Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War

by Christie Golden

  “I cannot,” she said. “He came in good faith. I will not dishonor him.”

  “Hmm,” Rhonin said, and pulled on his red beard thoughtfully for a moment. “But… you said this was four days ago. Why didn’t the Horde march straight south and wipe Theramore off the map?”

  “We don’t know,” said Jaina. “But we do know there is a fleet of Horde battleships sitting right at the very outskirts of Alliance waters.”

  Rhonin didn’t reply at once. Then he said, very carefully, “This is all very troubling for the Alliance and Theramore, of course. But what does it have to do with me?”

  “Garrosh doesn’t plan to stop there,” Jaina said. “It’s just a jumping-off point to conquer the whole continent. You know Garrosh; he’s a hothead.”

  “So am I,” said Rhonin.

  Not bothering with tact, Jaina said, “You once were, perhaps, but since you became a husband and father and leader of the Kirin Tor, you’ve calmed quite a bit.”

  He shrugged and smiled a little, acknowledging the comment.

  “Thousands will die,” Jaina said, pressing him. “The Alliance will be driven from the shores of Kalimdor. Those who survive will be refugees. We already have too many without food and shelter still from the Cataclysm. The Eastern Kingdoms will not be able to care for the population of half an entire continent!”

  “I ask you again, Jaina Proudmoore,” Rhonin said quietly, “what does this have to do with me?”

  “The Kirin Tor does not take sides; I know that,” Jaina said. “But even Kalecgos thought you might be willing to come to our aid.”

  “Protect an Alliance city from an attack by the Horde?”

  She nodded mutely. He looked off to the side for a long moment, his eyes not focused, then said, “I cannot make such a decision alone. You’re going to have to convince others besides me. Dalaran is lovely this time of year.”

  12

  Every time Jaina traveled to Dalaran, she was reminded anew of just how beautiful it was. The rich purple-hued spires of the city reached skyward, even as Dalaran hovered in the sky itself, untouched and untroubled by the concerns of Northrend below it. The streets gleamed, their red cobblestones clean, and its citizens, most of them as untouched and untroubled as the city itself, wandered freely. Here and nowhere else could be found remarkable items from vendors of all things rare and curious; here could be learned spells and history, whispered in hushed voices in quiet, peaceful halls.

  Once, Dalaran had been a firm part of another continent altogether. Jaina remembered it best from those days, remembered strolling in the gardens, plucking goldenbark apples warm from the kiss of the sun.

  Then Arthas had come.

  Dalaran had been destroyed but not vanquished. The Kirin Tor had returned and rebuilt the mage capital, protecting it with a dome of violet magic, until the time had come for Dalaran to flourish anew as a hovering city. From here, the city-state had been the central focus of the Nexus War against Malygos, and, later, the fight against the Lich King. Yet one would find little here that was martial. Dalaran was at its best, and its populace happiest, when knowledge and learning were its greatest concerns.

  Jaina herself had erected a monument to Antonidas. Usually when she traveled here, she paid “him” a visit, sometimes speaking her thoughts aloud as she sat in the shadow of the man’s statue. But now her mission was of utmost importance.

  She materialized inside the Violet Citadel itself, and the first face she saw was Rhonin’s. He smiled in welcome, but his eyes were troubled.

  “Welcome, Lady Jaina,” he said. “You know everyone here.”

  “Indeed I do,” said Jaina. Standing next to her husband was the white-haired, beautiful Vereesa Windrunner. She was the founder of the Silver Covenant and sister to Sylvanas, leader of the Forsaken, and Alleria, lost in Outland. Though the Windrunner family had suffered more than its share of tragedies, Vereesa, it seemed, had found happiness as the wife of a great mage and the proud mother of two beautiful children. Such domestic achievements, though, did not mean the high elf was content to stay in the shadows. As leader of the Silver Covenant, Jaina knew, Vereesa had publicly and staunchly opposed the admission of blood elves into the Kirin Tor.

  She was, however, destined to be doomed in that pursuit, as the mage on Rhonin’s left proved. This was Archmage Aethas Sunreaver, the blood elf who had struggled as hard to gain admittance into the Kirin Tor as Vereesa had struggled to forbid it. The fourth present was a human female who, though her hair was snowy white, looked as though she could take—and best—anyone in a fight. Archmage Modera had the distinction of serving the longest in the high council of magi, the Council of Six, having been a member since the Second War.

  Jaina nodded respectful greetings to them all, then turned to Rhonin. He stepped back a pace and moved his hands with the ease of one long used to working magic. A portal appeared. Jaina frowned slightly. Usually one could get a good glimpse of the place one was traveling to, but this portal seemed to lead not into a room, or even a place on land, but into open air. She gave Rhonin a quizzical glance.

  “The rest of the Six are assembled there,” Rhonin said, not bothering to answer her unasked question. “Let’s not keep them waiting, shall we?”

  Trusting him completely, Jaina stepped through.

  The floor, simple gray and thankfully solid stone inlaid with a diamond pattern, was all that seemed stable. Above and on every side was a shifting sky. Now it was bright blue with lazily drifting clouds, but a heartbeat later stars appeared and a rich blackness seemed to seep over the blue like spilled ink.

  “Welcome, Lady Jaina, to the Chamber of the Air,” said a voice. Or was it several voices all speaking at once? Dazzled by the room’s endless and constantly changing vista, Jaina couldn’t be sure. She tore her gaze away from the compelling, almost hypnotic sky-wall and looked at the Six, who formed a circle with Jaina in the center.

  In bygone days, she knew, they had concealed their identities, even from other members of the Kirin Tor. But that tradition had recently fallen by the wayside. She could plainly identify each member. In addition to Modera, Aethas, and Rhonin, she beheld Ansirem Runeweaver. He was not often in Dalaran; recent tasks had necessitated his traveling extensively. On what mission, of course, Jaina did not know. Runeweaver Square was named in homage to this sharp-eyed, decisive man. Present too was Karlain, alchemist and mage both. Once at the mercy of his emotions, Karlain had learned to master them. Few were as controlled and thoughtful as he.

  Last but most assuredly not least, Jaina recognized the aged visage of a young man—Khadgar, one of the most powerful magi in Azerothian history. Though he looked to be thrice Jaina’s age, she knew the mage was only a decade older than she. Apprentice to Medivh, observer for the Kirin Tor, the closer of the Dark Portal, he dwelt in Outland, working with the naaru A’dal. That he was here, willing to discuss the matter of the protection of Theramore, gave her hope.

  “Don’t just stand there gawking,” he said chidingly, but with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m not getting any younger.”

  Jaina inclined her head respectfully. “First, let me say that you do me great honor by listening to my plea. I shall be brief. You all know me as a moderate, a diplomat. For years, I have ceaselessly worked toward peace in Azeroth between the Alliance and the Horde. That I am here now, asking the aid of the Kirin Tor to defend an Alliance city against the Horde, must convey to you how dire and one-sided the situation truly is.”

  She moved slowly as she spoke, catching the eye of each mage in turn, letting them see her earnestness. Khadgar, she suspected, was inclined to agree. Karlain was harder to read, as was Ansirem, and they both regarded her with folded arms and blank expressions.

  “The Horde has destroyed Northwatch Hold. Not only did Garrosh Hellscream amass an army of all Horde races, but his shaman used dark magic to control and direct molten giants—unpredictable and violent fire elementals. The use of such coercion could trigger an event similar to the Ca
taclysm, if the elements grow sufficiently angry.”

  On to Modera, who gave her the slightest of smiles, and the helmeted Aethas, who stood as still as if he had been carved out of stone.

  “They have set their sights on Theramore. We have a strong defense, and King Varian Wrynn has agreed to send us support in the form of the 7th Legion’s naval fleet.”

  “Then why,” asked Karlain, “do you need our aid? Theramore is a military city of no little reputation. And surely with the fleet, you will be able to send the Horde back to their lands, blushing with shame.” Aethas’s head turned at the comment, but the blood elf archmage did not speak.

  “Because the Horde is amassed and ready to march,” Jaina said. “And His Majesty’s fleet is yet a few days away.” She turned and spoke directly to Aethas. “I would prefer a meeting of minds to a clash of swords, but I must defend my people, who trust me to protect them. I would not fight the Horde, but I will if I must. It is my most sincere hope that if the Kirin Tor agrees to aid Theramore at this time when it is so very vulnerable, we can turn this potential attack into an opportunity to create peace.”

  “For all your years of diplomatic service, Jaina Proudmoore,” said Aethas in a silky voice, “you know little of the Horde if you think they will stop when they see victory.”

  “Perhaps they will stop if they see magi from the Kirin Tor,” Jaina retorted. “Please… there are families in Theramore. I will defend them with my life, as will the soldiers quartered there. But we might not be enough. And if Theramore falls, so well might Kalimdor. Nothing would then stop the Horde from attacking Ashenvale or Teldrassil, and driving the night elves out of their ancient lands. Garrosh wishes the entire continent—and, with respect, that cannot possibly be what the Kirin Tor wishes as a whole. Not if it truly believes in neutrality.”

  “We understand the situation,” said Karlain. “You do not need to tell us our business.”

  “I do not seek to,” Jaina said. “But I am counting on your wisdom to see that this is not asking you to take sides. This is asking you to save innocent lives—and keep a balance that is already too tentative.”

  An unseen signal must have passed between the other magi, for as one all of them stepped back a pace. “Thank you, Lady Jaina,” said Rhonin in a voice that was clearly a dismissal. “We will speak and ask the opinions of others ere we decide. I will notify you when we reach an agreement.”

  There was the hum of another portal opening, and Jaina stepped through it onto the almost too-clean cobblestone streets of Dalaran, feeling like a little girl who had been told to go tidy her room if she wished to have supper. She was unused to being dismissed but reasoned that if anyone had the right to do so, it was the Council of Six.

  She started to cast a teleportation spell back to Theramore but paused in mid-motion. There were two people she should see while she was here.

  • • •

  After Jaina had departed, the other five members turned expectantly to Rhonin. Before any of them could speak, he lifted a hand. “We will reconvene in an hour,” he said.

  “But we’re all already here,” said Modera, slightly puzzled.

  “I—have some precedents I’d like to check out,” said Rhonin. “I might suggest the rest of you do the same. Whichever way we decide—to aid Theramore or stand back and let the Horde come—it’s a big choice. I’d like more than my own opinion before I cast my vote.”

  There were a few sour faces, but they nodded. Rhonin teleported himself back to his chamber and stood there for a moment, his red brows knitting together. Then he strode over to his desk—nearly every inch of it covered in blank parchment, scrolls, or books—and waved a hand.

  The messy pile floated upward and remained about three feet off the desk. The desk’s top flipped open to reveal a small, simple box. What was inside, however, was anything but simple.

  Rhonin removed the box, closed the desk’s top, and allowed the parchment, books, and scrolls to return to their various positions. He took the box to a chair and sat down with it. “Old friend, it is at times like this that I miss you more than I can say,” he said. “But I must admit, it’s comforting to hear you speak to me beyond death—even if you have to do it in riddles.”

  He unlocked the box with a small key he kept around his neck and thoughtfully regarded the small pile of scrolls. Each one was a prophecy from Korialstrasz, the late consort of Alexstrasza the Life-Binder. The visions had come to him over the years, and when he had bequeathed them to Rhonin, saying with a grin, “This may help explain how at times I appear so damned clever,” Rhonin had been humbled. He had asked Rhonin to keep the knowledge of the prophecies hidden, and upon Rhonin’s death he was to leave the key to one person he trusted. “They must not fall into the wrong hands,” Krasus had warned him.

  That night, Rhonin had stayed up until the small hours of the morning reading through all the prophecies. And there was one in particular he wished to consult now.

  “I take it back,” he said aloud. “Why did you have to write these in riddles, Krasus?”

  He was sure that, somewhere, the great red dragon was laughing.

  • • •

  It was only the second visit Jaina had paid the Sparkshine family. The first time, she had come to take their daughter to a faraway land. They had been fairly bursting with pride for Kinndy, but Jaina could easily see that the family was tightly knit, perhaps because it consisted only of the three of them. The parting had been hard, but Jaina had been welcomed not as an intruder depriving them of their daughter, but as a long-lost relative to be received with open arms. Even so, she now hesitated at the door. Coming here had been an impulsive decision. Jaina felt that she owed it to her apprentice’s parents to let them know, first and foremost, how impressed she was with Kinndy’s abilities. And second, to inform them that that impressive, beloved girl was about to be put in harm’s way.

  Steeling herself for the encounter, she knocked on the door. As she remembered would happen, a smaller door, inlaid into the main one, squeaked open. An elderly, purple-clad mage peered out, around, and then up.

  “Good afternoon, mage Sparkshine,” Jaina said, smiling.

  At once he whipped off his pointed hat and bowed deeply. “Lady Proudmoore!” he exclaimed. “What brings you to—” His eyes widened slightly. “Our little Kinndy is well, I trust?”

  “Quite well, and performing her apprenticeship duties admirably,” Jaina said. Both comments, at this moment, were utterly true. “Might I come in?”

  “Oh, certainly, certainly!” Windle Sparkshine ducked back inside and closed the door, and then the main door opened to admit Jaina.

  The tidy little apartment was, as far as Jaina was concerned, decorated in perfect miniature. The ceiling was high enough for her to stand erect, but it would have been impossible for her to sit in the tiny chairs. Fortunately, Windle was already pulling out what he referred to as the “Tall Folk chair.”

  “There you are. Sit yourself right down by the fire here.” Jaina looked at the hearth but said nothing. There were logs arranged, but they remained unlit. She smothered a smile. It was an old joke with the Sparkshine family, and she had no intention of spoiling it.

  Windle pretended to gasp. “Why, that fire’s not lit!” he exclaimed. He withdrew a wand, muttered something softly, then flicked the tip of the magical tool toward the hearth. At once, a bright blaze sprang up, adding even more cheer to the already pleasant scene.

  A lovely smell wafted from the kitchen, and a gray-haired female gnome, her face smudged with flour, peered out. “Windle, who was it at—why, Lady,” she said, “what a surprise! Give me just a moment to get these pies into the oven, and I’ll be right with you.”

  “Take your time, Mrs. Sparkshine.”

  “I told you when we met, it’s Jaxi, or no apple tarts,” was the gentle reproof. For the first time in what felt like years, Jaina laughed.

  She sat in the comfortable and appropriately sized chair and appreciatively accepted
some tea and pastries. Windle and Jaxi sat in their own appropriately sized chairs and made idle chitchat for a while.

  Finally, Jaina put down her cup and looked at them. “Your daughter,” she said, “is doing a fine job. No,” she said, amending that, “a tremendous job. She impresses me more every day. I’m sure once her training is completed, she’ll impress everyone else. Many apprentices have potential. Not all of them live up to it.”

  The couple beamed and turned to each other, clasping hands. “She’s our only one, you know,” Windle said. “I’m sure you haven’t noticed, but I’m getting up in years.” It was said with a twinkle in his eye; the long white beard gave him away. “Jaxi and I had all but given up hope of having a child. Kinndy’s our little miracle.”

  “We do worry about her, all the way over there in Theramore,” Jaxi said, “but we appreciate that you let her come visit us so often.”

  “You must be teasing me,” Jaina said, “considering that every time she comes back, she brings us all some of your pastries! I’d send her to you daily if I could spare her!”

  They all chuckled. It was so serene, sitting in this cozy, old-fashioned room next to a blazing fire. Jaina wished with all her heart that it could remain so simple and so untroubled by thoughts of the danger Theramore was facing.

  “Oh, Lady Jaina,” said Jaxi, “What unhappy thought makes you so sad?”

  Jaina sighed. Much as she might wish otherwise, these good people had a right to know that their daughter was in danger.

  “Theramore is in need of aid from the Kirin Tor,” Jaina said quietly. “It was actually Kinndy’s idea that I come here and ask for help. More I cannot tell you, but I fear I am going to go home empty-handed.”

  “What kind of—” Jaxi began to say, but Windle laid a wrinkled hand over hers and squeezed it.

  “Now, now, Lady Jaina has an awful lot going on,” he said. “If she can’t tell us, well, that’s good enough for me.”