"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 upper 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!"