Jaina herself."
"It is not Lady Proudmoore," Kalthar said. "This defiling of the land is reprehensible—and the humans are both responsible, and not responsible."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Burx asked angrily.
"You speak in riddles," Thrall said. Then he laughed. "As usual."
"There are great forces at work here, Thrall," Kalthar said. "Powerful sorcery."
Burx stomped his foot again. "Lady Proudmoore has powerful sorcery. The humans got every reason to want those trees. It gives them stronger wood for their boats—which makes it easier for them to harass our trading ships. Plus, it lets the thunder lizar
ds loose, which messes up our farms." Burx walked up in front of Thrall's throne, his face so close that his and Thrall's tusks almost touched. "It fits, Warchief. And you know it."
In a low tone, Thrall said, "What I know, Burx, is that Lady Proudmoore stood against her own father rather than destroy the alliance between Durotar and Theramore. Do you truly think she would abandon it now over trees?"
Burx backed off, throwing up his arms. "Who can say how humans think?"
"I can. As you were so quick to point out before, Burx, I was raised with humans—I have seen both the best and the worst humanity has to offer. And I can tell you now that, while there are most definitely humans who would do this, Jaina Proudmoore is not one of them."
Folding his arms defiantly in front of his chest, Burx said, "There aren't any other human mages on Kalimdor that we know about. Who's that leave, Warchief?"
"I do not know." Thrall smiled. "When Lieutenant Blackmoore had me educated like a human, he had me read many philosophical and scientific treatises. Something that stood out in those lessons was one comment—that the beginning of wisdom is the statement ‘I do not know. The person who cannot make that statement is one who will never learn anything. And I have prided myself on my ability to learn, Burx." He stood again. "Send warriors to Drygulch. Try to corral the thunder lizards. Provide whatever aid they need to bring this problem under control." Then he faced Kaltnar. "Fetch the talisman. I would speak to Lady Proudmoore."
"We should take action!" Burx stomped his foot again, even as Kalthar slowly walked out of the room to do as Thrall had instructed. "We should not be talking."
"Talking is the second step to learning things, Burx. I intend to learn who was responsible for this. Now go and follow my instructions."
Burx started to say something, but Thrall would not let him.
"There will be no more from you, Burx! You have made your position quite clear! However, I think even you will agree that the needs of Drygulch are more immediate. Now go and do as I have said before our farms truly are devastated."
"Of course, Warchief," Burx said. He saluted as the boy had, and then departed.
Thrall hoped that his defense of Jaina was earned. In his heart, he knew it was. But if Jaina Proudmoore did not steal their trees and let loose the thunder lizards—who did?
Eight
Lorena was led into Lady Proudmoore's chambers by Duree, that lunatic old woman who managed the lady's affairs, only to find that the room was empty.
Whirling on Duree, over whom she loomed by a full head, Lorena said, "Where is she?"
"She'll be back soon, stop your fretting. It's been an hour since she went off to meet with that orc Warchief—oughta be back any moment now."
Frowning, Lorena asked, "She's meeting with Thrall?"
Putting her hand to her mouth, Duree said, "Oh dear, I wasn't supposed to mention that. Just forget I said anything, will you please, dear?"
The colonel said nothing, instead twisting her square face into a snarl designed with the express purpose of getting the old woman out of the chambers.
At that, it succeeded rather admirably, as Duree dashed from the chambers, her spectacles falling off her nose.
A moment later, Kristoff entered. "Colonel. Duree said you had a report."
Lorena looked at the chamberlain. Like the old woman, Kristoff was a necessary evil—after all, a nation did not run on soldiering alone. One of the first lessons her father and brothers had taught her was to be good to the clerks and the like. They were the people who kept any unit functioning, far more than any high—ranking officers.
She found Duree so annoying that she did not put that advice to good use with her, but Kristoff was the lady's right hand. So Lorena put aside her intense dislike for the man himself and forced a smile onto her face.
"Yes, Chamberlain, I have a report for the lady, which I'll give her as soon as she arrives."
Kristoff smiled. It was the most insincere smile Lorena had ever seen, and after spending years guarding the keep at Kul Tiras, it was against some stiff competition. "You may give it to me, and I can assure you that I will pass it on to Lady Proudmoore."
"I prefer to wait for milady myself, sir, if you don't mind."
"She is away on official business." Kristoff inhaled sharply. "She could be some time."
Giving the chamberlain an insincere smile of her own, the colonel said, "The lady's a mage—when her business is conducted, she'll be back in an instant. And she wished me to report directly to her."
"Colonel—"
Whatever Kristoff was about to say was lost to a loud popping sound and a flash of light that heralded the arrival of Lady Proudmoore.
She wasn't much to look at, the colonel had always thought, but she had also learned early on that mages were not ones to judge on appearances. Lorena had spent all her life trying to make herself look as male as possible—keeping her hair cut short, not shaving her legs, wearing undergarments that hid her breasts—and even with all that, she was often dismissed as being «just» a woman. It amazed Lorena how this small, pale woman with her golden hair and deep blue eyes managed to gain the respect of so many.
In part, Lorena supposed it was the way she carried herself. She seemed to be the tallest person in whatever room she stood in, even though she was often the shortest. Her clothes all tended to be white: boots, blouse, pantaloons, cloak. Most amazingly, the clothes remained a shiny white. It took a week out of every year of a soldier's life to keep the white trim in the plate armor from turning brown or gray, and most were unsuccessful, yet Lady Proudmoore's clothes almost glowed.
Lorena supposed that was a fortuitous side effect of being a powerful mage.
"Colonel, you've returned." Lady Proudmoore spoke as if she'd been standing in the room all along. "Please report."
Quickly and concisely, Lorena told the lady, as well as the chamberlain, what she and her people had learned at Northwatch.
Kristoff pursed his thin lips. "I've never heard of this Burning Blade."
"I have." The lady had flipped back her hood, letting her golden curls loose, and sat at her desk while Lorena was giving her report, and she now put a finger to her chin. "There was an orc clan by that name, but they've been wiped out. And some of the Elite Guard have mentioned it in passing."
Lorena didn't like the sound of this. It was one thing for Strov to have heard of it, but if rumors of this organization were reaching the lady's personal guards, then something was amiss. "These were orcs, ma'am, that much I'm sure of."
"Or were made to look like orcs," Lady Proudmoore said. "They obviously had use of magic—which is vexing enough—and therefore could have been deliberately masking themselves. After all, an unprovoked attack on human soldiers by orcs would do much to destabilize our alliance."
"It is also possible," Kristoff said, "that these are orc agitators who are using this extinct clan for their own purposes."
Lorena shook her head. "That doesn't explain how Private Strov's brother heard of them in a Theramore tavern."
The lady nodded, her thoughts seeming to turn inward, as if she forgot there were others in the room. Lorena had known few wizards in her time, but they all had a tendency to wander mentally.
However, unlike those other mages—who often needed a club to the head to pay attention to the world around them—Lady Proudmoore usually was able to bring herself back to reality on her own. She did so now, and stood up. "Colonel, I want you to investigate this Burning Blade. We need to know who they are, how they operate, especially if they're using magic. If they have orc recruits, then why try to lure humans? Get to the bottom of it, Lorena—use whoever you need."
Standing straight, Lorena saluted. "Yes, ma'am."
"Kristoff, I'm afraid I'm going to need to depart immediately. Thunder lizards have gotten loose from Thunder Ridge, and are endangering Drygulch Ravine."
Frowning, the chamberlain said, "I fail to see how that concerns us—or you."
"A section of the
forest that keeps the lizards contained in the ridge has been razed to the stump. Orcs did not do that."
"How can you be sure of that?" Kristoff sounded incredulous.
Lorena felt much the same way at the chamberlain's idiotic words. "It can't possibly have been orcs." Realizing she spoke out of turn, she shot Lady Proudmoore a look. "I'm sorry, ma'am."
Smiling, the lady said, "Quite all right. Please, continue."
Looking back at Kristoff, Lorena said, "Even when they were cursed by the Burning Legion, orcs would never do such a thing. Orcs have always had a reverence for the land that, frankly, borders on the psychotic."
Lady Proudmoore chuckled. "Actually, I'd say that the human proclivity for abuse of nature is what borders on the psychotic, but the colonel's point is well taken. Orcs simply aren't capable of doing that—especially given what would happen with the thunder lizards. That leaves the trolls, who have ceded themselves to Thrall's rule, the goblins, who are neutral, and us—allies of Durotar." She sighed. "In addition, there is no sign of the lumber that was cut down. It had to have been transported, but there are no reports of any convoys, by air or land. Which means magic."
Not liking the sound of that at all, Lorena asked, "Ma'am, do you believe the Burning Blade had something to do with it?"
"After hearing your report, Colonel, I'm very much inclined in that direction—and that's what I want you to learn."
Kristoff folded his spindly arms over his small chest. "I fail to see how this requires your being away from Theramore."
"I promised Thrall I would investigate personally." She smiled wryly. "Right now, I'm his best suspect for performing this act, since cutting down the trees and teleporting them elsewhere on Kalimdor is well within my abilities. What better way to prove my innocence than to learn the truth myself?"
"I can think of several ways," Kristoff said sourly.
Lady Proudmoore walked around to the other side of her desk, standing face to face with her chamberlain. "There is another reason. It is quite possible that magic is afoot here. Powerful magic. If there is magic of this much power on Kalimdor, I need to know who is wielding it—and learn why the mage in question has remained secretive."
Cycle of Hatred (world of warcraft) Page 6
