Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War

9

“We ought to be able to figure this out,” said Jaina, anger—a feeling she rarely experienced—creeping into her voice. “We’ve got a blue dragon, two extremely skilled magi, and a talented and insightful apprentice. Plus the Kirin Tor at our disposal.” She ran a hand through her blond hair, forcing back the emotion that threatened to cloud her thoughts. She couldn’t afford the luxury of anger or irritation now. She had to think.

“Lady, there simply is no record anywhere of a spell that can hide a magical object from being sensed by a superior mage,” Kinndy said. “We’ve got to assume that Kalecgos here is superior to any mage of the shorter-lived Azerothian races. And begging your pardon, but it’s hard to sit here and think and ponder and twiddle our thumbs while Northwatch may be falling to the Horde right this moment!”

“Not to make light of your concern, Kinndy,” said Kalecgos, “but if I do not recover the Focusing Iris, the destruction that could be wrought on this world will make the fall of Northwatch look like a captured piece in a board game.”

Kinndy frowned and looked away.

“We all are distracted,” Jaina said, forcing calm upon her mind. “But Kalec’s right. The sooner we can figure out how its abductors are hiding the Focusing Iris from Kalec’s sensing, the safer we will all be.”

Kinndy nodded. “I know, I know,” she said. “But… it’s hard.”

Jaina regarded her apprentice and thought of the last time she had seen her own master, Antonidas. They had stood together in his happily disorganized study, and she had asked—begged—to stay and help him defend Dalaran against Arthas Menethil. Arthas had already arrived, was standing right outside, shouting taunts that wounded Jaina as much as if they had been physical arrows. How desperately she had wanted to protect the beautiful mage city—and how bitter it had been to know that Arthas, her Arthas, was the one responsible for the threat to it. But Antonidas had refused to permit her to linger. “You have other duties,” he had said. “Keep safe those you have promised to take care of, Jaina Proudmoore. One more or one less here… will make no difference.”

Jaina had no doubt that she and Kalec could make a difference at Northwatch—if they arrived in time. But even if they did, what then? Every minute counted now. They still didn’t know who had the cursed artifact, or what his or her plans were. And so, just as leaving Antonidas to die and Dalaran to fall had been the right thing to do, wrenching though the choice had been, she had to believe that staying here and finding the Iris were the right things to do this time.

Jaina felt the tears in her eyes again, even after so long. She reached over and squeezed Kinndy’s limp hand. “Part of becoming a mage, and having so much responsibility, is learning how to make the hard choices. I understand how you feel, Kinndy. But we are where we need to be.”

Kinndy nodded. The gnome girl was tired, as were they all. Her pink hair was messily tied, and there were circles under her large eyes. Tervosh looked years older than his actual age. Even Kalec’s lips were pressed together in a thin line, and Jaina didn’t want to know what she looked like. She’d been avoiding mirrors.

Her brow furrowed as she examined yet another scroll. Then, abruptly, she put it down and looked at them all. “Kinndy is right about the fact that there is no known record of a spell that can do what is being done. But obviously, someone figured it out, because it’s happening right now. Someone is hiding the artifact from Kalecgos. And I simply refuse to believe that we can’t undo this!” She slammed her hand down on the table and they all looked at her, startled. Jaina never erupted in fits of temper. “If we know what spell was used, or even can make a guess at the type, we can determine how to counter it.”

“But—” Kinndy said, then bit her lip as Jaina shot her a sharp look.

“No buts. No excuses.”

No one knew how to respond. Kalecgos was regarding her curiously, a faint frown of worry on his lips. Once again, Jaina reached for calm. “I’m sorry I raised my voice. But surely, surely we will find a way to solve this!”

Kinndy rose and got them all fresh tea as they sat in silence. Finally, Kalecgos spoke in a halting, uncertain voice.

“Let’s agree that there is no known spell that can hide so powerful an object from a mage as skilled as I am. Especially as I have a unique connection to the Focusing Iris,” he said. Jaina took a sip of the tea, letting the familiar scent and taste steady her, and nodded that he should continue. “So the logical conclusion is either that there is a mage out there clever enough to create such a spell, or… that’s not what’s going on here.”

“What do you mean, ‘that’s not what’s going on here’?” yelped Kinndy. “That’s exactly what’s going on!”

Jaina lifted a hand. It trembled slightly… with renewed hope. “Hold on a moment,” she said. “Kalec… I think I know what you’re getting at.”

He smiled, radiant and happy. “I knew you would.”

“It’s not actually being hidden,” Jaina said, encouraged by his reaction. She worked it through step by step as she spoke, getting to her feet and pacing. “We just think it is because we can’t sense it.”

“And we can’t sense it because it’s not what we’re looking for,” Kalec said.

“Exactly!”

“Someone care to enlighten us poor mortals?” said Tervosh dryly. He was leaning his chair back, the front two legs off the floor. “I’m not following this at all.”

Jaina turned to him. “What were you last Hallow’s End?” she said. She fought back a pang as she recalled one Hallow’s End in particular. Arthas had invited her to Lordaeron for the traditional lighting of the wicker man. The effigy was supposed to metaphorically “burn away” things those watching the event wished to be free of. Jaina had lit the wicker man on fire with a spell, to the delight of the onlookers. Later that night, Jaina felt that she and Arthas had cast a spell of their own. By the light of the flames of the wicker man, Jaina herself had taken Arthas’s hand and led him to the bed where they would first become lovers.

“I… beg your pardon?” Tervosh looked at her as if she had gone quite mad. Jaina firmly steered her thoughts back to the present—and the problem they might just be on the verge of solving.

“What did you become in order to attend the celebrations?” she asked the other mage.

And Tervosh’s eyes widened as comprehension dawned. He leaned forward, and the chair came to the floor with a thump. “The silly little spell from that commonplace wand made me become a pirate,” he said.

“I am trying to magically sense one thing, and it is manifesting as something else. That ‘silly little spell’ you speak of provides just enough misdirection so that I can’t trace the Focusing Iris,” said Kalecgos. His gaze grew distant, and then he grinned. “Or at least… I couldn’t!”

“And you can now!” Kinndy crowed excitedly.

He nodded. “Yes—and no. It comes and goes.”

“Because whoever put the silly little spell on the thing knows that he or she needs to change it from time to time because it wears off,” said Jaina.

“Exactly!” Kalec, who had also risen during the conversation, now closed the distance between himself and Jaina in three long-legged strides. Jaina thought he was going to embrace her, but he merely clasped her hands, squeezing them tightly. His hands were warm and strong and comforting.

“Jaina, you’re brilliant,” he said.

She felt color rise to her face. “I just followed through on your idea,” she said.

“I had a general idea,” he said. “You figured out precisely what happened and how to see through the illusion. I have to go, now that I know where it is.” He hesitated. “I realize you’re concerned about Northwatch, but… please stay here. I can track the Focusing Iris, but I don’t have it back yet. I may still need your help.”

Jaina thought painfully of what might be transpiring—or what might have already transpired—at Northwatch Hold. She bit her lip for a moment, then nodded.

“I will stay,” she said.

“Thank you. I know how difficult this must be.”

“Good luck, Kalecgos,” said Tervosh.

“I hope you find it quickly,” said Kinndy.

“Thank you. I certainly have a better chance now. You have all been of such great help. I hope that I will have good news for you shortly.”

As he started to stride out, Jaina followed him. They said nothing as they descended the winding stairway to the ground level, and neither felt the silence uncomfortable. Kalec stepped out into the sunlight and turned once again to Jaina.

“You will find it,” Jaina said firmly.

Kalec smiled gently. “When you say it so confidently, I believe I will,” he replied.

“Be safe,” she said, then felt foolish. He was a dragon, and not just any dragon—a former Aspect. What on this continent could truly threaten him? And then she thought of the dragons that had been killed when the Focusing Iris had been abducted, and suddenly her concern didn’t feel quite so foolish after all.

“I will,” he said seriously. Then a grin got the better of him. “I’ll be back for more of those delicious biscuits you serve with your tea.”

Jaina laughed. He lingered a moment longer—why, she wasn’t certain—then bowed and moved a distance away from her.

He changed so swiftly she gasped. Where before a handsome, half-elven male had stood, suddenly there was an enormous blue dragon, no less handsome in his own way, but also powerful and not a little frightening. To call him “blue” was to insult the vast palette of that color with which he had been painted. Azure, cobalt, cerulean, even the unique light blue shade of ice—Kalecgos the dragon bore them all. He flexed mighty wings, doubtless enjoying the sensation after staying so long in his half-elven form. Beautiful, deadly, dangerous, glorious—he was all these things, and Jaina suddenly paled when she recalled how sharply she had spoken to him on occasion.

He could not read her thoughts, but perhaps he didn’t have to. Kalecgos switched a tail adorned with barbs that looked like icicles, turned his massive horned head on his long, sinuous neck, and caught Jaina’s gaze. She couldn’t look away.

He gave her a quick wink. He was Kalecgos, the mighty dragon, the former Aspect, yes. And he was Kalec, the humorous, insightful friend who had taught her the true beauty and magnificence inherent in the arcane.

The almost alarmed awe in which Jaina had held him a moment ago dissolved, like a snowflake in the sunlight, and the mage felt her whole body shed tension as if she were dropping a too-heavy cloak. She gave him a smile and a wave. He dipped his head in acknowledgment, then looked skyward. His massive feet moved beneath him as, like a giant cat, he gathered himself for the leap.

Then Kalecgos was airborne, the great wings creating a gentle wind as they beat. Upward he flew, swiftly and with purpose. Jaina shielded her eyes against the sun as he climbed higher, becoming a small dot against the sky, and then finally disappeared.

She stood there a moment longer, then turned and entered the keep, wondering why she felt oddly bereft.

Hallow’s End costumes indeed.

Kalecgos snorted as he flew, trying and failing to keep from scolding himself for missing something so simple. But the similarity that had alerted Jaina to the spell’s nature came from a celebration that was not of his culture. Hallow’s End was not a dragon festival, nor were the great creatures accustomed to donning costumes… well, other than their bipedal forms, of course, but those were simply another manifestation of themselves. It was not intended as an illusion or trick.

Or was it? After all, some dragons did use this transformation of their appearance to mingle with the younger races, unnoticed. Therefore, one could, albeit uncharitably, call it a trick. But Kalecgos had never felt that he was in disguise as Kalec. He was… himself. He just looked different.

It was all very confusing, this penchant of the younger races to use magic in so lighthearted a fashion. It had taken Jaina, who was familiar with such basic little magics, to put two and two together. It was yet another example of why, in this new world that had averted the Hour of Twilight, the dragons needed to listen to what they formerly dismissed as frivolousness.

Now that he knew what was going on, as he told Jaina, he could sense the Focusing Iris by magically “looking for” what it really was, not what its captors wanted it to be—focusing on the true arcane essence of the artifact and not the “costume” it “wore.” Even so, Kalecgos still did not sense it as strongly as he had before it had vanished. But it was there, like a faint whiff of a scent in the mind. There were moments—long ones—when it seemed to disappear again. At such times, Kalecgos called on the patience of his race and simply hovered, trusting that the Focusing Iris would reappear to his now-awakened understanding of what to seek.

One issue both puzzled and worried him, and that was the speed at which the cursed thing was traveling. It seemed to be… flying at speeds he knew none of the younger races should be able to achieve. How was that possible? Who had the ability to do this? If he could figure that out, he would solve the mystery.

A thought, seductive and heartbreaking at the same time, crept into his mind: Would he have been able to find the Focusing Iris more quickly if he still had an Aspect’s abilities?

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 the 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.