Standing at one edge of the butte, she looked far down on the small orc village at the base of the hills. Well—defended huts dotted the harsh brown landscape. Even in times of peace, the orcs made sure their homes would not be taken. A few orcs walked between the huts, greeting each other, some pausing to speak. Jaina couldn't help but smile at such quotidian simplicity.
Then she heard the low, steady rumble that heralded the arrival of Thrall's airship. Turning around, she saw the massive dirigible approach. As it grew closer, she saw that only Thrall stood in the undercarriage that was carried along beneath the massive hot—air—filled canvas that propelled the machine through the air. Said canvas was decorated with a variety of symbols, some of which Jaina recognized as pictographs from an old version of the orc language. One, she knew, was the symbol of Thrall's family, the Frostwolf clan. That was the main thing that differentiated orc airships from the ones Jaina's people used—the airships that Theramore had rented from the goblins were more nondescript affairs. Jaina wondered if the orcs' way might not be better—to imbue their non—living transports with personalities akin to that of living mounts.
In the past, when they'd met on the butte, Thrall had at least brought a guard or two. That he was traveling alone now concerned Jaina greatly.
As the airship approached, Thrall pulled some levers, and the dirigible slowed, finally coming to a hover over the butte. Pulling one final lever, Thrall lowered a rope ladder and climbed down. Like most orcs, Thrall had green skin and black hair, the latter braided and draped over his shoulders. The black plate armor with bronze trim he wore belonged to Orgrim Doomhammer, Thrall's mentor and the man for whom Durotar's capital city had been named. Strapped to his back was Orgrim's weapon, from which he derived his last name: the Doomhammer, a two—handed weapon that Jaina had seen Thrall use in battle. The blood of many a demon had been shed with that great hammer.
What stood out about Thrall most, though, were his blue eyes, a color rarely found in orcs. They bespoke both his intelligence and his kindness.
Three years ago, while both Theramore and the cities of Durotar were being built, Jaina had given Thrall a magical talisman: a small stone carved in the shape of one of the old Tirisfalen runes. Jaina had its twin in her own possession. Thrall needed only to hold it and think of her, and Jaina's talisman would glow; the reverse also held true. If they wished to meet in secret, to discuss issues that affected one or the other, or both, of their people away from the politics of their positions as leaders—or if they simply wished to talk as old friends and comrades—all they had to do was activate the talisman. Jaina would then teleport to the butte, and Thrall would come by airship, since the butte was inaccessible any other way.
"It is good to see you, my friend," Jaina said with a warm smile. And she meant it. In all her life, she'd known no one as honorable and dependable as the orc. Once, she would have numbered her father and Arthas among those. But Admiral Proudmoore insisted on attacking the orcs at Kalimdor, refusing to believe his own daughter when she said that the orcs were as much victims of the Burning Legion as humans were, and were not evil. Like so many people Jaina had known, Admiral Proudmoore was unable to accept that the world was different from the way it was when he was younger, and fought against any alteration to it. That included the presence of orcs, and Jaina had been put in the terrible position of betraying her own father to Thrall's people in the hope of stopping the bloodshed.
As for Arthas, he had become one of the greatest evils in the world. Now Jaina found herself in a place where she trusted the leader of the orc clans more than the man she once loved or her father.
When her father had attacked, Thrall—who had seen the pain in Jaina's eyes when she told him how to defeat the admiral—had kept his word. And he had never been one to accept that the world was the way it was. He had been captured as an infant and raised by a human named Aedelas Blackmoore to be the perfect slave, even given a name representing that. But Thrall threw off his chains and rallied the orcs first to freedom, then to the ways of his people that had been lost to the demonic hordes that had brought them to this world.
Now, Jaina saw a different look in Thrall's unusual blue eyes. Her dear friend was furious.
"We signed no treaty, you and I." Thrall started in immediately, not even returning Jaina's greeting. "We made no provisions for our alliance. We trusted that our bond had been forged in blood, and we would never betray each other."
"I have not betrayed you, Thrall." Jaina tensed briefly, but with the ease of long practice, kept her emotions in check. She didn't appreciate the blanket accusation of betrayal without even the conversational niceties—or even an acknowledgment of their bond beyond his out—of—nowhere belief that she'd broken it—but the first thing she had been taught as an apprentice mage was that strong emotions and wizardry didn't always mix well. She increased her grip on the ornate wooden staff she carried, a legacy from her mentor, Archmage Antonidas.
"I do not believe you have." Thrall's tone was still belligerent. Unlike his fellow orcs, gruffness was not Thrall's default manner, no doubt due to his human upbringing. "However, it seems your people may not hold to our bond as strongly as you."
Her voice tight, Jaina asked, "Thrall, what are you talking about?"
"One of our merchant vessels, the Orgath'ar, was harassed by pirates."
Jaina frowned. As much as they tried to prevent it, privateering remained a problem on the seas. "We've increased the patrols as much as possible, but—"
"Patrols are useless if they are just going to sit and watch! The Orgath'ar saw one of your patrols nearby! It was close enough to be seen in dense fog, yet they did nothing to aid Captain Bolik and his crew! Bolik even sounded the foghorn, and your people just sat."
Her calm in inverse proportion to Thrall's anger, Jaina asked, "You say your lookout could see them. That doesn't necessarily mean that they could see Orgath'ar."
That brought Thrall up short.
Jaina continued. "Your people have better vision than we do. And when they heard the foghorn, they probably took it as a sign to get out of the way."
"If they were close enough for my people to see, they were close enough to hear a boarding party! My people have better vision, it's true, but we also do not do battle in stealth. I do not believe that your patrol did not hear what happened."
"Thrall—"
The orc turned around, throwing his hands into the air. "I had thought that things would be different here! I had thought that your people had finally come to accept mine as equals. I should have realized that when it came to taking up arms against their own to aid an orc, humans would abandon us."
Now Jaina was having a harder time reining in her temper. "How dare you? I had thought that, after all we'd been through, you'd at least give my people the benefit of the doubt."
"The evidence—"
"What evidence? To whom have you spoken besides this Captain Bolik and his crew?"
Thrall's silence answered Jaina's question.
"I will find out which patrol ship it was. Where was Orgath'ar attacked?"
"Half a league off the coast near Ratchet, an hour from port."
Jaina nodded. "I'll have one of my soldiers investigate. Those patrols are coordinated by Northwatch."
Thrall tensed.
"What is it?"
The orc turned back around to face her. "There is considerable pressure on me to take Northwatch Keep back by force."
"And there is considerable pressure on me to keep it."
Thrall and Jaina stared at each other. Now that he faced her again, Jaina saw something different in the orc's blue eyes: not anger, but confusion.
"How did this happen?" Thrall asked the question in a quieter voice, all belligerence now seemingly burned out of him. "How did it come to where we bicker over such idiocy?"
Jaina couldn't help but laugh. "We are leaders, Thrall."
"Leaders take their warriors into battle."
"In times of war,
yes," Jaina said. "In times of peace, they lead them differently. War is a grand endeavor that subsumes daily existence, but when it ends, there is still daily existence." She walked over to her old comrade and put her small hand on his massive arm. "I will investigate this, Thrall, and learn the truth. And if my soldiers did not do their duty by our alliance, then I swear to you they will be punished."
Thrall nodded. "Thank you, Jaina. And I apologize for my accusations. But my people have endured so much. I have endured so much, and I will not see our people mistreated again."
"Nor will I," Jaina said quietly. "And perhaps—" She hesitated.
"What?"
"Perhaps we should draft a formal treaty. Because you were right before—you and I may trust each other, but not all humans and orcs will do likewise. And much as we may wish it otherwise, we will not live forever."
Thrall nodded. "It is often…difficult to remind my people that you are no longer our slavemasters. In many ways, they wish to continue the rebellion even though the time of orc enslavement is long past. Sometimes I get caught up in their fervor, especially since I was raised in bondage by a creature as foul as any member of the Burning Legion. Sometimes I believe the worst, and so will my people when I am gone and can no longer remind them. So perhaps you are correct."
"Let us solve this crisis first," Jaina said, giving Thrall a smile. "Then we will speak of treaties."
"Thank you." Then Thrall shook his head and chuckled.
"What is it?"
"You are nothing like her in any way, but—when you smiled, just for an instant, you reminded me of Tari."
Jaina remembered that Taretha Foxton, whom most called Tari, was the daughter of a member of Aedelas Blackmoore's household, and had been instrumental in Thrall's escape from Blackmoore's clutches at the cost of her own life.
Orcs immortalized their history in song form: a lok'amon chronicled the starting of a family, a lok'tra a battle, a lok'vadnod the life of a hero. To the best of anyone's knowledge, the only human ever to have a lok'vadnod sung of her life was named Tari.
And so Jaina bowed her head and said, "I am honored to be so associated. I will send Colonel Lorena to Northwatch, and as soon as she reports, I will inform you."
Thrall shook his head. "Another woman in your military. Humans astound me sometimes."
Jaina's tone grew frosty; again, she tightly gripped the staff. "What do you mean? Can men and women not be equals in your world?"
"Of course not. Nor would I say," he added quickly before Jaina could interrupt, "that they are unequal—any more than I would say that an insect and a flower could be equals. They serve completely different purposes."
Grateful for the opening, Jaina said the same thing to Thrall that she had said to Antonidas when as a brash young woman she had insisted on becoming his apprentice. Back then, the archmage had said to her, "It is no more women's nature to become wizards than it is a dog's nature to compose an aria."
As then, she now said to Thrall: "Is not what separates us from animals that we can change our nature? After all, there are those who would argue that an orc's nature was to be a slave." Then Jaina shook her head. "However, there are many who think as you do. It is why women have to work twice as hard to achieve the same position as a man—which is why I trust Lorena more than any of my other colonels. She will learn the truth."
At that, Thrall threw his massive head back and laughed heartily. "You are a fine woman, Jaina Proudmoore. You remind me how much I still have to learn about humans, despite having been raised by them."
"Given who raised you, I'd say that was more because you were raised by them."
Thrall nodded. "A fine point. Have your female colonel investigate the matter. We will speak again when she is done." He moved toward the rope ladder that still dangled from the hovering airship.
"Thrall." He stopped and turned to face her. She gave him as encouraging a look as she could. "We will not let this alliance fail."
Again, he nodded. "No, we shall not." With that, he climbed the rope.
Jaina, for her part, muttered an incantation in a language known only to mages, then took a deep breath. Her stomach felt as if it were being sucked out through her nose, as the butte, the airship, Thrall, and Razor Hill shifted and altered around her, growing indistinct and hazy. A moment, and then everything coalesced into the familiar surroundings of her chambers on the top floor of the largest of the castles that made up the tallest structures in Theramore.
She did most of the work of state here, in this small room with its desk and thousands of scrolls, rather than in the throne room, an ostentatious title for a like space. Jaina sat in that throne as little as possible—even during the weekly occasions when she saw petitioners, she generally paced in front of the embarrassingly large chair rather than actually park herself in it—and used the room sparingly. These chambers felt more like Antonidas's study, where she learned her craft, complete with disorganized desk and badly sorted scrolls. That made it feel like home.
Something else the throne room had that the chambers didn't was a window with a view. Jaina knew she'd never get any work done if there was a view of Theramore—she would be distracted alternately by wonder at what they'd built here and fright at her responsibility for it.
Teleporting was always an intense, draining process, and while Jaina's training allowed her to be battle—ready instantly upon completing a teleport, all things being equal, she preferred to give herself a little time to recover. She gave herself those moments now before calling out to her secretary. "Duree!"
The old widow came in through the main entrance. The chambers had three entrances. Two of them were known to all: the one Duree had just used, and the one to the hallway and staircase that led to Jaina's private apartments. The third was a secret passageway meant to be an escape route. Only six other people knew of it, and five of those were the workers who had built it.
Duree glared at Jaina through her spectacles. "No need to shout, I'm sitting right outside the door like I always am. How'd your meeting with the orc go?"
Sighing, Jaina said, not for the first time, "His name is Thrall."
Duree waved her arms about so much that the frail woman almost lost her balance. Her spectacles fell off her nose and dangled from their string around her neck. "I know, but it's such a stupid name. I mean, orcs have names like Hellscream and Doomhammer and Drek'Than and Burx and the like, and he calls himself Thrall? What self—respecting orc would call himself that?"
Not bothering to explain that Thrall was more self—respecting than any orc she'd known—since the explanation had never worked the previous hundred times she'd tried it—Jaina said instead, "It's Drek'Thar, not Drek'Than."
"Either way." Duree put her spectacles back on her nose. "Those are good orc names. Not Thrall. Anyhow, how'd it go?"
"We have a problem. Get Kristoff in here, and have one of the boys find Colonel Lorena and tell her to put a detail together that's traveling to Northwatch, and then to report to me." Jaina sat at her desk and started sorting through the scrolls, trying to find the shipping reports.
"Why Lorena? Shouldn't you get Lothar or Pierce? Someone less—I don't know, feminine? They're a rough bunch in Northwatch."
Wondering if she was going to have this conversation every time Lorena's name came up, Jaina said, "Lorena's tougher than Lothar and Pierce combined. She'll be fine."
Duree pouted, a poor sight on such an old woman. "It ain't right. Military ain't women's work."
Giving up on finding the shipping records, she instead glared at her secretary. "Neither is running a city—state."
"Well, that's different," Duree said weakly.
"How?"
"It just is."
Jaina shook her head. Three years, and Duree had yet to come up with a better answer than that. "Just go get Kristoff and send for Lorena before I turn you into a newt."
"You turn me into a newt, you'll never find anything again."
Throwing up her hands
in frustration. "I can't find anything now. Where are the damn shipping records?"
Smiling, Duree said, "Kristoff has 'em. I'll tell him to bring 'em when he comes, shall I?"
"Please."
Duree bowed, which caused her spectacles to fall off again. Then she left the chambers. Jaina briefly considered throwing a fireball after her, but decided against it. Duree was right—without her, Jaina never would be able to find anything.
Moments later, Kristoff arrived, several scrolls in hand. "Duree said you wanted to see me, milady. Or did you just want these?" He indicated the scrolls.
"Both, actually. Thank you," she added as she took the scrolls from him.
Kristoff was Jaina's chamberlain. While she ruled Theramore, Kristoff was the one who ran it. His capacity for irritating minutiae made him ideal for the job, and had been the primary thing keeping Jaina from indulging in a homicidal rage when being leader became too much for her not—very—broad shoulders to bear. He had been the clerk to Highlord Garithos before the war, when his organizational skills had become legendary.
Certainly, he did not advance in the military due to any physical prowess. Kristoff was tall but rail thin, seeming almost as fragile as Duree, who at least had old age to blame. His straight, dark, just—past—shoulder—length hair framed an angular face and hawk nose, a visage that seemed to wear a perpetual scowl.
Jaina shared Thrall's story of the attack on Orgath'ar and the nearby vessel doing nothing to help.
Raising a thin eyebrow, Kristoff said, "The story does not seem credible. Half a league off Ratchet, you said?"
Jaina nodded.
"There were no military boats assigned to that region, milady."
"The fog was thick—it's possible that the boat Captain Bolik saw was off course."
Kristoff nodded, conceding the point. "However, milady, it is also possible that Captain Bolik was mistaken."
"It seems unlikely." Jaina walked around to the other side of her desk and sat in the chair, placing the shipping records on the only open space. "Orcs have keener eyesight than we do, remember, and they tend to use the most gifted in eyesight as lookouts."
Cycle of Hatred (world of warcraft) Page 3