The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm wowct-1

by Christie Golden

  He was past shaking by the time he slogged into the citadel, where some of the servants were busily wrapping blankets around the flood victims and offering hot tea and food. Anduin carefully turned over the child to an older woman who rushed up to take her. He knew that he was drenched, that he needed to change out of the wet clothes, but he just couldn't seem to move to do so. One of Jaina's assistants looked up at him, did a double take, and frowned at his expression. Anduin stared back, chilled to the bone, blinking almost stupidly. In a distant part of his brain, he realized he was probably going into shock.

  "Wish I had Fearbreaker," he murmured. He was dimly aware of the servant pulling him into a side room, helping him out of the sodden clothes and thrusting a too - large shirt and pair of pants at him. Before Anduin quite realized what had happened, he was wrapped in a rough but warm blanket in front of the fire with a mug of hot tea in his hand. The servant vanished—there were many others who needed immediate care. After a few moments Anduin began shivering violently, and after a few moments more, he began thinking about the idea of perhaps being in the vicinity of being warm.

  After a while he felt well enough to be of help, rather than simply taking up a spot on the floor. He went to his room, threw on his own clothing, and returned to help others as he had been helped, providing hot liquids and blankets and taking their soggy clothes to hang up on lines quickly strung about the rooms.

  The rain did not let up. The waters rose, despite Jaina's dragon head trying to keep them at bay. Jaina was pushing herself well past the point of exhaustion, renewing the spell every few minutes, issuing orders, and aiding the refugees. As the waters climbed, more and more people sought refuge in the citadel, sitting on the wooden floors of its many stories. Eventually Anduin was fairly certain that the citadel, the guard quarters, and the inn housed everyone who lived in Theramore.

  Finally, toward dusk of the second day, Jaina resigned herself to sitting down and eating and drinking something. She had changed clothes several times, and this current change of clothing was now sopping wet. Anduin drew a seat for her by the fire in her small, cozy room and brought her some tea. Jaina was shaking so badly that the cup rattled in the saucer as she lifted bloodshot, exhausted eyes to him.

  "I think you need to return home. There's no knowing when the flooding is going to stop, and I can't risk your safety."

  Anduin looked unhappy. "I can help," he said. "I won't do anything foolish, Jaina, you know I won't."

  She reached out as if to tousle his blond hair but seemed too weak to complete the gesture. Her hand fell limply into her lap, and she sighed.

  "Well, it's not as if you'd see your father," she murmured, taking a sip of tea.

  "What do you mean?"

  Jaina froze, the cup halfway to the saucer. She lifted wide eyes to Anduin, and he saw the look of someone desperately searching for a comforting falsehood but too exhausted mentally to find it.

  "What about my father? Where is he?" And then he knew. He stared at her, horrified. "He's going to attack Ironforge, isn't he?"

  "Anduin," Jaina began, "Moira is a tyrant. She—"

  "Moira? Come on, Aunt Jaina, you have to tell me what he's doing!"

  In a voice that was heavy with resignation and trembling with weariness, Jaina spoke, confirming his worst fears.

  "Varian is taking an elite strike team to Ironforge. Their mission is to execute Moira and liberate the city."

  Anduin couldn't believe his ears. "How are they getting in?"

  "Through the Deeprun Tram passageway."

  "They'll be spotted."

  Jaina rubbed her eyes. "Anduin, we're talking SI:7 people. They won't be spotted."

  Anduin shook his head slowly. "No, they won't. Jaina, you're right. I do need to leave Theramore."

  She frowned, the little crease on her forehead more prominent with her weariness. "No. You are not going to Ironforge!"

  He almost growled in exasperation. "Jaina, listen to me, please! You've always been reasonable; you've got to be reasonable now. Moira's done some bad things—locked down the city, put innocent people in jail. But she didn't kill King Magni and she is his daughter. She's the rightful heir, and her son after her. Some of the things she wants to do, I approve of—she's just trying to do the right things the wrong way."

  "Anduin, she is holding a whole city—Ironforge, the dwarven capital—hostage."

  "Because she doesn't know them yet. Doesn't trust them. Jaina, in some ways, she's just a frightened little girl who wanted her father to love her."

  "Scared little girls who rule cities do dangerous things, and they need to be stopped."

  "By being killed? Or do they need to be guided? She wants the dwarves to take another look at their heritage. To reach out to the Dark Irons as the brethren they are. Is that worth being murdered for? And maybe her child along with her? Listen to me, Jaina, please. If Father carries out this attack, a lot of people are going to die, and the succession will be thrown into confusion. Instead of coming together as a people, the dwarves are going to find themselves in the midst of another civil war! I've got to try to stop him, don't you see? Make him understand that there's another way."

  "No, absolutely not! You are thirteen years old, with insufficient training, and the heir to the throne besides. Do you think it would help Stormwind if you got yourself killed?" She took a deep breath and paused, thinking hard. He stayed silent. "All right. If you are set on doing this—and you might be right—I'm coming with you. Give me a few hours to contain the situation here and—"

  "He's on his way now. We don't have the luxury of a few hours, you know that! I know Father, and so do you. You know that whatever is going to happen, it's going to be bad, and it's going to happen quickly. I can help. I can save lives. Let me do this."

  Jaina's eyes filled with tears, and she turned away. He didn't press her. He had faith in her and knew she would do the right thing.

  «I…»

  "One day I'll be king, and not just for a short time. One day Father will be gone, and no one knows when that day will be. It could be as early as tonight—Light knows I hope not, but you know that, and I know it. And so does Father. Ruling Stormwind is my destiny, what I was born to do. And I can't face that destiny if I'm being treated like a child."

  She bit her lower lip, then dashed her hand across her eyes. 'You're right," she said quietly. 'You're not a little boy anymore. We both still want you to be, your father and I, but you've already seen so much, done so much….”

  Her voice broke and she paused. 'You take the utmost care not to get caught, Anduin Wrynn," she said in a voice that was hard and angry. For a second he was startled, then he realized she wasn't angry at him—she was angry that there was no other way. "And you stop your father. You make it worth the risk, do you understand?"

  He nodded mutely. She caught him up in her arms and hugged him tightly, as if she were holding him for the last time. And maybe, in a way, she was, trying to give a final farewell to the boy he had been. He hugged her back, feeling a cold brush of fear. But even stronger than the fear was a calm, quiet feeling in the center of his being that told him he was doing the right thing.

  She drew back and patted his cheek, the tears streaming down her face as she forced a smile.

  "May the Light be with you," she said. Stepping back, she began to cast the spell to create a portal.

  "It is," Anduin said. "I know it."

  And he stepped through.

  They were shadows, nothing more, as they slipped along the dark streets that were deserted this hour of the night. They were heading north, into the smoky Dwarven District.

  Heading for the Deeprun Tram.

  The station was utterly deserted, and of course the tram itself was nowhere to be seen. When it had been running, bright spotlights had been placed every few yards along the track for the safety and pleasure of the commuters. Now that the tram was "closed for repairs" at its Ironforge departure site, Varian had ordered all the lights in the Sto
rmwind jurisdiction extinguished. The eighteen other men and women who now dropped down onto the tracks and ran lightly along the metal path, their feet making barely a sound, were accustomed to maneuvering in the darkness, and the path was a straight shot. Varian's feet, however, did make some slight sounds, and he frowned to himself. He was in this instance the weakest link in the chain. His training had been much different from those of his compatriots. While he was unquestionably as deadly as they, his manner of attack was quite different, and he was more than willing to let himself to be guided and corrected. All nineteen of them wore masks to protect their identities.

  The leader of this part of the mission was Owynn Graddock, a dwarf with darkly tanned skin and black hair and beard. He had been handpicked for the job by Mathias Shaw, head of SI7. Though most were human, there were several other dwarves and a few gnomes among the company. Varian had insisted they be included. Every trained assassin could do the job, but dwarves and gnomes would stand to benefit the most from regaining

  control of Ironforge.

  Prior to the mission, Graddock had scouted out almost the entire length of the tram's tunnel himself, so the group knew what to face.

  "There's nae break in th' glass keeping the water from th' lake out," Graddock had reported. "I half - expected that—it would flood the tunnel but good, an' thus prevent the sort o' thing we're attempting here. But I figure Moira eventually wants to be able to use th' tram—maybe tae mount an attack on Stormwind. At any rate, we're lucky with that.

  "Now, about here… I saw some Dark Irons lurkin' about. So…" He had looked up, his solemn brown eyes regarding Mathias and Varian. "Here's where th' battle begins."

  Now they ran, swiftly and for the most part silently, until they reached the subterranean lake. Varian did not spare the wonders of the lake, visible through strong glass, a second glance. His mind was utterly on the mission.

  On they ran, no one growing even slightly out of breath. A scent reached Varian's nostrils—thick and sweet and cloving. Pipe tobacco. He smiled beneath his mask at how his enemies had so obviously given themselves away. At once he slowed, as did his companions. In the dim light he saw Graddock gesture for them to prepare for battle.

  The assassins drew various weapons—daggers, awls painted with poison, gloves with special devices built inside them. Varian tightened his mask more firmly so that it would not slip and reached for his own weapons, two shortswords. He was loath to forego the more familiar Shalamayne, but it was instantly recognizable, and he wished no one to suspect his identity until he chose to reveal it.

  Another gesture from Graddock, and they moved forward, slowly, and this time even Varian's feet did not make noise on the creaky metal. He was learning. Now he could glimpse the dwarves up ahead. There were five of them. They were sitting on folded blankets. Tankards of ale and trays heaped with the remnants of a meal surrounded them, and—Varian couldn't believe it—they were playing cards.

  Graddock held up his hand and brought it down once, twice, three times.

  The assassins sprang.

  Varian wasn't sure how they communicated, but it was almost as if the attack was choreographed. Each dwarf had a black - leather - clad killer atop him before he could do more than gasp in surprise. Varian had charged forward, swords at the ready, biting back a yell, but by the time he was there, the five had been quickly and quietly killed. One had a knife in his eye. Another's neck had been snapped. A third's face was swollen in reaction to a swift - acting poison, froth still dripping from his mouth. A gnome male named Brink, balding and oddly dangerous looking for one of his race, and a human female now rose, cleaning their blades emotionlessly and efficiently, from the final two kills.

  They moved on to the next group. They were closing in on Ironforge.

  Thirty one

  Anduin!" Rohan's voice was filled with warmth and surprise as he peered at the boy, who had suddenly appeared in the Hall of Mysteries. "We'd heard ye escaped. Why in th' world have ye come back here?"

  Anduin stepped out from the portal and quickly ducked into a corner of the hall. Rohan followed, speaking quietly and urgently.

  "Moira's on th' warpath for ye. She's searched here twice already an' has got her lackeys scouring every inch of Ironforge. She's nae said anything, o' course, but we can tell who she's looking for."

  "I had to come back," Anduin said, keeping his voice low. "My father is mounting an attack to sneak into Ironforge, and I've got to stop him. He plans to kill Moira. He thinks she's a usurper."

  Rohan's white brows drew together in a frown. "But she's not. She's a lousy queen, that's fer sure, an' she's thrown some good people in jail. But she is the rightful heir, and so is the wee bairn after her."

  "Exactly," Anduin said, grateful that Rohan understood what he was getting at. "What she's doing is wrong. I of all people can see that. She was trying to keep me prisoner. She was never intending to let me go. But that doesn't mean my father can just murder her. It's not his place, and he will accomplish nothing other than dwarven outrage and another civil war. Besides, some of what she wants to do is the right thing."

  "How did ye learn of this? Are ye certain yer information is accurate?"

  Anduin didn't want to implicate Jaina, so he just nodded. "As the Light guides me, Father Rohan, I trust that what I have been told is true."

  "Well, ye are a prince, not a humble priest like meself, so if you think it is the truth, then I do, too. Andye're right. Murderin' our leaders is nae the right thing t' do… and there are folks that like some o' what she's been saving. I'll help ye, lad. What do ye need of me?"

  Anduin realized he hadn't thought that far ahead. "Urn," he began, "I know my father's coming via the Deeprun Tram tunnel. I don't know when he's supposed to get here. We should try to intercept him."

  "Hm," said Rohan, "like many things, easier said than done. Ye're a lad yet, but ye're no dwarf - sized. And th' Dark Irons are on the lookout for ye."

  "We'll just have to be careful," Anduin said. "And I'll have to stoop. Come on!"

  The eighteen assassins and the king of Stormwind scrambled out of the Deeprun Tram track and onto the platform. They were met by several Dark Iron dwarves. It was a one - sided fight, and the SI:7 team quickly and ruthlessly dispatched Moira's guards. The fight had attracted some attention, and a little crowd of mostly gnomes now stared at the men and women in masks and black leather, unsure if they were rescuers or new foes.

  "Dinna worry," Graddock reassured them. "We've come fer Moira and her people, not the good folk of Ironforge."

  The gnomes, who had been clustered together, gave a cheer.

  They hurried on, heading toward the Hall of Explorers, which would be quiet at this time of night. From there, it was a straight shot across the Great Forge to the High Seat. The gnome named Brink scouted ahead and reported back.

  "Twenty - three," he said in a gravelly voice. "Ten are Dark Iron guards."

  "Only ten? I expected more," Graddock said. "Let's go."

  In the end Anduin did not have to stoop. One of the priestesses was an alchemist and had readily agreed to mix up an invisibility potion. "It will nae last very long," she cautioned. "An' it tastes nasty tae boot."

  "I can run pretty fast," Anduin assured her, taking the small vial. He uncorked it and coughed at the fumes. The priestess was right—it certainly smelled nasty.

  "Bottoms up," he said and lifted it to his lips.

  "Hold a moment, lad," Rohan said. "There's summat going on out there…."

  There was a commotion out in the main area. Various guards were running about, looking grimmer than usual.

  "Och, I hope ye've not been spotted," Rohan said quietly. One of the guards started jogging toward the Hall of Mysteries, and Anduin crouched back in the shadows, prepared to chug the potion, if need be.

  "Healers! Come quickly, ye're needed!"

  "What is it?" Rohan said, giving a fairly good impression of someone who had just been roused from sleep.

  "The
re's been fighting at the Deeprun Tram," the Dark Iron guard said.

  "Really?" Rohan kept his voice pitched loud for Anduin's benefit. "How many? And is th' site contained?"

  "About ten, and nay, there seems to be fighting in th' Great Forge area, too. Bring all yer priests! Now!"

  Rohan cast a quick, apologetic glance over his shoulder, then gathered his supplies and hurried off along with the other priests. Anduin was on his own.

  "Too late," he murmured to himself. If Varian and the team of assassins were already at the forge—

  His mouth set in a grim line, then he lifted the potion to his lips and gulped it down, grimacing at the taste.

  Then Anduin Wrynn ran as fast as his legs could cam' him toward the High Seat, Moira… and his father.

  The first few guards were dispatched quietly. The group skidded to a halt and caught their breaths, melding with the shadows. Right across the forge was the High Seat… and there were several Dark Irons in the way.

  "We'll split into two groups. You," and Graddock pointed to nine of his followers, "stay wi’ me. We'll tackle th' guards at th' forge. The rest of ye, go wi' Varian. Get him tae Moira, no matter the cost. Is that clear?"

  They all nodded. Despite the odds that stared them in the face, none of them looked particularly distressed. As Varian watched, Brink even yawned and stretched. He supposed this was all in a day's work for them, just as slaughtering foes twice his size had been his "job" as a gladiator.

  "All right, then. Let's be about it."

  And with no further warning, the first group moved forward. Varian, whose eyes had gotten used to seeing them after the hours they had spent together this night, blinked as they became indistinguishable from the shadows. And then the cries started as the assassins attacked—cutting throats, picking up the startled dwarves and hurling them into the molten liquid pools of the forge.

  "Go, go!" It was Brink, elbowing Varian in the thigh. He needed no further urging. His group began to run at full speed along the length of the Great Forge. The Dark Iron guards stationed there met them halfway, roaring challenges. Pleased to finally be in an open, one - on - one swordfight after sneaking around all night, Varian shouted a battle cry and fell eagerly on the first one. Swords clashed against axe blade and shield, striking sparks in the dim light. The Dark Iron was good, Varian had to give him that. He managed to block Varian's blows fully four times before the king dodged a counterattack and stabbed the dwarf through the gap in his armor between arm and breastplate.