“You won’t be needin’ this anymore,” Apari said, kneeling with difficulty. She snatched the gag from the troll’s mouth, and at once he began pleading.
“You do not need to do this! Do you want gold? I can give you gold! P-please! Please, Parri, I know you! It is me, Bezime! You…You must know me! There is no need for all of this I will give you whatever you want! My daughter is to be married soon, let me live to see it!”
“Ah,” Apari teased cruelly. “Ya gave ya daughter away. Then this be a mercy. Keep ya gold and ya promises, sacrifice, but don’t be stingy with ya screams.”
Apari raised the ritual knife and then brought it down with a true strike, piercing the heart, bringing forth the blood. The fuel. Magic had its cost.
“Nav’rae…forgive…me…” His thin voice ebbed as his eyes rolled back and the fuel for the storm began to run into the rivulets carved in the stone.
The pain in her leg no longer bothered Apari, a surge like lightning throwing her to her feet. Those arms made for dancing were raised to the moon, and the thrilled cries of her followers felt as intoxicating as the blood magic.
“By flowing, foaming blood, we call the sea to rise!” Apari thundered. Tayo lifted her torch, the flame hitting its zenith each time the crowd chanted, “Blood, Blood, Blood…”
The blood racing toward the painted symbol ignited, crackling, then the ground all around Apari’s feet began to hum and glow.
“By wind from dead lungs, we call the clouds to seethe!”
“Wind, Wind, Wind…”
“Blood be fire, fire burn bright, light the skies and show us your might!” Apari closed her hands into fists, the white flames rising around her traveling from the runnels in the stone to the white painted symbol and back to the sacrifice at the center of it all. Her clothes caught fire first, curling. Tayo held her torch high, and the chanting became erratic, her followers leaping and dancing, laughing and twirling one another as the flames abruptly snuffed themselves out. The wind died down. All was quiet until the fire burned anew, now in Apari’s hands.
A distant rumble to the east announced their success. Soon the skies above the Zandalari coast would thicken with black clouds, the waves below towering taller than ships.
Apari brought her palms together, smothering the magic until it hissed and dulled, and for a moment, with that power still rolling through her veins and her followers celebrating, she knew happiness.
The body before her, charred and still, was nothing now but a gift for the buzzards.
Tayo brought her torch and a smile to Apari, putting her free hand on the troll’s shoulder. Hers was a more reserved jubilation. “Yazma would be proud.”
Nodding, Apari watched her dreadtick pace listlessly next to the still smoldering body.
“I know.” Sighing, she clucked her tongue, and the tick buzzed up into the air, then flew a crooked path to her shoulder, landing there with a nip at her ear. “Patience, little one. Don’t be sad now. When the traitors lie dead at our feet you will have your feast.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Arathi Highlands
“Alleria! Turalyon…Have you found anything?”
The whistling vortex of the portal twisted shut behind her, and Jaina Proudmoore stepped out onto the sand, salt and spray greeting her. She had come with all haste, sent by the king of Stormwind, Turalyon and Alleria’s lack of progress concerning him. Days had passed with no word from the pair, no indication that the tip sending them to the highlands had borne fruit. Jaina had tried to counsel him toward patience, but none of her assurances, none of her arguments, eased his troubled heart.
A human man, sprawled on the ground, shook helplessly as a dark, shadowy cloud enveloped his head, golden shackles holding him against his will.
Turalyon was the first to turn and face her, the paladin’s concentration breaking, the glittering chains pressing the man into the sand vanishing in a puff of light. Jaina Proudmoore knew that some wielded the Light and Void seamlessly, but she had never seen such methods used as coercion. Horrible, she thought. What has possessed them?
Perhaps Anduin was wise to send her after all.
“This man and his family sheltered one of the Banshee Queen’s dark rangers, then smuggled her to a shipping boat,” Turalyon told her.
Alleria did not acknowledge her presence, apparently too busy drawing agonized screams from the smuggler to stop and answer Jaina. A small outpost had been built not far from the shore, and a smattering of Alliance soldiers waited there, lingering in the doorway. Down the beach, a handful of void elves kept solemn watch over what appeared to be the rest of the smuggler’s family, all of them on their knees cowering.
“And you know this how?” Jaina pressed, joining Turalyon and Alleria on the damp and shifting sand near the surf. “Did he resist?”
“The father refused to answer our questions, but he possessed a suspicious dagger.” And here Turalyon produced the blade, its handle finely wrought with a raised silver skull, purple gems glittering along the hilt. “A dagger that would look more fitting in a Forsaken scabbard, don’t you agree?”
Jaina took hold of their evidence, examining it closely. She could not deny that it resembled the weapons used by Sylvanas and her chosen guards.
“A group of refugees led us here. Their apothecary treated the ranger for wounds and then she left for the coast. Visrynn is the ranger; do you know her?” Turalyon asked.
A cutting wind streaming up from the south bit at Jaina’s skin, fluttering her blue-and-gold cloak. It might have given her a chill, but she already shivered, mistrustful of the Void, disgusted by what she now watched Alleria do to the smuggler.
Many looked on, including Turalyon’s Alliance forces; some even squirmed, seemingly sharing Jaina’s discomfort.
“I don’t know her,” Jaina replied, returning the blade.
“That is no matter,” he said with a shrug. “We will find her soon enough.”
The smuggler went silent and limp, perhaps dead, curled into a ball on the sand while the foamy waves lapped at his boots. Alleria inhaled deeply, her eyes lit with strange excitement as she at last ended her cruel work and turned to address them.
“Yes, we will find her soon.” Alleria nodded, satisfied. “They provided a skiff sturdy enough to sail deep water. The fool ranger was quite specific. It must get her west.” Alleria glanced between Jaina and Turalyon. “The only thing worth sailing to directly west of here is the Zandalari coast.”
Jaina could not argue with the results of their use of both Light and Void, but she certainly could argue with the method. They seemed distant, numb, as if this was something they had reluctantly done before. Jaina was left hoping it was a desperate measure taken in response to limited time, not their new normal. And time was limited. Searching every corner of Azeroth remained a massive undertaking, and the longer they looked, the less likely they were to find Sylvanas before she caused more death and mayhem.
“Does the king know you are employing these…” Jaina groped for a diplomatic word. “Tactics?”
At last the poor man on the ground moved, his hands clawing listlessly at the wet sand. The wind carried the full-bodied sobs of his wife and son toward them.
“The king was quite clear,” Alleria answered. “We were to use whatever means necessary to extract information. Now we know Sylvanas has her sights set on Zandalar. Our scope has narrowed, and I can only imagine King Anduin will be pleased.”
“If this is how we must behave to achieve victory then he is not pleased,” Jaina assured them in a hiss, gesturing to the broken smuggler. “Nor am I.”
“I assure you, all will make sense in time, Jaina.” Turalyon spoke before Alleria could spit out whatever she had ready, though the Void-touched elf’s face froze on a snarl. “Alleria did not harm him overmuch, and the Light will soothe whatever now ails him. I will see
to that. I would never let the void within her rage out of control.”
“And I would never need him to control me.”
“Indeed.” Jaina pushed past them both, kneeling beside the trembling smuggler. Carefully, she rolled him onto his back, cradling his head with one hand, her eyes seeking along his face for any hint of recognition.
“He has told me everything,” Alleria continued impatiently. “To dawdle here with him is to waste precious time.”
“I’m sorry…” The words dribbled out between thin, bluish lips, as if Alleria had stolen the last trace of warmth from his body. “My family…I couldn’t f-feed them, the storms have k-kept the fish away—”
“And a dagger that fine would fetch a tempting price,” Jaina finished for him. “When it comes to those we love, we always do what we must. Your honesty is your penance, sir. So I tell you now: If you have anything more to say—”
Alleria sighed. But the smuggler in Jaina’s grasp pawed at the air, nodding frantically.
“She…the ranger…she must reach her destination before the White Lady is full,” the man whimpered, his eyes rolling back. “After…no ships will pass.”
“What did he say?” Turalyon demanded, his heavy boots making sand fly as he hurried to join them. “What did he say about the sea?”
Jaina frowned, gently placing the man’s head back on the unforgiving pillow of the shore. No ships will pass. It was compassion and not torture that produced the final warning. Perhaps the man might have told them all he knew willingly if only a bit more patience had been utilized. “When is the next full moon?”
Taken aback, Turalyon whispered something under his breath, frowning as he made the quick calculations. “Six days.”
Careful not to disturb the smuggler further, Jaina stood and marched back to Alleria, who had crossed both arms across her chest, watching the mage with naked suspicion—one feathery eyebrow cocked, her lips pulled into a crooked smile.
“We have but six days to reach Zandalar safely,” Jaina repeated. “I will return to Stormwind at once and relay all of this to the king.”
Not missing the subtle emphasis she placed on “all of this,” Alleria shifted to her right, standing exactly where Jaina had meant to place her portal. The two women locked eyes, and Jaina felt a chill prickle in her palms, a warning from her own instincts that if she did not leave soon they might descend into a true argument.
“Is this truly our highest priority, Jaina?” Alleria whispered, mindful of the soldiers observing them. “Tattling?”
Jaina tossed back her long braid of hair and conjured her portal, summoning it uncomfortably near to Alleria’s back.
“All will make sense in time, Alleria,” she said, using Turalyon’s own condescending placation. “I go only to apprise King Anduin of your progress.” And to tattle. Jaina waited until the elf stepped aside, allowing her to stride quickly toward the portal. She did not trust the Void, and she could not trust anyone practically possessed by it.
Anduin couldn’t possibly know the extent of what Alleria and Turalyon were doing in his name, and he would never condone it. They were setting a dangerous precedent. She returned to Stormwind City with all possible haste, though her thoughts only grew darker along the way. How could they justify abusing Light and Void together in such a way? A paladin of Turalyon’s experience and wisdom ought to know better. Alleria ought to know better, too. And yet…And yet, through their strange alchemy of light and shadow, they had found the most usable information thus far in the campaign to hunt down Sylvanas.
When she arrived in the city, her priority remained Anduin. Jaina stormed into the throne room of Stormwind Keep, finding the king was not there to hear petitions. Two armored sentinels in blue-and-gold livery near the throne directed her to the map room. Jaina Proudmoore was, after all, a fixture in the castle, both friend and adviser to the young king. Her cloak billowed behind her as she skirted around the ever-present crush of nobles, soldiers, and visitors filling the throne room.
She was not at all surprised to find Anduin hunched over the immense, yellowed map of Azeroth strewn with books and smaller charts, the king of Gilneas at his side. She was, however, loathe to tell them both what she had witnessed, as Genn Greymane’s temper flared readily, even more so since the armistice. But Anduin brightened at her appearance, his blue eyes twinkling with what seemed to her like much-needed hope.
“Please,” was his first word to her. She braced. “Please tell me you bring good news.”
Jaina produced her crystal-topped staff with a wave of her right hand, snatching it up deftly and pointing with its brass end to the sea separating the Eastern Kingdoms from the troll continent of Zandalar.
“We have six days to catch a fishing boat headed for eastern Zandalar,” she told them with clipped efficiency. The macabre fate of their smuggler source could wait. “When the full moon comes, the waters in that pass will become impossible to sail. A dark ranger called Visrynn told all of this to the smuggler that outfitted her with a ship.”
Anduin’s eyes danced even brighter, and he slammed a joyful fist down on the map table. “At last. At last! We will summon Mathias Shaw—he will be the best choice to give chase. His sea legs are stronger after our long campaign in Kul Tiras.”
Greymane expressed his gruff agreement. “I have no objections. But should we not send a larger force?”
“We cannot risk alerting the Horde to our presence there,” Jaina replied. “Zandalar is under their protection. Our ships in the area would be one thing, but making landfall might be seen as an act of aggression.”
“Jaina is right. The armistice is too fragile, and we cannot survive another war right now. Precautions must be taken, and Mathias can be but a shadow when he desires.” The king clapped Genn Greymane several times on the back. “Go. Find him. With his cunning and a tidesage’s magic, we may yet catch this dark ranger. We must pray for good fortune and haste.”
Greymane bowed to Jaina on his way out, leaving her with a hurried, “Lord Admiral.”
She fiddled with the anchor charm dangling around her neck, picking her next words carefully while Anduin leaned excitedly over the map, nearly touching his nose to the Great Sea.
Time to dash this brief lift in his spirits.
“Anduin…” She spoke softly, cautiously, wary of any prying ears and eyes that might be lingering outside the door. “I have concerns.”
“We all do, these are concerning times.” Anduin almost laughed, but then he craned his head back, still half embracing the table. “Jaina, what is it? You look truly troubled.”
Jaina sighed through her nose. There was little point in stalling. He had to know what she had witnessed. For all the lion’s strength Anduin possessed, he was also gifted with a compassionate heart, a rare combination in a leader, and so it pained her to speak ill of those he respected.
“Alleria and Turalyon tortured that smuggler in front of me. She used the Void to infiltrate his mind while he held him prisoner with chains made from the Light. It looked unspeakably painful.” She rounded the table, searching his face. “My king…I worry that their tactics represent you poorly. Every one of us, every soldier, is in service to your crown. We stand under your banner, and if their actions are sanctioned by your rule, what does that say about us?”
Anduin did not speak for a long while, though his smile diminished. He shook his head, turning away from her, pacing back and forth across the lush green carpet beneath their feet. Finally, he crossed to a large brazier in the corner belching healthy flames. Flattening his hand, he passed it back and forth just above the reach of the fire.
“What does it say?” he echoed. He sounded almost offended that she had to ask. “It says we will do whatever we must to bring murderers to justice. It says we will not forget those lost in war. It says we will not forget Teldrassil, or Lordaeron. It says we will not forge
t the mak’gora. It says that we will not forget the flames blazing over the Veiled Sea, or the fires reflected in the eyes of a thousand mourning children.” His hand closed into a fist, with every word his determination grew, rising and rising, a crescendo that nearly reached a shout. Then he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “There was a time not so long ago when you were not above swinging the harsh hammer of retribution. I have not forgotten, Jaina. Have you?”
Oh, great lion, your heart is becoming steel. Hers had once done the same, hardened by the bomb that destroyed Theramore, and that rigidity had ruled her for a time, not only her powers but her heart and mind encased in frost. Vividly, sadly, she remembered telling Varian in no uncertain terms that the Horde must be utterly annihilated. It had taken a long time for her to thaw, and remnants of that icy anger still lingered, making her all the more able to detect it in others. She saw it then in Anduin, a grief like all-encompassing cold.
“Jaina,” he prompted her, but she felt no rush to answer him.
Jaina held fast to her staff, the red light of the brazier burnishing Anduin’s face. Silently, she turned and regarded Azeroth spread before her on the table. How well a map represented lands, but how poorly it described the people, the little, tiny things that truly made up a whole entire world.
“I have not forgotten,” Jaina murmured, eyes fixed on Zandalar. “But I also remember that your father once warned Vol’jin to uphold honor or be ended. I wish more than anything, my king, to see your reign endure, and for it to be remembered fondly. And more than anything, for you to be remembered in the same breath as your father.”
“Difficult decisions have to be made, and I trust Turalyon and Alleria to know where the line of decency is and not to cross it.” Jaina had thought the argument over, but Anduin stood firm, watching her intently. His gaze never wavered. “Would their statues preside over our city because they are without honor?”
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