Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War

23

It had been Jaina herself who had designed the statue. She had covered the costs and selected the artist. Now Antonidas supervised the city he had given his life to protect. The image of her friend had had a spell cast upon it so that it hovered about six feet off the grass. Below the image of the great man was a plaque:

Jaina now stood on the soft green grass and looked up at her friend. The sculptor had been talented, able to capture Antonidas’s combination of sternness and kindness. In one hand ceaselessly turned a small orb, sparkling with magic. In the other, Antonidas bore his greatstaff, Archus.

Jaina still kept the book hidden in her cloak, lest some sharp eye spy it. She placed a hand on it as it lay, solid and reassuring, wrapped in the fabric.

The memories flowed easily and, for the most part, painlessly here, in the shadow of her mentor’s statue. This man had seen so much promise in her and had taught her with cheer, enthusiasm, and pride. She remembered long conversations with him about esoteric matters and the finer points of magic, such as the positioning of one’s fingers and the angle of one’s body. At that time, both she and he had been certain that in Dalaran she would progress far, even rise high in the Kirin Tor. And the beautiful city would be her home.

The soft smile that had touched her lips faded. So much—too much—had happened. She clung to the hope that somehow her mentor had reached past the grasp of death to guide her to the book that would tell her precisely how to use the Focusing Iris. She hoped he would bless her endeavor. Surely he would, if he had seen what she had seen.

A gentle touch on her shoulder caused her to start and almost drop the cloak-wrapped book. She caught it at the last second and turned.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Kalecgos said.

Paranoia gripped her. “How did you know I was here?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light and casual.

“I returned to the Nexus, after we… after you left. I sensed your arrival here in Dalaran from there.” His blue eyes were unhappy. “I think I can guess why you’ve come.”

She looked away. “I came to ask for help from the Kirin Tor. Help to fight the Horde after what they did to Theramore. They refused me.”

He hesitated, then said quietly, “Jaina… I went to Theramore too. If the bomb fell on the city, and we know it did, then the Focusing Iris should have been there as well. It was gone.”

“I’m willing to bet the Horde sent someone to retrieve it,” Jaina said. “I fought several of them.”

“That’s likely,” he said in agreement.

“Can you still sense it?” she asked.

“No. But I would definitely know if it had been destroyed. So that means that once again, it appears that a powerful mage is hiding it from me—and doing an even better job this time. And as we have so tragically seen, if it still exists, it can be used to do great harm in this world.”

So… her shielding spell had worked. “Then you’d better be about finding it.” She disliked lying to him, but she knew he wouldn’t understand. Or… would he? If he had been to Theramore… seen what she had seen… maybe he shared her feelings.

“Kalec—the Kirin Tor won’t help me. You once said you would fight for me—for the lady of Theramore. Theramore’s gone. But I’m still here.” Impulsively she reached out and grasped his hand. He held hers tightly. “Help me. Please. We have to destroy the Horde. They won’t stop with just this, and you know it.”

She could see the struggle in his soul reflected on his face and understood how deeply he truly cared for her. As, she was coming to realize, she cared for him. But this was no time for the gentle sweetness of courtship, of romance. There was no room for love when the Horde still existed, was able to do such hideous things. She needed every weapon she could find, and regardless of her own desires, Jaina knew she had to make her heart turn to steel.

“I can’t do that, Jaina,” he said, and his voice was raw with pain. “This implacable… well, hatred—it’s not you. The Jaina I knew still sought peace. Still tried to understand, even as she prepared to defend her people. I can’t believe you truly want to perpetrate the same horror on them as they did to Theramore. No sane mind, no good heart, should ever wish that on anyone.”

“So, you think I’ve gone insane?” she said lightly but angrily. She drew her hand back.

“No,” he said, “but you are too close to the situation to judge your next course of action wisely. I think you would be acting out of pain, out of anger. No one blames you for feeling that way. But you mustn’t act when you are in this irrational state of mind! I know you, and I believe you’d come to regret it.”

She narrowed her eyes and stepped back. “I know you care for me, and you mean what you say in the kindest way possible. But you’re wrong. This is me. This is who the Horde made me when they dropped that cursed bomb on my city. You don’t want to help me? You don’t hear the voices that cry out for justice? Fine. Don’t help me. But whatever you do, do not get in my way.”

He bowed low as she turned and strode off, clutching the book—the book that Antonidas had warded, the book that would help her let the dead rest in peace, the book that would give her the power to make the Horde taste what it had done—to her heart.

The inn at Razor Hill was raking in the revenue, and the innkeeper, Grosk, didn’t mind at all. Razor Hill had always been a rough-and-tumble town, populated as it usually was with soldiers and transients who never stayed long. With so many coming in for meals and grog at all hours while the celebrating continued in Orgrimmar, Grosk thought—as he made his usual halfhearted effort to “clean” the glasses—that it was about time he got some of the spillover from the capital city. If some of the talk wasn’t all praise and approval, well, so what? There had been grumbling about Thrall, too. People loved to complain. Discontent, about the warchief, the weather, the wars, the other races of the Horde, the Alliance, one’s mate—it was good for business. There was a reason visiting a bar was called “drowning one’s sorrows.”

So with his grungy little inn filled to capacity with all the races of the Horde, Grosk was feeling very good indeed about life.

Until the Kor’kron walked in.

They filled the door, making the dark building even darker as their mammoth forms blocked out the light. Frandis Farley, having a poor excuse for a drink with Kelantir Bloodblade, turned at the sight.

“Trouble,” Kelantir whispered.

“Not necessarily,” Frandis replied in an equally soft voice. Before his companion realized what he was about to do, the undead was waving and calling cheerfully, “Friend Malkorok! Are you slumming? The contents of a chamber pot are probably better than the swill this rascal Grosk serves, but it’s cheap and I hear it does the job. Come, let us buy you a round.”

The Kor’kron looked to their leader, who nodded. “Grosk,” Malkorok rumbled, “drinks all around.” He clapped Frandis on the back so hard the Forsaken nearly fell forward on the table. “I might expect to find tauren or Forsaken here.” He sneered as Grosk busied himself plopping down dirty glasses and a large jug of grog. “But I must say, you look sorely out of place.”

“Not at all,” said Kelantir, narrowing her eyes. “I have been in worse places than this.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Malkorok said. “But why are you not in Orgrimmar?”

“Iron allergy,” Kelantir said. For an instant, Malkorok stared at her, then he threw his head back in a guttural laugh.

“It does seem that you and several others prefer more rustic environments,” he said. “Where is that young bull Baine, and his toady, Vol’jin? I had hoped to speak to them.”

“I have not seen them in a while,” said Kelantir, putting her boots up on the table. “I do not much involve myself with the tauren.”

“Really?” Malkorok looked puzzled. “Yet we have witnesses that put both you and Frandis right in this very inn just last night, in close conversation with both the tauren and the troll, among others. They reported that you were saying things like, ‘Garrosh is a fool, and Thrall should return and kick him all the way to the Undercity, and it was cowardly to use the mana bomb on Theramore.’”

“And the elements,” put in another of the Kor’kron conversationally as he reached for the jug of grog and refilled his cup.

“Yes, the elements—something about how it was too bad Cairne hadn’t killed him when he had the chance, because Thrall would never utilize the elements in such a cruel and insulting fashion.”

The blood elf and the Forsaken were silent now. Malkorok pressed on. “But, if you say you haven’t seen Baine or Vol’jin recently, then I suppose those witnesses must be mistaken.”

“Clearly,” said Frandis. “You need better informants.”

“We must,” Malkorok said in agreement, “for it’s obvious to me that neither of you would ever say such things against Garrosh and his leadership.”

“I’m glad you understand that,” said Frandis. “Thanks for the drinks. Can I buy the next round?”

“No, we had best be on our way. See if we can find Vol’jin and Baine, since, unfortunately for us, they are not here.” Malkorok rose and nodded. “Enjoy your drinks.”

The two watched them go. When the Kor’kron had departed, Kelantir closed her eyes and exhaled.

“That was far too close for comfort.”

“Indeed,” said Frandis. “For half a moment, I expected to be arrested, if not outright attacked.”

The blood elf turned to signal for more drinks, then frowned. “That is odd,” she said. “Grosk is gone.”

“What? With such a crowded inn? He should be hiring more help, not skipping out with several thirsty customers waiting on him.”

Their eyes met. No word was spoken between them, but as one, they rose and charged for the door.

They almost made it until a frost grenade locked them into position. Three frag grenades finished the job, and Razor Hill Inn exploded.

King Varian Wrynn and Prince Anduin stood in a large, open chamber in Stormwind Keep known as the map room, due to the enormous raised map that occupied most of the large space. Two braziers burned, warming the stone chamber. Weapons of war lined the walls, everything from blunderbusses to swords to even three cannons. There were areas piled high with books about military strategy, but for now, Varian and the others gathered here had their attention on the map.

Assembled were representatives of all the Alliance races. Emissary Taluun represented the draenei. Broll spoke for the night elves, and King Genn Greymane for the worgen of Gilneas. Present as well were the gnomes’ high tinker, Gelbin Mekkatorque, and three dwarves, one from each of the dwarven clans: jovial Thargas Anvilmar of the Bronzebeards, the dour Dark Iron dwarf Drukan, and cheerful Kurdran Wildhammer. Differences seemed to be put aside for the moment—even Drukan was willing to speak with courtesy and listened with interest.

The blockade concerned them all, including those who hailed from the Eastern Kingdoms. No one could afford to turn a blind eye to the potential conquest of an entire continent.

Varian stood as if lost in thought. Broll cleared his throat. Varian looked up and gestured to indicate that Broll should speak, then seemed to return to his own musing.

“I will speak for my people and, I am certain, all those Alliance who suffer from this action of the Horde,” said Broll. “And while it may seem self-centered to recommend that Darkshore be the first site to be liberated, I have an offer as well as a request. We have several vessels and the elves to crew them standing ready to assist as soon as we are given the chance. Despite the hardship wrought by the Cataclysm, it is still a major hub. We have shipping lanes that connect us with Rut’theran Village and Feathermoon Stronghold. Once we free up Darkshore, we will have an advantage.”

“Our spies report that the Horde seems to think we’d choose Feathermoon Stronghold,” said Greymane. He grinned a little. “I’m continuing to let them think that. Did you know that the Grimtotem of Feralas are planning an attack on the Horde? Taking advantage of their distraction? How terrible for the Horde!”

Chuckles went around the room. Still Varian frowned slightly as he looked at the map.

“They think Shandris Feathermoon dead, as far as we can tell,” Broll said. “They see the conquest of Feathermoon Stronghold to be more than a military victory—they see it, even more so, as a symbolic one. They will be in for a surprise when they find her at the head of her troops.”

The mood sobered at once. Of all the brilliant warriors and tacticians sent to aid Theramore, only Shandris and Vereesa remained. So many had been lost. For all the passion in the room to strike back and halt the Horde’s advance, there was still much grief.

“Has… has anyone… been to Theramore?” Gelbin asked quietly.

There was an awkward silence. “Lady Jaina,” Anduin said.

“Yes indeed,” said Gelbin, “and what a blessing that she still survives. Speaking of Lady Jaina, I assume there’s a sound reason she’s not here with us, strategizing today?”

“Lady Jaina is pursuing her own methods,” Varian said, finally joining in the conversation. All eyes turned to him. “She is… too impatient to work with us. And I cannot pass judgment. What she deals with—even I cannot truly know how she feels, although I have known similar pain.”

“What happened at Theramore must never be allowed to happen again,” said Taluun. “Not by any being. All sane people must deplore such acts and forswear them utterly, or else risk destroying the very things that make us able to touch the Light.”

There were murmurs of agreement. Varian looked at Anduin and nodded, almost imperceptibly. The boy’s blue eyes had gone sad when talk of Jaina had come up, but now they crinkled slightly at the edges with a wan smile.

“I agree,” Varian said. “But Lady Jaina may be right about one thing. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this, and… I believe we should not attempt to break the blockade. Not yet.”

A chorus of surprised voices filled the room, protesting, some courteously, some angrily. Varian lifted his hands. “Hear me out,” he said, raising his voice slightly to be heard above the din but not quite shouting. The others fell silent, looking unhappy.

He continued. “Wisdom would dictate that we do as Broll and Genn suggested: misdirect the Horde to think we are attacking the blockade at Feathermoon Stronghold, and then target Darkshore. Break the blockade, liberate the trapped elven fleet, then go on from there with more ships and soldiers.”

“Wisdom would,” said Drukan in agreement, disgruntled.

“I think instead we let ‘slip’ our plan to attack Darkshore, not Feathermoon Stronghold. It’ll be all the more readily believed since we’ve already put out a false trail. Garrosh will order the bulk of his navy there. We, meanwhile, sail directly toward Orgrimmar. Attack Garrosh in his own capital. I have spies as well, Genn, and they tell me that not all are happy with Hellscream as their leader. It is… hard for me to believe, but there are some Horde who are as appalled at what happened in Theramore as we are. We take Garrosh and occupy the city. Chaos will erupt, and with any luck, the discontented among the Horde will see this as their moment to rise up. If not, then we still have disarray and hold their capital city.”

“Our people suffer, Varian,” said Broll quietly.

Varian softened. “I know, my friend,” he said. “But this is a chance to cut the head off the beast. Regardless, the Horde ships will leave Darkshore and come to the aid of Orgrimmar.”

“It sounds like madness,” said Genn, growling a little and looking at Varian with narrowed eyes. “But the audacity and unexpectedness of it—it just might work.”

“It will save time as well,” said Taluun. “It is faster to reach Orgrimmar than Darkshore.”

Varian looked around. A few still seemed unhappy, but no one was protesting anymore. He hoped that he was right. If Garrosh found out what was being planned, or if for some other reason this attack failed, then he would lose nearly the whole of the Alliance fleet. All that would be left would be the elven ships still trapped in Darkshore and elsewhere.

But he couldn’t shake the sense of rightness he had about it. And that was what made a king—the willingness to make decisions and bear the responsibility for either success or failure.

The ships in the harbor were finally ready. More had come to join them, exquisite elven and draenei vessels that had fortunately been traveling elsewhere when the blockade had been enacted, no less formidable for their grace and beauty than the more practical human-, dwarf-, and gnome-crafted ships. The cluster of proud vessels filled the harbor to overflowing and seemed to reach all the way to the horizon.

The docks were thronged with citizens. Most of them were from Stormwind itself, but many others had traveled to participate in this historic occasion. It was a sea of living beings next to the sea itself, Varian thought, and wondered how many of those gathered to see their loved ones off would have the joy of welcoming them home safely.

The weather could not have cooperated more fully. It was a bright day with blue skies and sufficient wind to harness but not enough to make the sea rough. A band played cheerfully, inspirational martial music, and traditional anthems of each country and race to remind everyone that they belonged.

For all the air of celebration, as he scanned the faces in the crowd, Varian saw that there were somber expressions, even tears. This was war, not a mere skirmish with the soldiers back for supper. He had planned for it as best he could and was going himself to lead the troops, although his nobles had tried to convince him to remain. He could not send men and women off to face death without standing shoulder to shoulder with them. And when he walked out to the third tier of the harbor, beneath the great statue of the lion of Stormwind, the gathered populace cheered. For they knew he was one of them.

He lifted his arms as he marched out, with Broll, Greymane, Mekkatorque, Taluun, and the three Ironforge dwarves accompanying him. Banners of all colors were waved and the crowd roared. Varian lowered his arms, calling for silence.

“Citizens of the Alliance,” he said, his voice carrying to the eager listeners, “only a handful of days ago, the Horde perpetrated an act of villainy so calculated, so heinous, that it could only be answered by a call to war. And you have answered. You stand before me, ready to fight and die if need be, in order to preserve what is decent and good in this world. It is the Horde who started this war, not we… but by the Light, we will finish it!”

The crowd roared. Tears glinted on faces, but those faces were smiling.

“The attack on Theramore cannot even properly be described. There are opponents, and there are enemies; there are civilized beings, and there are monsters. There was a time when I made no such distinction. But being able to now makes our path even clearer and more righteous. By choosing to detonate a mana bomb over a populous city—an abominable act of utter cowardice—Garrosh Hellscream has clearly demonstrated what he is. And as he and those who follow him have chosen to be monsters, we will treat them thus.”

He continued. “We will never retaliate in kind. For we choose differently. But we will fight. We will stop them so they cannot continue their methodical conquest. We will embody all the Alliance stands for, and we will do so united. I stand here not alone today, but with King Genn Greymane. His people have turned a curse into a gift. The worgen will battle with greater hearts than you have ever seen—proving that they, unlike our foes, are not monsters. Without the aid of our dwarven and gnomish brothers and sisters, these glorious vessels could never have been built in time to save the rest of Kalimdor from falling to the Horde. The kaldorei, long our allies and to whose aid we go, already have many ships waiting to join us as they fight to free themselves. And the draenei, who have been as sure a compass of righteousness as any that could be imagined since their arrival in our world, stand here ready to spill their blood for others.”

He stepped back and spread his hands, indicating that the crowd should show its appreciation. His own could not have been more sincere. Never had Varian been more appreciative of both true friends and level heads. For long, long minutes, there was no sound but the cheering of grateful people.

Varian resumed his position. “As is common knowledge, I will be with our brave marines as we depart today. I leave behind one who is worthy to lead you, if need be. One who has already led before.”

Varian nodded. Anduin, who had been standing off to the side behind one of the massive cannons until he was called, stepped forward. The prince was dressed in the blue and yellow colors of the Alliance, a simple silver circlet atop his golden head, and was flanked by two draenei paladins resplendent in their glowing armor. And although he was much smaller than they, he was the one all eyes focused on. He was greeted by cheers and applause, and blushed a little; he was not used to public appearances. He lifted his arms, encouraging the crowd to quiet, and began to speak.

“I fear I will never be one to send off men and women into battle with joy,” he said. “Even though there could scarcely be a more just reason for doing so. The Horde has acted against us in a manner too terrible to ignore. All who believe in justice and decency must take a stand against the horrors of Theramore.” Varian, listening intently, recalled how the aftermath had been described, how it had turned Jaina from a rational, compassionate woman into someone who wanted—nay, hungered for—violence and revenge.

“If we do not act now—if these brave soldiers and sailors of the Alliance do not set forth now—then we condone what was done. We encourage, even invite, more violence, more slaughter of the innocent. Garrosh Hellscream has said bluntly that he wishes to drive out the Alliance from the entire continent of Kalimdor. We cannot meekly accept this. There comes a time when even the kindest heart must say, ‘No, enough.’ And that time has come.”

He lifted his hands and closed his eyes. “And to prove the rightness of what we do, the purity of the purpose for which this fleet now sets sail… I call upon the blessed Light, to touch all who would sacrifice, to protect the innocent.”

A soft light began to glow around his raised hands. It moved to envelop his body and then rose to hover above the crowd, showering down upon those who were prepared to fight and those who loved them.

“I pray that you fight with courage, and decency, and honor! I pray that your weapons be guided by the justness of what you do. I urge you to remember, as you go into the heat of battle, to refuse to allow hate entrance into your heart. Keep it a sanctuary, a temple to the memory of those so tragically slain. Remember at each moment you are fighting for justice, not genocide. Victory, not vengeance. And I know, I know with all my being, that if you go into battle with these things so firmly in your heart that no anger, no pain, can shake them, we will triumph. Blessings on you, soldiers of the Alliance!”

Varian felt the Light brush him almost like a physical thing. It seemed to caress him, to enter his heart, as Anduin had said. He felt calmer, stronger, more peaceful.

He watched his boy speak with the pure passion of his soul, watched how swiftly and sweetly the Light came to bless him. Saw how the people loved him.

Oh, my son, you are already the best of all of us. What a king you will make.

A horn sounded. It was time to embark. Everywhere were families making their farewells—older couples with grown children, fresh-faced youths saying good-bye to sweethearts. Then the milling throngs moved slowly toward the vessels. Handkerchiefs waved; kisses were blown.

Varian waited and smiled a little as Anduin, flanked by his two paladin friends, moved toward the flagship.

“You spoke well, Son,” Varian said.

“I’m glad you think so,” Anduin replied. “I spoke only what was in my heart.”

Varian placed a hand on the youth’s shoulder. “What was in your heart was perfect. I was and am very proud of you, Anduin.”

An impish grin lit up the prince’s face. “You don’t think I’m a mewling pacifist anymore?”

“Ah, that’s not fair,” Varian said. “And no, I don’t. I’m glad you realized the necessity of what we have to do.”

Anduin sobered. “I do,” he said. “I wish it were otherwise, but it’s not possible. I’m—I’m just glad you’re not like Jaina is. I’ve prayed for her, too.”

Of course he had. “Anduin—this war we both think we have to fight—you know I might not come back.”

He nodded. “I know, Father.”

“And if I don’t—you are more than ready to take my place. I’m proud of you. I know you’ll rule well and justly. Stormwind could not be in better hands.”

Anduin’s eyes grew shiny. “Father—I—thank you. I would do my very best to be a good king. But… I’d just as soon not be for a very long time.”

“Me too,” said Varian. He pulled the boy into a tight, awkward embrace, pressed his forehead down to Anduin’s, then turned and lightly ran down to the ships. He merged with the flood of sailors and headed to the flagship.

And to war.