While Lady Proudmoore closed her eyes and concentrated on her spellcasting, Lorena looked at the old woman. "You're really four hundred years old?"
"Over eight hundred."
Lorena nodded. "Ah." She blinked twice. "You've aged rather well."
Aegwynn smirked. "You should've seen me thirty years ago."
Deciding that this conversation was getting far too bizarre to suit her, Lorena instead went to the rope ladder to give Major Bek and the others their new instructions. Bek acknowledged the order, wished her the best of luck, and prepared the dirigible for its return trip.
When she came back down the ladder, Lady Proudmoore had finished. As soon as Lorena had stepped off the bottom rung, Bek ordered the ladder pulled back up, and the airship began its journey back southward.
"The chamberlain's been spending most of his time in the throne room." Lorena found herself unable to keep the disdain out of her voice, then wondered why she even tried. "And most of that's been on your throne."
Lady Proudmoore nodded. "Kristoff always emphasized the importance of sitting on the throne."
"A little too much, if you ask me," Lorena nodded.
"In any event, I am ready."
Lorena braced herself. She'd been teleported only once, back during the war, and it had made her sick to her stromach.
Sure enough, the world turned upside down and inside out, and Lorena felt as if her head had been removed and placed between her knees, while her feet were sticking up out of her neck.
A second later, the world normalized, and Lorena heaved. Dimly, as she bent over on the stone floor, she registered that this was Lady Proudmoore's throne room, and Duree was going to scream at her for retching all over the floor.
"Milady!" That was Kristoff's voice. "You're back—and with Colonel Lorena. We were afraid you'd been taken by the Burning Blade. You'll be happy to know that we've reinforced Northwatch—which is good, as orc and troll troops are headed there by land and by sea. And who is this?"
Lorena heaved once again, her stomach clenching so badly it made being the conduit for the lady's spell seem heavenly by comparison.
"My name is Aegwynn."
"Really?" Kristoff sounded surprised, as if he knew who Aegwynn was. Lorena herself still had no idea, beyond the fact that she was a very old woman.
"Yes. And while I'm no longer truly a Tirisfalen, I still know the stink of demonkind when I smell it, and it's all over you."
Though there was nothing left in her stomach, Lorena heaved again, wondering what a teeris fallen was.
"What are you talking about?" Kristoff asked.
"Please, Kristoff," the lady said, "tell me that Aegwynn is mistaken. Please tell me that you have not consorted with Zmodlor and the Burning Blade."
"Milady, it isn't what you think."
Her stomach having finished torturing her, Lorena was finally able to stand upright. She saw a rather interesting tableau. Kristoff stood in front of the throne, looking frightened. Aegwynn looked mildly peeved, which wasn't qualitatively different from how she'd looked since Lorena met her.
But in Lady Proudmoore, she saw something new: a cold fury. A storm seemed to be gathering behind her eyes, and Lorena found herself very grateful that the lady was on her side.
"Not what I think? What is it, exactly, Kristoff, that I should think?"
"The orcs must be eliminated, milady. Zmodlor has the same goal, and he is a minor demon. I have already put in place the sequence of events that will banish him from the world altogether when we are done."
" ‘Done'? Done with what? Tell me what it is you've set in motion, Kristoff."
"A chain of events that will drive the orcs from this world forever. It is for the best, milady. They do not belong in this world, and—"
"You idiot!"
Kristoff reacted as if he'd been slapped. Lorena was no less surprised than the chamberlain. In all the time she'd served under her, the colonel had never heard Lady Proudmoore speak with such vehement anger.
"Zmodlor is a demon. Do you truly believe that you will be able to stop him?" She pointed at the old woman. "This is Aegwynn, the greatest of the Guardians."
Aegwynn snorted at that, but both the lady and Kristoff ignored her.
"She was unable to completely defeat Zmodlor at the height of her power. What makes you think you'll fare better? And even if you could, no goal is worth risking an alliance with a demon. Their only purpose is to create havoc and desolation. Or was the destruction of Lordaeron not enough for you? Must Kalimdor follow in its wake once this war you seem bent on starting at Northwatch breaks out?"
"Besides," Aegwynn said, "even if you had the means to destroy or banish Zmodlor, you couldn't do it. You're in his thrall."
"That's absurd!" Kristoff sounded even more nervous now. "Ours is simply an alliance of convenience, and once the orcs are gone—"
"The orcs are our allies, Kristoff!" Lightning seemed to crackle around her golden hair, and a small breeze seemed to materialize at her ankles, billowing the lady's white cloak. "That alliance was forged in blood. And the demons are the enemies of everything that lives. How could you betray us—betray me—like that?"
Kristoff was sweating profusely now. "I swear to you, milady, it is not a betrayal. I was simply doing what was best for Theramore! The Burning Blade is simply a cult of warlocks under Zmodlor's direction that are bringing out the natural hostility toward orcs. They're doing nothing but abetting what's already there!"
"What about the orcs who are members?" Lorena asked.
"What?" Kristoff sounded confused.
"The orcs who attacked me and my troops at Northwatch, they were part of the Burning Blade—and they were orcs. How do they fit in?"
"I—" Kristoff seemed to be at a loss.
Lady Proudmoore angrily shook her head. "How many, Kristoff? How many will die to provide your perfect orc—free world?"
Now Kristoff seemed to be on surer ground. "Far fewer than if we wait until Thrall dies and the orcs revert to type. This was the only—"
"Enough!" Now the breeze kicked into high gear, and lightning shot out from the lady's fingertips.
Kristoff screamed a second later, clutching his left shoulder. Smoke started to wisp out from it between his fingers.
Instinctively, Lorena ran to Kristoff and ripped away the cloth of his shirt.
There was a tattoo on his shoulder blade of a sword on fire, identical to the ones Lorena, Strov, Clai, Jalod, and the others saw on the orcs they fought at Northwatch. The tattoo was now burning.
A second later, the tattoo was gone, leaving only charred flesh in its wake. Kristoff collapsed to the floor like a sack of suet, his eyes fluttering.
In a quiet voice, Aegwynn said, "Zmodlor's gone."
"Yes." Lady Proudmoore sounded calmer now. "And my casting that exorcism spell likely alerted him to the fact that we're on to him."
"'M sorry…"
Lorena knelt down at Kristoff's side. His words were barely a whisper.
"Thought…what I did… of own free will… but Zmodlor… controlled… everything. So… sorry… sorry…"
The light faded from his eyes.
All three women stood in silence for several seconds.
The sad thing to Lorena was that Kristoff hadn't been a bad person, truly. He had done what he thought best for Theramore. He had been doing his duty. Of course, he had done it spectacularly badly, but his heart had been in the right place. That, in turn, made her feel guilty. There had been times when she wished Kristoff dead, but now that he was dead, she felt sad.
She looked at Lady Proudmoore. "We have to get to Northwatch. If we're lucky, the war won't have started yet, and maybe we can get the troops to stand down. You've got to do it in person, though, milady—Major Davin won't take orders from anyone else."
Lady Proudmoore nodded. "You're right. I'll—"
"No."
That was Aegwynn. The lady gazed at her coolly. "I beg your pardon?"
"
There's magic afoot here, Lady Proudmoore, and you're the only person in Kalimdor who can stop it. Your erstwhile chamberlain was right about one thing—Zmodlor is a minor demon. He was a sycophant of Sargeras's. He doesn't have the power to influence so many people—or to raze a forest and teleport the trees, if it comes to that. Those warlocks Kristoff mentioned are the source of all this—they're acting in Zmodlor's name, probably in exchange for rare scrolls or some other such thing." She shook her head. "Warlocks go after spells like an addict to a poppy plant. It's revolting."
"We don't have time to go on a hunt for a group of warlocks," Lorena said.
"Those warlocks are the source of all this, Colonel," Aegwynn said.
Lorena looked at Lady Proudmoore. "For all we know, milady, the fighting has already started. If it hasn't, it may at any second, if Kristoff was right about those orc and troll troops heading down. Once the fighting starts, it won't matter who or what caused it—there will be bloodshed, and once that line is crossed, the alliance will be permanently sundered."
Aegwynn also regarded the lady. "Time is of the essence. You said yourself that Zmodlor knows that you're on to him. We have to strike now, before he has a chance to form a strategy against you. And you can't be in two places at once."
Then the lady smiled. It was a radiant smile, one that Lorena took as something of a relief after the anger she had displayed toward Kristoff. "I don't need to be in two places at once." She walked to the entryway of her chambers. Lorena and Aegwynn exchanged confused glances, and then followed.
When they walked in, they saw Lady Proudmoore rummaging through the scrolls on her desk, before finally saying, "Aha!"
She turned around and held up a rock that was carved into an intricate shape. Then it started to glow…
Nineteen
Sir, the orcs, they've set up camp."
Major Davin started ripping out tufts of his beard, dress code be damned. "How many?"
Shrugging, Corporal Rych said, "Impossible to be sayin' for sure, sir."
Davin closed his eyes and counted to five. "Take a guess."
Another shrug. "Lookout, he be sayin' there's at least six hundred, sir—but hard to say for sure, sir. They be stayin' far enough back that they ain't violatin' no borders or nothin', but—"
At Rych's hesitation, Davin sighed and prompted him. "But what?"
"Well, sir, right now they just be sittin' there, but I don't think that'll be lastin', sir. 'Specially once those boats arrive."
Again, Davin sighed. It seemed that sighing was all he did these days. Dozens of boats carrying orcs and trolls alike were seen heading south on the Great Sea a day ago, heading right for Northwatch. They'd arrive within a couple of hours.
At that point, Davin would have a decision to make.
His instructions from Chamberlain Kristoff—who, with Lady Proudmoore compromised by these Burning Blade people, was in charge—were to hold Northwatch "no matter what."
Davin had no idea how he was supposed to do that.
He hadn't even wanted to be a soldier. True, he had an aptitude for violence that made him very attractive to the recruiter who came to his village as a boy, but he was also a tremendous physical coward. He managed to fake it through training, mostly by virtue of never actually being in danger. If it was just playacting, Davin had no difficulties at all. Use his sword on a straw dummy? No problem. But real combat against a flesh—and—blood foe? Then he was hopeless.
So the first time he had faced off against a person, he had thought he'd be doomed. But he had lucked out by being part of a particularly talented platoon. Davin had done little when he had faced off against the renegade dwarves who had come to his village to try to escape dwarven justice after a failed attempt to overthrow the existing government. But the rest of his platoon had done quite well, capturing or killing all the dwarves. Davin had been able to bask in the reflected glory of his comrades.
Then the Burning Legion had come.
It had been awful. People had died all around him. Lordaeron had been destroyed. Humans and orcs had fought side by side. The entire world had turned upside down. Davin had never understood why Lady Proudmoore had chosen to ally with the orcs—they were devils, not significantly better than the demons themselves—but nobody had asked Davin his advice.
The worst day had been in some forest somewhere. Davin hadn't even known where it was, only that he was there with the tattered remains of his platoon, and they were trying to find a demon stronghold so some wizard or other could learn its secrets. Davin's job was simple: protect the wizard. Everyone else was seeking out the stronghold.
Unfortunately, they found it. The demons didn't take kindly to the notion.
As soon as they came, their eyes aflame, Davin panicked and hid behind one of the oaks. He left the wizard exposed, and while the mage tried his best to defend himself, eventually one of the demons set him afire. While Davin watched from the safety of his arboreal hiding place, the wizard he was supposed to be protecting screamed in agony and died very very slowly.
Somehow—Davin was never entirely clear why—the demons overlooked him. Perhaps they didn't deem Davin to be a threat, which was certainly true. Either way, though, when his platoon was wiped out and the demons buggered off to wherever it was demons buggered off to, Davin ran back to base camp, expecting to be excoriated for being such a coward, but willing to face the consequences, as long as he wouldn't have to go out and face such a thing again.
Instead, they hailed him as a hero for surviving the deadly onslaught and coming back to report what had happened.
Then they promoted him.
Davin was stunned. He was no hero; he was, in fact, the exact opposite. But every attempt to clear the air just resulted in his being considered unduly modest. It was maddening—instead of being relieved of combat, he was put in charge of other troops.
Shortly thereafter, the war was kind enough to end, thus sparing Davin the embarrassment of having to actually lead troops into a battle he was incapable of fighting. The Burning Legion was driven back to whatever hell they had come from, and Davin was given another promotion, this time to major. After Admiral Proudmoore's arrival and subsequent death, Davin was put in charge of Northwatch Keep.
Until recently, he had welcomed the duty. Northwatch was fairly peaceful, and while Davin's cowardice made combat an impossibility, he did fine at administration.
Assuming, of course, that nothing went wrong.
Davin didn't especially like Colonel Lorena, but he really wished she were here right now, instead of off with the Burning Blade. For one thing, she was a lot better at running a garrison of troops than he was. Unlike Davin's, Lorena's promotions had actually been based on merit.
For another, if the Burning Blade could get her, not to mention Lady Proudmoore, what hope did Davin have?
Oreil came running in, his too—big armor clanking with each step. "Major Davin! Major Davin! The orcs're moving! It happened as soon as the boats docked!"
Davin sighed yet again. "When did the boats dock?"
"Didn't anyone tell you?" Oreil blinked a few times. "Oh, wait, I was supposed to do that. I'm sorry, sir, but I got all overexcited. Please don't court—martial me."
Getting up from his desk and heading out the door, Davin said, "Private, right now a court—martial is the least of your worries."
Slowly, Davin walked down the narrow staircase that led to the ground floor of the tower at Northwatch's center. Northwatch was built on an uneven hill that sloped down to the Great Sea. The eastern border of the keep was a stone wall that had been built between two of the hillocks; the buildings that made up Northwatch were on the western side of the wall, with a beach lined with palm trees on the eastern side.
As he approached the archway that led through that stone wall and onto the beach, Davin saw orcs and trolls.
Many many orcs and trolls.
Their boats were all tethered to poles that had been sunk into the sand. There were dozens of them, eac
h with a full complement of about a dozen trolls or orcs. Some wore animal skins; others wore the heads of vicious beasts as helms. All of them were armed with axes and broadswords and morningstars and maces, and other weapons that all appeared at first glance to be bigger than Davin himself.
"So this is it," he muttered. "We're going to die."
"What was that, Major?" one of the troops guarding the archway asked.
Shaking his head quickly, Davin said, "Nothing." Somehow, the major managed to force himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other. As he passed through the archway, his boots started to sink into the sand with each step.
Dimly, he registered that dozens of troops had fallen into line behind him. He took a quick glance back to see that several of them were forming a skirmish line in front of the wall, and others were taking up position atop it. Davin was grateful that someone had the wherewithal to give that order, and he briefly wondered who it was.
Turning back to face the new arrivals, he said, "I'm Maj—"
He cut himself off. His voice was breaking.
Clearing his throat, he started again. "I'm Major Davin. I'm in charge of Northwatch Keep. What business do you have here?"
For a brief moment, Davin entertained the hope that the orcs would say they were just passing through for a brief respite and would be gone within the hour. He hoped it as fervently as he had hoped that his return from the massacre of his platoon would result in his being cashiered out, and this hope looked to have as much likelihood of becoming reality as the previous one.
Sure enough, the biggest, scariest looking one stepped forward. (Davin was willing to concede that this one seemed biggest and scariest because he was the one who stepped forward.)
"I am Burx. I speak for Thrall, Warchief of the Horde and Lord of the Clans. This keep of yours violates our alliance with you people. You've got one hour to take it down and get rid of any and all traces of your presence here."
Davin sputtered. "You—you can't be serious. There's no way we can take down the entire keep in an hour!"
Cycle of Hatred (world of warcraft) Page 14