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The kettle began to sing. Jaina rose to tend to it, pouring tea for both of them. “Really? Why not?”

“Miss Kinndy didn’t seem in the right frame of mind to receive it properly.”

She handed him the tea and sat back down. “And I am?”

An odd look crossed his face. “Perhaps.”

“Then tell me.”

He closed his eyes, and again his voice changed, became deeper, became… other.

“‘I believe that you will find that my gift to you is not just a profound duty—which it is—but also a delight—which it is!… May you be dutiful… and joyous both.’”

Jaina felt a strange twinge in her heart at the words. She realized she’d been silent, staring into Kalec’s eyes, for several seconds when he quirked a blue eyebrow, inviting a response from her. She looked down at her bowl, stirring her porridge.

“I—was telling Kinndy the truth. I enjoyed studying,” she said, stammering a little. “I loved it, actually. Loved everything about Dalaran.” Her lips curved in remembrance. “I remember… humming as I went about my tasks,” she added, laughing as her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “The scents, the sunlight, the sheer fun of learning and practicing and finally mastering spells, of curling up with cheese and apples and scrolls…”

“Joy,” Kalec said quietly.

She supposed it was. It was sweet, to linger in that long-ago moment. Then another memory crystallized… Kael’thas had approached her one such day, and then later… Arthas. The smile faded.

“What happened?” Kalec asked gently. “The sun went behind a cloud.”

Jaina pressed her lips together. “Just… we all have ghosts. Maybe even dragons do.”

“Ah,” he said, regarding her with compassion. “You think of ones you loved and lost.” She forced herself to eat more porridge, though the normally tasty breakfast food was now like sludge in her mouth, and nodded. “Perhaps… of Arthas?”

Jaina swallowed hard, then started to say something to change the subject. But Kalec pressed on. “We do all have ghosts, Jaina. Even dragons, even Aspects. Grief for her ghost nearly destroyed Alexstrasza, the great Life-Binder herself.”

“Korialstrasz,” she said. “Krasus. I saw him many times when he was at Dalaran but never really knew him. I had no idea who he truly was.”

“Hardly anyone did. And yes, Korialstrasz. He gave his life to save all of us, and at first, we thought him a traitor.”

“Including you and Alexstrasza?”

“We didn’t want it to, but doubt crept into even our hearts.” Kalec admitted this reluctantly. “And I have my own ghosts too, Jaina. One is a human girl. With,” he added, giving her a little nod, “fair hair and a great heart. She was… so much more than just a girl, though. She was something beautiful and profound and unspeakably powerful, but her time as a simple young woman infused that power with compassion and love.”

Jaina didn’t look at him. She knew of whom he spoke—Anveena, who had been the Sunwell incarnate. Jaina was familiar with what had happened to Anveena. The girl who was not a girl had sacrificed one form for her true one, and in doing so, sacrificed her life.

“Another is a dragon, lovely as ice and sunlight, who was intended to be my mate.” He seemed to recall Jaina’s presence and gave her a quick smile. “I don’t think you’d get along with her particularly well. She never understood my interest in the, ah…”

“Lesser races?”

“I’ve never called you that,” Kalec said, and for the first time, Jaina saw a spark of anger in the blue dragon. “Those who are not dragons are not lesser. It took Tyrygosa a while to see that. You are simply… different from us. And maybe in some ways better than us.”

Jaina raised her golden brows. “How in the world can you possibly say that?”

He smiled. “Cheese and apples and scrolls,” he said. “And thus, you knew true, simple joy when you hadn’t even entered your second decade. That to me makes you… astonishing.”

6

It was not long before the explicit directives came. Baine hated what he was about to do, but if he refused, Garrosh would turn on him—and the tauren—with the full force of the rest of the Horde behind him. Baine harbored no illusions of the idealism of the Forsaken, the blood elves, or the goblins; they had their own agendas. The orcs were traditional friends to the tauren, but there were few malcontents. And the trolls simply couldn’t risk it. If the tauren defied Garrosh so blatantly as to refuse this order, they would stand alone.

Baine crushed the missive in his hand and turned a bleak expression to Hamuul Runetotem. “Let us prepare,” the high chieftain said. “At the very least, this part of the war Garrosh is getting us into has some scent of justice behind it.”

The orders had been clear. Baine was to bring “at least two dozen braves,” kodos, and weapons of war and approach Northwatch Hold from the west. The trolls would join them, though the trek from the Echo Isles to Mulgore was a long one. The orcs would be marching from Orgrimmar, and the Forsaken, the goblins, and the blood elves would take ships to meet them in the port town of Ratchet, and then they would all move swiftly to rendezvous with the tauren at Northwatch Hold.

Once, there had been only the dry land of the Barrens between Mulgore and Northwatch, and a little town called Camp Taurajo. Back then, the greatest problem had been fighting the quilboar. Now Baine would need to march his people past the ruins of Taurajo and through what had become known as the Fields of Blood.

Following the orders he so disliked, Baine amassed his people on their side of the Great Gate as quietly as possible. They stood silently as instructed, the only sound the slight creaking of armor and the occasional stamp of a kodo. Baine could feel the tension; he marveled that the Alliance on the other side could not sense it as well. He had sent several scouts ahead, to make sure that the Alliance recon would be taken unawares, and they had all reported back that only a few kept watch at this hour. Two tauren, taking care not to be seen, ascended the viewing platforms and made their own longer-distance reconnaissance. They could see better than humans in the dark, and besides, the Alliance soldiers were often foolish enough to keep campfires burning.

“High Chieftain,” said one of the scouts, forcing his voice to be soft, “the trolls—the hills are thick with them. They only await your order.”

“The number of soldiers is no greater than usual, judging by the fires,” said another. “They are not expecting an attack.”

Baine’s heart ached at what he was about to do. “Report back to Vol’jin. Tell him his people may attack at will. Once they have engaged the Alliance, we will open the Great Gate and follow up with our own weapons.”

The scout nodded, turning and climbing up the hill at the juncture where the gate met it. Baine looked out over the assembled crowd of tauren, their shapes barely visible in the light of the few torches they bore. There were several dozen braves and many others who would serve vital purposes when the conflict came in but a few seconds: druids, shaman, healers, and other fighters of all kinds.

He lifted his arm, making sure that it was seen, and waited. His heart beat quickly: one, two, three—

And then came the blood-chilling war cries. The trolls had attacked. Baine snapped his arm down. From the other side of the gate were the clang of weaponry, the defiant shouts of humans and dwarves, and the thud of ballista arrows striking home. On this side of the gate, two tauren grunted and strained, their massive bodies trembling with the effort, as the thick ropes were laboriously pulled and the gate groaned.