They had all agreed to meet in the imperial hall, a place where, in times past, the most significant treaties in all Lordaeron had been agreed to and signed. With its rich history and ancient but stately decor, the hall cast an aura of tremendous significance upon any discussion taking place here . . . and certainly the matter of Alterac was of significance to the continued life of the Alliance.
“If you don’t like the sound of my voice, Lord Admiral,” Greymane snarled, “good steel can always make certain you never hear it—or anything else—again.”
Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore rose to his feet in one smooth, practiced sweep. The slim, weathered seaman reached for the sword generally hanging at the side of his green naval uniform, but the sheath there rattled empty. So, too, did the sheath of Genn Greymane. The one thing reluctantly agreed upon from the first had been that none of the heads of state could carry arms into the discussions. They had even agreed—even Genn Greymane—to having themselves searched by selected sentries from the Knights of the Silver Hand, the only military unit they all trusted despite its outward allegiance to Terenas.
Prestor, of course, was the reason that this incredible summit had managed to reach even this point. Rarely did the monarchs of the major realms come together. Generally, they spoke through couriers and diplomats, with the occasional state visit thrown in as well. Only the amazing Prestor could have convinced Terenas’s uneasy allies to abandon their staffs and personal guard outside and join together to discuss matters face-to-face.
Now, if only the young noble would himself arrive. . . .
“My lords! Gentlemen!” Desperate for assistance, the king looked to a stern figure standing near the window, a figure clad in leather and fur despite the relative warmth of the region. A fierce beard and jagged nose were all Terenas could make out of Thoras Trollbane’s gruff visage, but he knew that, despite Thoras’s intense interest in whatever view lay outside, the lord of Stromgarde had digested every word and tone of his counterparts. That he did nothing to aid Terenas in this present crisis only served to remind the latter of the gulf that had opened up between them since the start of this maddening situation.
Damn Lord Perenolde! the king of Lordaeron thought. If only he had not forced us into all of this!
Although knights from the holy order stood by in case any of the monarchs came to actual blows, Terenas did not fear physical violence so much as he did the shattering of any hope of keeping the human kingdoms allied. Not for a moment did he feel that the orc menace had been forever eradicated. The humans had to remain allied at this crucial moment. He wished Anduin Lothar, regent lord of the refugees from the lost kingdom of Azeroth, could have been here, but that was not possible, and without Lothar, that left only—
“My lords! Come, come! Surely this isn’t seemly behavior for any of us!”
“Prestor!” Terenas gasped. “Praise be!”
The others turned as the tall, immaculate figure entered the great hall. Amazing the effect the man had on his elders, so the king thought. He walks into a room and quarrels cease! Bitter rivals lay down their weapons and talk of peace!
Yes, definitely the choice to replace Perenolde.
Terenas watched as his friend went about the chamber, greeting each monarch in turn and treating all as if they were his best friends. Perhaps they were, for Prestor seemed not to have an arrogant bone in his body. Whether dealing with the rough-edged Thoras or the conniving Greymane, Prestor seemed to know how best to speak with each of them. The only ones who had never seemed to fully appreciate him had been the wizards from Dalaran, but then, they were wizards.
“Forgive my belated arrival,” the young aristocrat began. “I’d ridden out into the countryside this morning and not realized just how long it would take me to get back.”
“No need for apologies,” Thoras Trollbane kindly returned.
Yet another example of Prestor’s almost magical manner. While a friend and respected ally, Thoras Trollbane never spoke kindly to anyone without much effort. He tended to speak in short, precise sentences, then lapse into silence. The silences were not intended as insults, as Terenas had gradually learned. Instead, the truth was that Thoras simply did not feel comfortable with long conversations. A native of cold, mountainous Stromgarde, he much preferred action over talk.
Which made the king of Lordaeron even more pleased that Prestor had finally arrived.
Prestor surveyed the room, meeting each gaze for a moment before saying, “How good it is to see all of you again! I hope that this time we can resolve our differences so that our future meetings will be as good friends and sword-mates. . . .”
Greymane nodded almost enthusiastically. Proudmoore wore a satisfied expression, as if the noble’s coming had been the answer to his prayers. Terenas said nothing, allowing his talented friend to take control of the meeting. The more the others saw of Prestor, the easier it would be for the king to present his proposal.
They gathered around the elaborately decorated ivory table that Terenas’s grandfather had received as a gift from his northern vassals, after his successful negotiations with the elves of Quel’Thalas over the borders there. As he always did, the king planted both hands firmly on the tabletop, seeking to draw guidance from his predecessor. Across the table, Prestor’s eyes met his for a moment. Looking into those strong, ebony orbs, the robed monarch relaxed. Prestor would handle any matters of dispute.
And so the talks began, first with stiff opening words, then more heated, blunt ones. Yet, under the guidance of Prestor, never did any threat of violence arise. More than once he had to take one or another of the participants in hand and engage in private conversation with them, but each time those intimate dialogues ended with a smile on Prestor’s hawklike visage and great advancement toward the mending of Alliance ties.
As the summit tapered to a close, Terenas himself held such an exchange. While Greymane, Thoras, and Lord Admiral Proudmoore drank from the finest of the king’s brandy, Prestor and the monarch huddled near the window overlooking the city. Terenas had always enjoyed this view, for from it he could see the health of his people. Even now, even with the summit going on, his subjects went about their duties, pushed on with their lives. Their faith in him bolstered his weary mind, and he knew that they would understand the decision he would make this day.
“I don’t know how you did it, my boy,” he whispered to his companion. “You’ve made the others see the truth, the need! They’re actually sitting in this chamber, acting civilly with not only each other, but me! I thought Genn and Thoras would demand my hide at one point!”
“I merely did what I could to assuage them, my lord, but thank you for your kind words.”
Terenas shook his head. “Kind words? Hardly! Prestor, my lad, you’ve single-handedly kept the Alliance from crumbling to bits! What did you tell them all?”
A conspiratorial look crossed his companion’s handsome features. He leaned close to the monarch, eyes fixed on Terenas’s. “A little of this, a little of that. Promises to the admiral about his continued sovereignty of the seas, even if it meant sending in a force to take control of Gilneas; to Greymane about future naval colonies near the coastal edge of Alterac; and Thoras Trollbane thinks that he’ll be ceded the eastern half of that region . . . all when I become its legitimate ruler.”
For a moment, the king simply gaped, not certain that he had heard right. He stared into Prestor’s mesmerizing eyes, waiting for the punch line to the awful joke. When it did not come, though, Terenas finally blurted in a quiet voice, “Have you taken leave of your senses, my boy? Even jesting about such matters is highly outrageous and—”
“And you will not remember a thing about it, regardless, you know.” Lord Prestor leaned forward, his eyes seizing Terenas’s own gaze and refusing to release it. “Just as none of them will remember what I truly told them. All you need to recall, my pompous little puppet, is that I have guaranteed a political advantage for you, but one that demands for its culmination and success my appointment as ruler of Alterac. Do you understand that?”