Both orcs whirled to see Baine Bloodhoof and one of his shaman. Baine was in full war regalia, his face decorated, but not with war paint. His armor, too, was spattered with blood. But he was not reveling in victory.
Baine continued. “Kador Cloudsong tells me that the Earthen Ring has specifically forbidden the sort of thing you have meddled with, Hellscream.”
Malkorok frowned. “You will address him as ‘warchief,’” the Blackrock orc said in a low voice.
“Very well. Warchief,” said Baine, “your choice to use these—these molten giants is an offense to the Earth Mother and to the Horde you claim to lead! Do you not understand what you are doing? Did you not feel the angry wrath of the earth itself? You could bring about a second Cataclysm. By the ancestors, did you learn nothing from the first one?”
“I have made the Cataclysm work in our favor!” shouted Garrosh. “This”—and he stabbed a finger at the rubble that had once been Northwatch Hold—“is the first major step toward complete and utter conquest of this continent! Theramore falls next, and I will use whatever tool I need to in order to achieve these goals, tauren!”
“You will not endanger—”
Malkorok grabbed Baine’s arm and shoved his face up toward the tauren’s. “Silence! You serve at the warchief’s whim, Baine Bloodhoof! Do you offer him insult? Do you? Because if you do, I challenge you to a mak’gora!”
He was seething and prayed that the tauren would accept the challenge. This Bloodhoof, like his father before him, had long been a thorn in the side of the orcs. The tauren as a whole were too soft, too pacifistic, and the Bloodhoof were the worst. Malkorok considered Cairne’s death to be a good thing, regardless of how it had happened. He would deem it an honor to put Baine Bloodhoof out of Garrosh’s misery.
Baine’s eyes flickered with fury; then he growled low. “I have lost many braves today, obeying the warchief’s word. I have no desire to lose any more Horde lives needlessly.” He turned to Garrosh. “I speak only from concern for what may come. You know that, Warchief.”
Garrosh nodded. “Your… concern is noted but unwarranted. I know what I am doing. I know what my shaman can handle. These are my methods, High Chieftain. My next step will be to march on Theramore. There, I will cut off the Alliance supply line to Kalimdor and destroy the Proudmoore bitch, who confuses diplomacy with meddling. I have plans for Feathermoon Stronghold, Teldrassil, the Moonglade, Lor’danel, too—all will fall. And then, you will see. You will see how things stand.”
He laughed. “And when you do, I will accept your apology graciously. Until then”—Garrosh sobered—“I will hear no more word from you about any ‘concerns.’ Do we understand each other?”
Baine’s ears flattened and his nostrils flared. “Yes, my warchief. You have made yourself quite clear.”
Malkorok watched him go.
• • •
Baine felt as if his own core were molten with outrage. It was with the greatest of efforts that he had kept from exploding in anger when Malkorok had challenged him. He was not afraid Malkorok could defeat him—by all accounts, Cairne had been winning the battle against Garrosh, before Magatha’s poison had claimed him. Baine bore his father’s blood and he had youth on his side. No, he had declined because there was no way to truly win. Poison would be used again, but better hidden this time. Or even if he slew Malkorok, there would be an ambush waiting in the shadows. And then, what would happen to his people? There was no clear successor yet. Garrosh would somehow see to it that a tauren was appointed whose thinking was more in line with his own—or who could be persuaded to think so.
No. His people needed him alive. And so, Baine would live, and do what he was ordered to do. Exactly, and only, what he was ordered to do. And when all this exploded in Garrosh’s tattooed face, as it certainly would, Baine, Vol’jin, and other cooler heads would be there to pick up the pieces and protect the Horde. What Garrosh had left of it, at least.
But Baine Bloodhoof was not helpless. The idea that had been forming as he began the march on Northwatch had solidified. Seeing Garrosh’s thoughtless, heedless, selfish manipulation of the elements for personal power had merely confirmed in Baine’s head what he knew in his heart to be the right path.
He had left orders to the tauren he commanded to attend to the bodies of the fallen. They would receive the proper death rituals. Too, he had ordered his people not to desecrate the bodies of the Alliance. Such disregard displeased the Earth Mother, who loved all her children. He did not stay for the ceremonies, leaving them in the capable hands of Kador.
He retired to his traveling teepee, to put his plan into motion. Before lifting the flap, he looked about carefully. There were no signs of any listening ears. To a young brave standing guard outside, he said, “Send me Perith Stormhoof. I have a very important task for him.”
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. T
hen, 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, try
ing 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?
Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War Page 10