Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War

4

It began to rain as Jaina paddled back to Theramore after her meeting with Thrall. Though it made her cold and uncomfortable for the moment, she welcomed the inconvenience, as few tended to venture out in such inclement weather. She tied up the little dinghy to the dock, slipping a little on the wet wood, and under cover of the steady downpour, made her way to the magically concealed secret entrance to the tower, unnoticed. Shortly she was in her cozy parlor. Shivering, Jaina lit the fire with a murmured incantation and a flick of a finger, dried her clothes the same way, and put away the cloak.

She brewed some tea and selected a few cookies, set them down on a small table, and settled in by the fire, thinking about what Thrall had said. He seemed so… content. Calm. But how could he be? In a very real sense, he had turned his back on his people and, in handing the reins to Garrosh, had practically guaranteed that war would become inevitable. If only Anduin were older, he would be a valuable ally. But youth was so fleeting; Jaina felt guilty for momentarily wishing Anduin would miss a single day of it.

And Thrall—Go’el (it would take her some time to get used to the new name)—was married now. What would this mean for the Horde?

Might he want his son or daughter to rule after him? Would he take up the mantle of the Horde again if this Aggra gave him a child?

“Save any cookies for me, Lady?” The voice was female, youthful, a little squeaky.

Jaina smiled without turning around. She had been so engrossed in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard the distinctive humming sound of a teleportation spell. “Kinndy, you can always make your own.”

Her apprentice laughed cheerfully, hopping into a chair opposite Jaina beside the blazing fire and reaching for a cup of tea and one of the aforementioned cookies. “But mine are only apprentice cookies. Yours are master cookies. They’re ever so much better.”

“You’ll figure out chocolate bits any day now,” Jaina said, keeping her face deadpan. “Though your apple bars are coming along quite nicely.”

“I’m glad you think so,” said Kinndy Sparkshine. She was perky even for a gnome, with a shock of bright pink hair pulled back in pigtails that made her look much younger than her twenty-two years—just a teenager by her people’s reckoning of age. It would be easy to dismiss her as a chipper little thing with as much substance as the spun-candy confection her hair resembled, but those who looked into her wide blue eyes would see a sharp intelligence there that contradicted the innocent face. Jaina had taken her on as an apprentice several months ago. She hadn’t really had much of a choice.

Rhonin, who had led the Kirin Tor through the Nexus War and still guided them, had requested Jaina’s presence shortly after the Cataclysm had struck. He was more somber than she had ever seen him as he met her in the Purple Parlor, a special place accessible, as far as she knew, only by portal. After pouring them each a drink of sparkling Dalaran wine, he sat beside her and regarded her intently.

“Rhonin,” Jaina had asked quietly, not even taking a sip of the delicious beverage, “what is it? What has happened?”

“Well, let’s see,” he replied. “Deathwing is loose; Darkshore has fallen into the sea—”

“I mean with you.”

He smiled faintly at his own dark humor. “Nothing is wrong with me, Jaina. Merely—well, I have a concern that I’d like to share with you.”

She frowned, a small crease appearing between her brows, and put the glass down. “Me? Why me? I’m not one of the Council of Six. I’m not even a member of the Kirin Tor anymore.” Once, she had been, working closely with her master, Antonidas. But after the Third War, when the scattered members of the Kirin Tor had reformed, it hadn’t felt the same to her.

“And this is precisely why it’s you I must speak with,” he said. “Jaina, we’ve all endured so much. We’ve been so busy—well, fighting and planning and doing battle—that we’ve fallen behind on another, perhaps even more important, duty.”

Jaina gave him a bemused smile. “Defeating Malygos and recovering from a world shaken like a rat in a mastiff’s mouth seem pretty important to me.”

He nodded. “They are. But so is training the next generation.”

“What’s that got to do—oh.” She shook her golden head firmly. “Rhonin, I’d like to help, but I can’t come to Dalaran. I have my own challenges in Theramore, and even though Horde and Alliance have been equally harmed by the Cataclysm, we still have so much—”

He held up an interrupting hand. “You misunderstand me,” he said. “I’m not asking you to stay here in the Violet Citadel. There are enough of us here—but too few out there in the world.”

“Oh,” she said again. “You… want me to take an apprentice.”

“We do. If you’re amenable. There is one young woman in particular I’d like you to consider. She’s extremely promising, intelligent, and fiercely curious about the world outside her limited view of Ironforge and Dalaran. I think you’d be a very good match.”

And then Jaina understood. She reclined in the comfortable purple cushions and reached for the wine. She took a small sip and said, “And someone who’d do a fine job of reporting back to you too, I presume.”

“Come now, Lady Proudmoore. You can’t expect us to leave so powerful and influential a mage all alone out there in Theramore.”

“Honestly? I’m surprised you haven’t sent along an observer before,” she said.

He gave her a rueful look. “There’s so much in chaos now,” he said. “It’s not that we don’t trust you. It’s that we simply need to… well…”

“I promise not to open any Dark Portals,” Jaina said, lifting her hand and mockingly swearing.

That made him laugh; then he sobered. Placing a hand on hers, he leaned in for a moment. “You do understand, don’t you?”

“I do,” Jaina said. And she did. Before, there had been no time for anything other than simple survival. Any mage, anywhere, who had not actively allied with Malygos had been a threat to him. Now, with the world splintered, old alliances were splintered as well. And Jaina was both a powerful mage and a respected diplomat.

Thoughts of Antonidas, who had—after much badgering on her part—taken her on as an apprentice what seemed like ages ago, filled her mind. He had been a wise and good man, with a strong sense of right and wrong and the willingness to die to protect others. He had inspired and shaped her. Suddenly, Jaina very much wanted to give back to the world what it had given her. She was quite aware that she was a mage of no small ability, and now that the subject had been broached, she thought it might be a good thing to teach someone what she knew. She did not have to rejoin the Kirin Tor to help others understand and work well with magic, as she had learned how to do. Life was unpredictable, these days more so than ever. Additionally, she found she missed Anduin’s occasional presence. Perhaps a young person would liven up the damp old place.

“You know,” she said, “I recall a certain headstrong young woman who pestered Antonidas to take her as an apprentice.”

“And as I recall, she turned out rather well. Some say she’s the finest mage in Azeroth.”

“Some say many things.”

“Please tell me you’ll teach her,” Rhonin said, dropping any hint of anything other than complete sincerity.

“I think it’s a fine idea,” she said firmly.

“You’ll like her,” Rhonin said. His expression grew impish. “She’ll challenge you.”

Kinndy had challenged Pained, too, Jaina remembered. She smothered a smile as she thought about Pained’s reaction to the gnome girl. Pained was a night elf, a warrior who had stayed with Jaina ever since being assigned to the mage at the Battle of Mount Hyjal. She steadfastly served as Jaina’s bodyguard, whether or not the lady actually needed her, unless Jaina sent her off on a more covert mission. Jaina often told Pained that she was free to return to her people at any point. Pained usually shrugged and said, “Lady Tyrande never officially relieved me of my duty,” and would not reply further. Jaina didn’t quite understand the night elf’s stubbornness and inexplicable, devotion but she was grateful for it.

At one point, Kinndy had been studying while Jaina methodically went through her cabinet of reagents, writing up new labels for those that were almost illegible and putting aside items that had lost their potency for proper disposal. Chairs in Theramore were designed for humans, and Kinndy’s feet didn’t reach the floor. She had been swinging them absently, sipping tea as she perused a tome nearly as large as she was. Pained had been busying herself, cleaning her sword. Out of the corner of her eye, Jaina had noticed the elf glancing at Kinndy now and then, looking more annoyed each time.

Finally Pained burst out. “Kinndy? Do you enjoy being perky?”

Kinndy closed the book, marking her place with a small finger, and pondered the question. After a moment, she said, “People don’t take me seriously. This often denies me opportunities to be useful. I find it rather frustrating. So, no. I don’t enjoy being perky.”

Pained nodded. “Ah. That is all right, then,” she said, and returned to her work. Jaina had to excuse herself quickly in order to keep from laughing.

Unintentional perkiness aside, Kinndy had indeed challenged Jaina. The gnome had more energy than anyone Jaina had ever met. The questions were endless. At first they were amusing, then annoying, and then Jaina woke up one day and realized she was truly a mentor. A master with an apprentice who would grow up to do her proud. Rhonin hadn’t been exaggerating—he had probably given her the best the Kirin Tor had to offer.

Kinndy was curious about Jaina’s role as a leader as well as a mage. Jaina would have liked to have told the gnome about the secret meetings with Go’el—Kinndy seemed the type of person who might understand Jaina’s reasoning—but of course could not. Fond of the girl though Jaina might be, Kinndy was, in the end, honor-bound to report everything she knew to the Kirin Tor. Jaina’s slip with Anduin had taught her to take extra precautions, and thus far, she was certain that Kinndy was still ignorant of the meetings.

“How is Master Rhonin?” Jaina inquired.

“Oh, he is well. He sends his best,” Kinndy replied. “He seemed a bit distracted,” she mused, pausing to take another bite of cookie.

“We’re magi, Kinndy,” Jaina said wryly. “We’re always distracted by something or other.”

“This is true!” she said cheerily, brushing at some crumbs. “But even so, my visit seemed rather rushed.”

“Did you get to spend time with your parents?” Kinndy’s father, Windle, was entrusted with the important duty of lighting all of Dalaran’s streetlights with his wand in the evening. According to Kinndy, he so enjoyed the task that he sold wands that enabled others to experience it themselves a time or two. Her mother, Jaxi, often provided baked goods for the high elf Aimee to sell at her stall, and the gnome’s red velvet cupcakes were extremely popular. This heritage was part of the reason that Kinndy was so frustrated at her own—in her opinion—subpar pastries.

“I did!”

“And yet you still want cookies,” Jaina teased.

Kinndy shrugged. “What can I say? Every tooth I have is a sweet tooth,” she replied with the cheerful attitude that Jaina had come to expect, but it was clear something continued to worry the gnome. Jaina placed her plate down on the table.

“Kinndy, I know that you are supposed to report back to the Kirin Tor. That was part of the agreement. But you’re also my apprentice. If you have any problems with me as your master—”

The blue eyes widened. “You? Oh, Lady Jaina, it’s not you at all! It’s just—I felt that something was off in Dalaran. You could sense it in the air. And Master Rhonin’s behavior didn’t help put me at ease.”

Jaina was impressed. Not all magi developed the sixth sense that told them, as Kinndy had put it, that there was something “off.” Jaina herself had the ability, to a degree. She couldn’t always tell when things were magically amiss, but when she did get that feeling, she paid attention to it. And Kinndy was only twenty-two.

Jaina smiled a bit wistfully. “Master Rhonin was right about you,” she said. “He said you were gifted.”

Kinndy blushed, just a little.

“Well, I’m sure if there is something truly amiss, we’ll hear about it soon enough,” Jaina said. “In the meantime, did you finish the book I sent along with you?”

Kinndy sighed. “An In-Depth Analysis of the Temporal Effects of Conjuration of Foodstuffs?”

“That would be the one, yes.”

“I did. Although…” She hesitated and wouldn’t meet Jaina’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well… I think there’s now a smudge of frosting on page forty-three.”

Night fell in Orgrimmar. The heat dwindled but did not dissipate; the hard-baked sand, devoid of vegetation, held the sun’s heat, as did the large, newly constructed metal buildings. Orgrimmar, like all of Durotar, was hardly a pleasant place from a climate standpoint. It never had been, and now it was even less so.

That suited Malkorok just fine.

He found the heat of Durotar uncomfortable, as he had found the heat of the interior of Blackrock Mountain. And that was good. The best thing that had ever happened to the orc people was leaving the softness of places like Nagrand back on their homeworld of Draenor. This was a place that tested one’s mettle, that tempered and tried one. It was not good to become too comfortable. And part of Malkorok’s job was to see to it that no orc grew too comfortable.

Some orcs at the recent gathering had been too comfortable. Too secure in the rightness of their opinions. They had openly voiced displeasure and disagreement with one who was not just their warchief but the leader of their own kind. The leader of the orcs! The very arrogance of it caused Malkorok to grit his teeth in anger. He forced himself to stay silent as he moved quietly through the streets.

He had told Garrosh that they were all worth watching. Garrosh had initially assumed Malkorok meant that all the leaders of the various races composing the Horde should be observed. The Blackrock orc had a much, much larger view. When he said they were “all” worth watching, he meant the entire Horde.

Every member of the Horde.

And so it was that he’d had had some of his best orcs follow a few of the malcontents who had dared to stay silent while others cheered. Of course Eitrigg, well loved and respected, an advisor Garrosh had promised Thrall he would listen to, could speak with impunity.

For the moment.

But others who had sided with the old orc must pay the price of what Malkorok—and Garrosh—considered nothing less than open, unabashed treason. His mind went back to several years ago, when he had been service to Rend Blackhand. He thought with satisfaction of what had happened to those adventurers unwise enough to enter into the heart of the mountain and challenge Rend. But even more vividly, he recalled what he himself had done to his fellow orcs who had muttered against Blackhand, thinking themselves safe in the shadows.

He had stalked them, carrying out his own implacable justice. Rend had commented once when one of the traitors had gone missing. Malkorok had simply shrugged, and Rend had given him a sneering grin of approval. It was never mentioned after that.

Things were different now. But not that much different. Now Malkorok did not walk in the shadows alone. Four Kor’kron, appointed specifically by Garrosh to obey Malkorok’s orders as if they were his own, accompanied him, moving as stealthily as if they were shadows themselves.

Kor’jus lived in the Cleft of Shadow, one of the more unsavory parts of Orgrimmar. One might assume that, with such a residence, Kor’jus was involved in shady business. However, the name of his shop, Dark Earth, was nothing more sinister than a description of the soil needed for his crop—mushrooms. While Kor’jus was, as far as Malkorok knew, a law-abiding citizen, the fact that he lived here made the Blackrock orc’s duty easier. With a wink and a few gold coins, would-be witnesses nodded and looked away.

Kor’jus was kneeling, using a sharp knife to harvest mushrooms for sale on the morrow. He cut swiftly, close to the base of the fungus, tossed it in a sack, and moved on to the next. His back was to the door, which had a curtain partly drawn over the entrance and a sign that read CLOSED. Though he could not see his visitors, he sensed their presence and stiffened. Slowly he rose and turned around, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Malkorok and his companions standing at the entrance.

“Read the sign,” he grunted. “The shop doesn’t open until tomorrow.” Malkorok noticed with amusement that the mushroom farmer tightened his grip on his small blade. As if that would help.

“We’re not here for mushrooms,” Malkorok said, his voice soft. He and the other four orcs moved into the shop. One of them closed the curtain. “We’re here for you.”