Burx smiled. It was the type of smile that a large predator might have right before it pounced on its small, defenseless prey. "If you don't comply with this order, we'll attack. And you'll die."
Of that last part, Davin had very little doubt.
Twenty
Jaina had sent Aegwynn and Lorena to the small dining hall that was reserved for high—ranking officers and officials of state. For practical purposes, according to Duree, the little old woman who assisted Jaina, the latter mostly had meant the now—deceased Kristoff and Jaina herself. The young mage had given Aegwynn permission to enter there, as well. When Duree objected, Jaina pointed out that a Guardian was of greater rank than a head of state.
For her part, Jaina had retreated to her chambers—she too needed to eat, but she had to do it while working, trying to determine the location of the warlocks. Lorena wanted to join her troops at Northwatch, in case Thrall was unable to stem the tide of battle, but Jaina refused. For one thing, she trusted Thrall. For another, she needed Lorena as physical protection when they confronted Zmodlor and his minions, especially since Kristoff had sent Jaina's official protection, the Elite Guard, to Northwatch.
But Jaina needed to work in solitude, so she sent the old Guardian and the young colonel to the dining hall.
When the steward came by, Aegwynn asked for only a salad and some fruit juice; Lorena ordered a meat platter and boar's grog. Aegwynn had never heard of the latter, and Lorena explained that it was an orc drink.
Letting out a long breath, Aegwynn said, "How times have changed."
"What do you mean?"
"It wasn't that long ago that orcs were nothing but the minions of the demons I had dedicated my life to stopping. They were monsters, berserkers that ravaged the countryside in the name of Gul'dan, who was in turn acting for Sargeras. The notion of humans drinking an orc beverage is…radical, to say the least."
Lorena smiled. "Yes, but isn't ‘that long ago' a relative term when discussing someone as old as you?"
Aegwynn chuckled. "A fair point."
"You're really a thousand years old?"
Smiling wryly, Aegwynn said, "Give or take a century."
Lorena shook her head. "Magic. I've never understood it—always hated it, to be honest, even when it's being used in my service."
Aegwynn shrugged. "I've never wanted any other life for myself but as a wizard. From when I was a little girl, it was how I always answered those tiresome questions about what I wanted to be when I grew up. The adults always looked at me strangely when I said that—wizards were always men, after all." That last was said with a certain bitterness.
"So were soldiers. I grew up with nine brothers, and they were all soldiers just like my father. I didn't see any good reason why I shouldn't be one, either." Lorena chuckled. "I got the same strange looks, believe me."
The drinks arrived a moment later, as did Aegwynn's salad. Lorena held up her mug. "Would you like a taste?"
Boar's grog smelled about as wretched as the animal for which it was named. Her nose wrinkling, Aegwynn politely declined. "I'm afraid I haven't had a drink of alcohol in—well, centuries. Mages can't afford the loss of mental acuity, so I lost the taste for it some time ago." She held up her mug, which was apparently a mixture of the squeezings of three or four different fruits. "This is as strong a concoction as I'm willing to imbibe."
"Makes sense." Lorena threw back a big gulp of her grog. "Me, I can drink four of these things before I even notice. Always had a high tolerance." She grinned. "When I was a rookie with the Kul Tiras City Guard, I always used to drink the men in my barracks under the table. We started having contests with the other barracks, and I was always the secret weapon." She laughed. "I quadrupled my income on bets alone during that year."
Aegwynn smiled as she nibbled on her salad. She found herself enjoying talking with this woman—an emotion she wouldn't have credited herself capable of feeling only a day ago. She had been thoroughly convinced that she had no more use for the company of other people.
The steward brought a pile of assorted meats, cooked to a fine brown. Aegwynn only recognized some of them, but she assumed the livestock on Kalimdor was different enough to account for that. It had been years since she ate meat, and, unlike the smell of the colonel's drink, the smell of the meat was almost intoxicating. As a mage, it was her constant companion—the exhaustive requirements of casting spells required regular infusions of protein—but since her self—imposed exile to Kalimdor she hadn't the wherewithal to hunt her own meat, nor the physical need to consume it, so she had become a vegetarian.
"Mind if I have a bite?" To Aegwynn's surprise, she asked the question shyly—another emotion she didn't think herself still capable of.
Pushing the plate to the center of the table they sat at, Lorena said, "Be my guest."
As Aegwynn hungrily chewed a piece of what looked like boar sausage, Lorena asked, "I have to ask, Magna—what's it like?"
"It's Aegwynn," she said while chewing her sausage. "I stopped being the Guardian when I passed on the power to my son. And I'm certainly unable to fulfill the responsibilities of the title now." She swallowed. "What's what like?"
"Living for so long. I'm a soldier, born and bred, and I've known from the beginning that I probably won't live to see my fortieth year. You've reached your fortieth decade—twice over. I just can't imagine that."
Aegwynn let out a long breath—which now smelled of boar sausage, an odor that was still more pleasant than the grog named after the same animal. "There really wasn't much time to reflect on things. Guardian is a full—time job, sadly. Demonic threats have been a constant since before I was born. The attacks became more overt in recent times, which probably made things easier. But when I wasn't stopping demons I was covering up evidence of their perfidy. Most people didn't know about it—or about me—and the council preferred to keep it that way." She shook her head. "It's odd—I defied them in so many ways, but that particular credo I kept to. I wonder if that was a mistake. Yes, people probably felt safer not knowing the truth, and more people died in the recent wars—but the demons have also been more roundly defeated. Your Lady Proudmoore and her orc friend did more damage to the entirety of demonkind than has been done in thousands of years."
"We're contentious beings, mortals." Lorena smirked. "Give us a foe to fight, and we'll go after it with our dying breath. And beyond, if needs be."
"Indeed. Colonel—may I have another piece?"
Lorena laughed and said, "Help yourself."
Taking another piece of meat—this time one she didn't recognize—Aegwynn wondered what would happen after this was over. She found the prospect of returning to her little hut in the Bladescar Highlands to be less enthralling than she would have thought. Jaina had been correct—humans and orcs had built a life here, and it was because of Medivh. Which meant, ultimately, it was because of her. Perhaps it would be best if she reaped the fruits of her labors…
Before she could ponder further, Jaina entered the dining hall. "I've found them. We must move quickly."
The young mage looked ragged. Aegwynn stood up. "Are you well?"
"A little tired. I'll be fine," Jaina said dismissively.
Aegwynn pointed at the plate of meat. "Eat something—you'll be of no use to anyone if you collapse, and I know better than anyone what happens to spells that aren't cast with full concentration."
Jaina opened her mouth, then closed it. "You're right, of course, Magna."
Lorena leaned over to Jaina. "She doesn't like to be called that."
At that, Aegwynn barked a laugh. She was really starting to like this colonel.
After Jaina wolfed down some of Lorena's meat—Aegwynn was amused to realize that Lorena had gotten the smallest share of her own meal—the lady said, "The Burning Blade is operating out of a cavern atop Dreadmist Peak."
Lorena winced. "Oh, great."
Looking at Lorena, Aegwynn asked, "What's the problem?"
"Dreadmist Peak is aptly named. The up
per regions of the mountain are choked with this orange mist."
Dismissively, Jaina said, "It's residuum from an ancient demonic curse on the place. That's probably why Zmodlor chose it—that, and its location, since it's about equidistant from both Orgrimmar and Theramore. In any case, my magicks will protect all three of us from the effects of the mist."
"Good," Lorena said emphatically.
"Also, Duree was able to find this." Jaina pulled a familiar—looking de—sealed scroll from inside her cloak and handed it to Aegwynn.
She took it, noted that the broken seal was that of the Tirisfalen, then opened it and laughed. The scroll's lettering was in her own handwriting.
Handing it back to Jaina, Aegwynn said, "That's my refinement of the banish—demon spell. I wrote that three hundred years ago, after Erthalif died and I got access to his redoubt." She shuddered at the memory of the old elf's library, which would have had to be several orders of magnitude neater before it could be considered merely a mess. It took her and Erthalif's staff ten weeks just to organize the scrolls, scrub away the desiccated food and drink, and chase off the vermin. When she found the notes taken by the legendary elf wizard Kithros on the moving of objects from one realm to another, Aegwynn had been able to incorporate them into a more efficient spell for banishing demons. "I daresay if I'd had this eight hundred years ago, we wouldn't be dealing with Zmodlor today."
Jaina put the scroll back in her cloak. "Actually, no. I checked up, and it turns out that you were completely successful in banishing Zmodlor the first time. But when the Burning Legion attacked, they recruited many demons, including ones that had been banished by the Tirisfalen. When the war ended, several stragglers managed to stay in this world even when the legion was driven back."
"And Zmodlor was one of them?" Aegwynn asked.
"Yes." Jaina nodded.
Unsheathing her sword—and sounding to Aegwynn remarkably gung—ho for someone who was so appalled by the notion of going to this Dreadmist place—Lorena said, "Milady, if I may ask—what are we waiting for?"
"This warning," Jaina replied. "I was unable to scry too closely, for fear of being detected, so I'm not sure what kind of protection Zmodlor and his warlocks will have. We must be ready for anything." She turned to face Aegwynn. "Magna—Aegwynn—you need not accompany us. It may be dangerous."
Aegwynn snorted. This was a hell of a time for her to say that, and a bit of a reversal from her earlier lecture on her responsibilities as Guardian. Then again, at the time they had thought that she had failed in her banishment of Zmodlor, and now they knew that was not the case. Yet, she still felt some measure of responsibility. "I was facing dangers far worse than that little twerp of a demon when your great—great—grandparents were infants. We're wasting time."
Jaina smiled. "Then let's go."
Twenty—One
Corporal Rych had no idea who it was who started the fighting.
One moment, he was standing there in the skirmish line in front of Northwatch Keep's wall, Private Hoban on his left, Private Allyn on his right. They stood about twenty paces behind Major Davin. The major himself was amazing, just standing up to that orc like the war hero he was, not scared or nothing. Did them all proud, the major did.
The next moment, the skirmish line was shattered, and orcs, trolls, and humans were getting into it. All around him, he heard the clang of metal on metal, and the shouts of both sides imploring their fellows to kill their foes.
Not that Rych minded all that much. The orcs had their nerve, they did. Wasn't enough they had to pull their stunts in trade at Ratchet, leading to a good man like Captain Joq getting pinched by the bruisers, now they had to come and try to kick them out of their rightful place in Northwatch.
Rych wasn't putting up with that, he wasn't.
He unsheathed the family claymore. Father was part of the Kul Tiras Irregulars back in the day, and used the claymore to good effect. After he died of the flu, Mother joined up and killed plenty. She died fighting the Burning Legion, and the claymore came to Rych—which was a relief, as the longsword he'd been using was crap.
Although he wasn't as good with it as Mother, he was better than Father was, and he intended to spill plenty of orc and troll blood with it.
One of the trolls came right at him, holding up a huge cleaver. Rych parried the cleaver, then kicked the troll in the stomach. That trick always worked on the drunks he used to clear out of Mowbry's Tavern back home.
Unfortunately, trolls had tougher bellies, and this one just laughed and swung again with the cleaver.
Blood pooled in the sand under him, but Rych couldn't spare a glance to see whose it was as he parried the cleaver again.
"You've had this comin' a long time," the troll said as he lifted the cleaver.
While the troll was wasting time saying this, Rych stabbed the troll in the chest.
His foe falling to the sand as Rych removed the claymore, he turned to see that the blood was from both Hoban and Allyn, who lay dead in the sand, blood pouring from multiple wounds. An orc was charging toward the keep gates, blood dripping from his ax. Screaming, Rych ran for the orc and stabbed the greenskin in the back.
"'Ey! Human!"
Rych whirled around to see another orc.
"You killed Gorx!"
"Gorx killed my friends," Rych said with a snarl.
"Yeah, fought 'em, but you stabbed 'im inna back!"
Not seeing the big deal, Rych said again, "He killed my friends!"
Raising his greatsword, the orc said, "Well, now I'm gonna kill you!"
The greatsword was a lot bigger than Rych's claymore, but that meant it took the orc a lot longer to swing it, as he had to wind up to strike, which gave Rych plenty of time to either dodge or parry. An attempt at the latter resulted in an impact of blade on blade that sent convulsions through his entire body, leaving Rych to embrace the efficacy of the former.
Or so he thought—the fourth time he dodged the greatsword, he bumped into Private Nash. That caused Nash to turn around in surprise, leaving him open to an attack from an orc's pulverizer.
Anger got Rych's blood boiling. It wasn't enough that these orcs had to attack, now they were making him screw up his fellow soldiers. Screaming incoherently, he ran at the orc with his claymore.
The orc stepped aside to his left, holding out his greatsword, which cut through Rych's chest plate and stomach as he ran past. White—hot agony sliced through his torso, and his scream became even more incoherent. He flailed his claymore about with his right hand while clutching his injured chest with his left.
Suddenly, the claymore stopped short and wouldn't move. Wincing in searing pain even as he did so, Rych turned to his right to see that the claymore had impaled the orc's head.
"Serves you right," he managed to blurt out through clenched teeth.
He yanked the claymore out of the orc's skull, which shot a lot more pain through his chest. For some reason, the sounds of battle had dimmed, and all Rych could hear was a persistent roaring in his ears.
Using the family weapon as a makeshift walking stick, he stumbled forward in the sand, looking for more orcs to kill.
Twenty—Two
A moment ago, Aegwynn had been standing in Theramore.
A moment ago, Lorena had taken a very deep breath and looked apprehensive. Aegwynn remembered the colonel's words about how she hated magic—not to mention her nausea in response to teleporting last time. Briefly, Aegwynn wondered if it was such a good idea for Lorena to have eaten prior to this.
A moment ago, Jaina Proudmoore had looked determined.
Now, they stood at the mouth of a cave surrounded by a foul—smelling orange mist, leading Aegwynn to understand why Lorena had been so unenthusiastic about coming here. The orange miasma hung in the air like the worst kind of fog. Aegwynn almost felt weighed down by it.
Aegwynn had long since grown inured to the effects of teleportation, so the only disorientation she felt was related to the mist. She shot a gla
nce at Lorena, who looked a bit pale, but was still holding her sword before her, ready for anything.
Jaina, however, looked as pale as Lorena, which was not a good sign.
However, Aegwynn said nothing. There was no going back now, and the last thing Jaina needed was someone acting like a mother hen. Aegwynn herself had certainly hated it when someone—usually Scavell, or, when they were sleeping together, Jonas, or one of the council—fussed over her when she was exhausted and still had to do battle, so she saw no reason to inflict that on Jaina now.
Still, there was cause for concern. Jaina had cast four teleport spells today that Aegwynn knew about—herself to Bladescar, the thunder lizards to Bladescar, the three of them back to Theramore, and the three of them to this cave—plus scrying Zmodlor's location, doing whatever she did to keep the thunder lizards under control, and inuring the three of them to whatever this mist did under normal circumstances. That much casting in one day alone would start to take its toll, and for all Aegwynn knew there was more besides.
As Jaina led the way through the mouth of the cave, Aegwynn wondered when she had stopped thinking of the golden—haired mage as "Lady Proudmoore"—or "that annoying little girl"—and had started thinking of her as "Jaina."
Aloud, she said, "Zmodlor's here, all right." She shuddered. "He's everywhere." The demon had obviously set up shop in this cave, and his essence was in the very rock. She hadn't been so overwhelmed by foulness since she confronted her son at Kharazan—though some of the feeling might have been due to the mist. It only added to the general unpleasantness of the dank cave. Jaina cast a light spell that allowed them to see, but all that served to do was make the mist brighter. Then again, Aegwynn had no interest in getting a better look at the damp walls, stalactites—the points of which threatened the top of her head—and uneven stone floor.
After they'd walked twenty paces into the cave, Aegwynn stiffened. "There's—"
"I've got it," Jaina said. She muttered a quick incantation.
Cycle of Hatred (world of warcraft) Page 15