"Of course. I only hope my small contribution has been in some way helpful." Prestor stood and bowed deeply. "Now if you will excuse me, I will leave you to these weighty deliberations, which I fear are far beyond my own ability." He waited for Terenas's nod of permission, then graced them all with a smile and exited the balcony.
Trollbane watched the young lord go, frowning. "Prestor may be naive," he said, "but he has a point. Maybe Alterac should pay reparations."
"With what?" Muradin scoffed. "They're bled dry, just like all of us. Besides, that sounds too much like blood money, which is the same as saying vengeance."
"Most of our money is going toward rebuilding," Terenas pointed out. "We added Alterac's treasuries to the Alliances once we took control of the kingdom."
"Aye, and the orc internment camps are no cheap either," Muradin added. "With all the money goin' ta those and ta repairs, and ta that fine new fortress by the portal, what's left for reparations?"
Trollbane sighed. "You're right. I just feel they should pay, somehow. Alterac's betrayal cost so many lives.
"Perenolde's betrayal," Terenas corrected gently but firmly. "We must remember that. Very few of Alterac's citizens even knew of their king's treachery — Perenolde simply ordered them away from certain passes and made those trails accessible to the Horde. It was less a question of Alterac helping the Horde than of its king granting the orcs free passage and keeping his own citizens out of the way."
"True enough," Trollbane agreed. "I've known many from Alterac over the years, and most are fine folk, not like their snake of a king." He shook his head, drained his flagon, and wiped his beard and mustache with the back of his hand. "I'll give the matter more thought," he promised.
"As will we all," Muradin assured him, snatching up one last scone as they rose from their seats. "Dinna worry — we'll find a solution yet."
"I'm sure we will," Terenas agreed. "I just hope we can do so before we're forced to set the matter aside for more pressing issues." His two companions knew what he meant. They had received Khadgar's warning only a few days before, and now were waiting on word from Turalyon. If the Horde did attack again, if the portal did reopen, all questions about Alterac would quickly become moot. As long as Perenolde was under house arrest and the kingdom under Alliance control, they could worry about other details later — if they survived.
Muradin thought somberly of young Arthas swinging away at a suit of armor, and hoped that the prince would not get a taste of war just yet.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Clouds hung low over Stormwind, brushing the tips of the city's many towers. A chill wind tugged at the guards' cloaks as they huddled at their posts outside Stormwind Keep, shivering. Inside, their commander Turalyon and his advisers were still awake, poring over maps in one of the armories in the keep, now the Alliance command post. The guards had nodded to the beautiful elf who had accompanied their commander and was currently in the room with the other strategists, though anyone with eyes could see the tension between the two.
They shivered, but paid no real heed to a particularly cold breeze that wafted through the city, danced in through the keep's gate doors, and then drifted up the wide central hallway and veered to the left. Up it swirled, through another corridor and across a small courtyard open to the cloudy night sky.
A pair of guards stood to either side of the entrance to the royal library. They shivered as they felt the breeze brush up against them, and squinted as the shadows around them seemed to deepen.
Suddenly a stronger wind sprang up, whisking the shadows away and revealing several figures in their stead. Four of them seemed to be human, at least in size; they all wore heavy hooded cloaks and strange wrappings around limbs and torso, but their eyes glowed a fiery red. The last figure, however, towered over them, and even in the near-dark his skin gleamed green.
One of the guards inhaled to cry out an alarm as he drew his sword. He never got the chance. The orc stepped forward, already swinging a massive axe. The guard fell in two pieces. His companion was able to raise his shield and block a blow from one of the strange wrapped figures and thrust with his spear. To no avail; another of the intruders caught the spear haft and chopped it in half, then spun and delivered a sweeping blow to the guard's neck just above the shield's edge. The man fell without a sound, his head nearly severed, and the figures stepped over the two twitching corpses, pushed the doors open, and entered the royal library.
"Be quick," Gorefiend instructed. "We must not be discovered." His death knights nodded, as did Pargath Throatsplitter, the orc who had so quickly dispatched the first guard. Gorefiend had wanted a Bleeding Hollow warrior with him, since they knew this world better than any other Horde member, and Pargath had impressed him as one of the smarter and quieter warriors available.
All five of them spread out, combing the library for their prize. After several minutes, Pargath cursed. "It's not here!" he whispered.
"What?" Gorefiend joined the warrior next to an empty glass case. 'Are you sure?"
In response Pargath gestured at the case, and at a small tan card stuck in one corner. Gorefiend had access to his host body's memories and skills, and after a second of concentration he could make out the writing: Book of Medivh. Not to be opened without express permission from the king or from the Alliance commander.
"It was here," Gorefiend mused, studying the case's deep velvet interior, which had clearly been weighed down by something large, heavy, and rectangular. "But where is it now?"
"Over here," one of his death knights called softly, and Gorefiend hurried toward him, Pargath and the other two death knights right behind him. "It looks as though someone else was thinking along the same lines we were." The death knight pointed at a small reading alcove — and the body within it. The corpse wore the armor of an Alliance guard, a dagger hilt protruding from the narrow space between the helm and breastplate.
'Alterac," Pargath whispered, staring down at the dead man. "That insignia, there." Pargath pointed to the markings on the dagger hilt. "That's the Alterac crest."
Gorefiend's own host memories confirmed it. "So Alterac has the book,'" he mused. Despite his betrayal during the previous war, Lord Perenolde still ruled Alterac, at least for now. And the book was valuable to the Alliance — Alterac could use it as a bargaining chip. Yes, it did make sense.
"But why leave behind such an obvious clue?" he wondered aloud. "That's a careless assassin.''
"Perhaps he was sending a message," Pargath suggested. "Showing the Alliance that Alterac and its king are still in the game. Or," and he grinned, his tusks showing, "maybe he was just a careless assassin."
"Well, we shall not be so careless," Gorefiend said. "We need this book — and so we must go to Alterac. Take the dagger — I'd just as soon the Alliance didn't have the same clue we did. The corpse is fresh — let the guards think all three were slain by the same hand, when they come across them on the morrow."
Pargath obediently knelt and tugged free the deadly weapon. "To Alterac then?"
"Yes… but not just yet. We need to keep to our original plan as much as possible. We're still going to Blackrock Mountain. We need Rend, Maim, and the red dragons they control."
Pargath nodded. "Blackrock is on the way to Alterac," he pointed out.
"Exactly." Gorefiend grinned. "And with a red dragon at our disposal we could be there and back in hours, and still return to the portal ahead of schedule." He nodded. "But first we must leave here as quietly as we came." He beckoned them to him. The shadows crept closer, the temperature in the library dropping. A moment later, a chill wind slipped through the doors, past the cooling bodies and the pools of blood around them, back down the corridor, and out of the keep, where it quickly escaped into the night.