“I did!”
“And yet you still want cookies,” Jaina teased.
Kinndy shrugged. “What can I say? Every tooth I have is a sweet tooth,” she replied with the cheerful attitude that Jaina had come to expect, but it was clear something continued to worry the gnome. Jaina placed her plate down on the table.
“Kinndy, I know that you are supposed to report back to the Kirin Tor. That was part of the agreement. But you’re also my apprentice. If you have any problems with me as your master—”
The blue eyes widened. “You? Oh, Lady Jaina, it’s not you at all! It’s just—I felt that something was off in Dalaran. You could sense it in the air. And Master Rhonin’s behavior didn’t help put me at ease.”
Jaina was impressed. Not all magi developed the sixth sense that told them, as Kinndy had put it, that there was something “off.” Jaina herself had the ability, to a degree. She couldn’t always tell when things were magically amiss, but when she did get that feeling, she paid attention to it. And Kinndy was only twenty-two.
Jaina smiled a bit wistfully. “Master Rhonin was right about you,” she said. “He said you were gifted.”
Kinndy blushed, just a little.
“Well, I’m sure if there is something truly amiss, we’ll hear about it soon enough,” Jaina said. “In the meantime, did you finish the book I sent along with you?”
Kinndy sighed. “An In-Depth Analysis of the Temporal Effects of Conjuration of Foodstuffs?”
“That would be the one, yes.”
“I did. Although…” She hesitated and wouldn’t meet Jaina’s eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Well… I think there’s now a smudge of frosting on page forty-three.”
Night fell in Orgrimmar. The heat dwindled but did not dissipate; the hard-baked sand, devoid of vegetation, held the sun’s heat, as did the large, newly constructed metal buildings. Orgrimmar, like all of Durotar, was hardly a pleasant place from a climate standpoint. It never had been, and now it was even less so.
That suited Malkorok just fine.
He found the heat of Durotar uncomfortable, as he had found the heat of the interior of Blackrock Mountain. And that was good. The best thing that had ever happened to the orc people was leaving the softness of places like Nagrand back on their homeworld of Draenor. This was a place that tested one’s mettle, that tempered and tried one. It was not good to become too comfortable. And part of Malkorok’s job was to see to it that no orc grew too comfortable.
Some orcs at the recent gathering had been too comfortable. Too secure in the rightness of their opinions. They had openly voiced displeasure and disagreement with one who was not just their warchief but the leader of their own kind. The leader of the orcs! The very arrogance of it caused Malkorok to grit his teeth in anger. He forced himself to stay silent as he moved quietly through the streets.
He had told Garrosh that they were all worth watching. Garrosh had initially assumed Malkorok meant that all the leaders of the various races composing the Horde should be observed. The Blackrock orc had a much, much larger view. When he said they were “all” worth watching, he meant the entire Horde.
Every member of the Horde.
And so it was that he’d had had some of his best orcs follow a few of the malcontents who had dared to stay silent while others cheered. Of course Eitrigg, well loved and respected, an advisor Garrosh had promised Thrall he would listen to, could speak with impunity.
For the moment.
But others who had sided with the old orc must pay the price of what Malkorok—and Garrosh—considered nothing less than open, unabashed treason. His mind went back to several years ago, when he had been service to Rend Blackhand. He thought with satisfaction of what had happened to those adventurers unwise enough to enter into the heart of the mountain and challenge Rend. But even more vividly, he recalled what he himself had done to his fellow orcs who had muttered against Blackhand, thinking themselves safe in the shadows.
He had stalked them, carrying out his own implacable justice. Rend had commented once when one of the traitors had gone missing. Malkorok had simply shrugged, and Rend had given him a sneering grin of approval. It was never mentioned after that.
Things were different now. But not that much different. Now Malkorok did not walk in the shadows alone. Four Kor’kron, appointed specifically by Garrosh to obey Malkorok’s orders as if they were his own, accompanied him, moving as stealthily as if they were shadows themselves.
Kor’jus lived in the Cleft of Shadow, one of the more unsavory parts of Orgrimmar. One might assume that, with such a residence, Kor’jus was involved in shady business. However, the name of his shop, Dark Earth, was nothing more sinister than a description of the soil needed for his crop—mushrooms. While Kor’jus was, as far as Malkorok knew, a law-abiding citizen, the fact that he lived here made the Blackrock orc’s duty easier. With a wink and a few gold coins, would-be witnesses nodded and looked away.
Kor’jus was kneeling, using a sharp knife to harvest mushrooms for sale on the morrow. He cut swiftly, close to the base of the fungus, tossed it in a sack, and moved on to the next. His back was to the door, which had a curtain partly drawn over the entrance and a sign that read CLOSED. Though he could not see his visitors, he sensed their presence and stiffened. Slowly he rose and turned around, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Malkorok and his companions standing at the entrance.
“Read the sign,” he grunted. “The shop doesn’t open until tomorrow.” Malkorok noticed with amusement that the mushroom farmer tightened his grip on his small blade. As if that would help.
“We’re not here for mushrooms,” Malkorok said, his voice soft. He and the other four orcs moved into the shop. One of them closed the curtain. “We’re here for you.”
5
Dawn’s light, gentle but persistent, found its way through the cracks in the curtains of Jaina’s bedchamber. Used to awakening at this hour, she blinked, smiled sleepily, and stretched. She swung her legs out over the bed, rose, threw on a robe, and pulled back the dark blue curtains.
It was a gorgeous morning, rose and gold and lavender where the sun hadn’t yet chased away the shadows of night. She opened the window and breathed deeply of the salty air, letting it tousle her bed-rumpled golden hair still further. The sea, always the sea. She was the daughter of the lord admiral, and her brother had once quipped that the Proudmoores all had seawater in their veins. A hint of melancholy touched her as she thought of her father and brother. She lingered for a moment longer, remembering, then turned from the window.
Jaina brushed her hair, then sat down in front of a small table. With a thought, she lit a candle and gazed at the flickering flame. She started every day thus, if she could manage it; it helped her focus and prepare for whatever might be thrown her—
Her blue eyes widened and she became instantly alert. Something was about to happen. She recalled talking to Kinndy last evening (the gnome was no doubt still asleep; she could have been born a night elf, she liked to stay up late so much) about her visit to Dalaran and subsequent unease. It’s just—I felt that something was off in Dalaran, Kinndy had said. You could sense it in the air.
Jaina was sensing something now, like an old sailor who could feel a storm approaching in her bones. She felt a vague fluttering of apprehension in her chest. Her morning ritual would have to wait. Quickly she bathed and dressed, and so it was that she was already downstairs and making tea when one of her most trusted advisors, Archmage Tervosh, knocked on the door. Unlike Kinndy, he didn’t have anything officially to do with the Kirin Tor. He was, like Jaina, more comfortable on his own, and the two had developed a great and rewarding friendship, living in Theramore as a couple of mavericks.