Terenas understood nothing else. Prestor had to be chosen new monarch of the battered realm. The security of Lordaeron and the stability of the Alliance demanded it.
“I see that you do. Good. Now you will go back and, just as the conference comes to an end, you will make your bold decision. Greymane already knows he will act the most reticent, but in a few days, he will agree. Proudmoore will follow your lead and, after mulling the situation a bit, Thoras Trollbane will also acquiesce to my ascension.”
Something nudged at the robed king’s memory, a notion he felt compelled to express. “No . . . no ruler may be chosen without . . . without the agreement of Dalaran and the Kirin Tor. . . .” He struggled to complete his thought. “They are members of the Alliance, too. . . .”
“But who can trust a wizard?” Prestor reminded him. “Who can know their agenda? That’s why I had you leave them out of this situation in the first place, is it not? Wizards cannot be trusted . . . and eventually they must be dealt with.”
“Dealt with . . . you’re right, of course.”
Prestor’s smile widened, revealing what seemed far more teeth than normal. “I always am.” He put a companionable arm around Terenas. “Now, it is time we returned to the others. You are very satisfied with my progress. In a few minutes, you will make your suggestion . . . and we shall move on from there.”
“Yes . . .”
The slim figure steered the king back to the other monarchs, and as he did, Terenas’s thoughts returned to the business at hand. Prestor’s more dire statements now lay buried deep in the king’s subconscious, where the ebony-clad noble desired them.
“Enjoying the brandy, my friends?” Terenas asked the others. After they nodded, he smiled and said, “A case will go back with each of you, my gift for your visit.”
“A splendid show of friendship, wouldn’t you say?” Prestor urged Terenas’s counterparts.
They nodded, Proudmoore even toasting the monarch of Lordaeron.
Terenas clasped his hands together. “And thanks to our young associate here, I think we’ll all leave even closer in heart than we were before.”
“We’ve not signed any agreement yet,” Genn Greymane reminded him. “We’ve not even agreed what to do about the situation.”
Terenas blinked. The perfect opening. Why wait any longer to make his grand suggestion?
“As to that, my friends,” the king said, taking Lord Prestor’s arm and guiding him toward the head of the table. “I think I’ve hit upon the solution that will appeal to us all. . . .”
King Terenas of Lordaeron smiled briefly at his young companion, who could not possibly have any idea of the great reward he was about to receive. Yes, the perfect man for the role. With Prestor in charge of Alterac, the future of the Alliance would be assured.
And then they could begin to deal with those treacherous wizards in Dalaran. . . .
“This is not right!” the heavyset mage burst out. “They’ve no cause to leave us out of this!”
“No, they don’t,” returned the elder woman. “But they have.”
The mages who had met earlier in the Chamber of the Air now met there again, only this time there were five. The one that Rhonin would have known as Krasus had not taken his position in this magical place, but the others were too concerned with the events of the outside world to wait. The lords of the untalented had met in seclusion, discussing a major situation without the general guidance of the Kirin Tor. While most among this council respected King Terenas and some of the other monarchs, it disturbed them that the ruler of Lordaeron would put together such an unprecedented summit. One of the inner council of the Kirin Tor had ever been present at such past events. It had only been fair, as Dalaran had always stood at the forefront of the Alliance’s defense.
Times, though, appeared to be changing.
“The Alterac dilemma could have been resolved long ago,” pointed out the elven mage. “We should have insisted on our proper part in the proceedings.”
“And started another incident?” retorted the bearded man in stentorian tones. “Haven’t you noticed of late how the other realms have been pulling back from us? It’s almost as if they fear us now that the orcs’ve been pushed to Grim Batol!”
“Absurd! The untalented have always been suspicious of magic, but our faith to the cause is without question!”
The elder woman shook her head. “When has that mattered to those who fear our abilities? Now that the orcs have been battered, the people begin to notice that we’re not like them; that we are superior in every way. . . .”
“A dangerous way to think, even for us,” came the calm voice of Krasus. The faceless wizard stood in his chosen spot.
“About time you got here!” The bearded wizard turned toward the newcomer. “Did you find out anything?”
“Very little. The meeting was unshielded . . . yet all we could read were surface thoughts. Those told us nothing we did not know before. I finally had to resort to other methods to garner even some success.”
The younger female dared speak. “Have they made a decision?”
Krasus hesitated, then raised a gloved hand. “Behold . . .”
In the center of the chamber, directly over the symbol etched in the floor, materialized a tall, human figure. In every way, he looked as real, if not more so, than the gathered wizards. Majestic of frame, clad in elegant, dark clothing and with features avian and handsome, he brought a moment of silence to the six.
“Who is he?” the same woman asked.
Krasus surveyed his companions before answering, “All hail the new ruler of Alterac, King Prestor the First.”
“What?”
“This is outrageous!”
“They can’t do this without us—can they?”
“Who is this Prestor?”
Rhonin’s patron shrugged. “A minor noble from the north, dispossessed, without backing. Yet, he seems to have ingratiated himself not only to Terenas, but even the rest, Genn Greymane included.”
“But to make him king?” snapped the bearded spellcaster.
“On the surface, not a terrible choice. It places Alterac as once more an independent kingdom. The other monarchs find much about him they respect, so I gather. He seems to have single-handedly kept the Alliance from falling apart.”
“So you approve of him?” the elder female asked.
In reply, Krasus added, “He also seems to have no history, apparently is the reason we have not been included in these talks, and—most curious of all—appears as a void when touched by magic.”
The others muttered among themselves about this strange news. Then the elven wizard, clearly as puzzled as the rest, inquired, “What do you mean by the last?”
“I mean that any attempt to study him through magic reveals nothing. Absolutely nothing. It is as if Lord Prestor does not exist . . . and yet he must. Approve of him? I think I fear him.”
Coming from this eldest of the wizards assembled, the words sank deep. For a time the clouds flew overhead, the storms raged, and the day turned into night, but the masters of the Kirin Tor simply stood in silence, each digesting the facts in his or her own way.
The youthful male broke the silence first. “He’s a wizard then, is he?”
“That would seem most logical.” Krasus returned, dipping his head slightly to accent his agreement.
“A powerful one,” muttered the elf.
“Also logical.”
“Then, if so,” continued the elven mage, “who? One among us? A renegade? Surely a wizard of this ability would be known to us!”