“My apologies,” Jaina said. Their path was leading them out of the city, the cobblestones becoming less well tended and slightly muddy. “I meant no offense. And here I am, supposed to be a diplomat.”
“No offense was taken, and a good diplomat can often see clearly what is troubling another,” Kalec said. “It has indeed been difficult. For so many ages, dragons were among the most powerful beings in Azeroth. We alone had the Aspects to guard our flights and the world. Even the least of us had a life that must seem impossibly long to you and abilities that made many of my race feel superior. Deathwing—what is the phrase you humans use?—gave us a good helping of humble cake.”
Jaina fought to keep from laughing. “I think the phrase is usually ‘humble pie.’”
He chuckled. “It would seem that even though I like the younger races more than most of my kin do, I still have a lot to learn.”
Jaina waved her hand. “Human slang should not be high on your list of things to master,” she said.
“I wish I could say that I had nothing more pressing to do,” Kalec replied, sobering again.
“Halt!” a voice cried sharply. Kalecgos stopped, looking at Jaina with curiosity as several guards approached with drawn swords and axes. Jaina waved at them and they immediately put away their weapons and bowed as they recognized her. One of them, a fair-haired, bearded man, saluted.
“Lady Jaina,” he said. “I wasn’t informed that you and your guest would be passing through. Do you wish an escort?”
The two magi exchanged slightly amused glances. “Thank you, Captain Wymor. I appreciate the offer, but I think this gentleman will be able to protect me,” Jaina said, keeping a straight face.
“As you will, my lady.”
Kalec waited until they had passed out of earshot before saying in a completely serious tone of voice, “I don’t know, Jaina; I might be the one who needs rescuing.”
“Why then, I shall come to your rescue,” Jaina said, keeping her face as serious as his.
Kalec sighed. “You are already doing so,” he said quietly.
She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing. “I’m helping,” she said. “I’m not rescuing.”
“In a way, you are. You all are. We’re… not what we were. I want so much to protect my flight, to take care of them.”
Something clicked in Jaina’s mind. “As you wanted to protect Anveena.”
A muscle twitched in his cheek, but his steps didn’t falter. “Yes.”
“You didn’t fail her.”
“Yes, I did. She was captured and used,” Kalec said, his voice harsh with self-loathing. “Used to try to bring Kil’jaeden into Azeroth. And I couldn’t save her.”
“You had no control over that, if what I understand is true,” Jaina said softly, feeling her way. She wasn’t sure how much Kalecgos was ready to share with her. “You were possessed yourself by a dreadlord. And once you were freed from that horrible existence, you went to her.”
“But I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t stop them from hurting her.”
“Yes, you did,” Jaina said, pressing him. “You let Anveena become what she really was—the Sunwell. And because of your love and her courage, Kil’jaeden was defeated. You were selfless enough not to deny her her destiny.”
“And the Aspects were destined to lose our powers in order for us to succeed against Deathwing, I know,” Kalec said. “It’s not wrong, what is going on. But… it is hard. It is hard to watch their hope failing, and—”
“To know yours is failing as well?”
He turned sharply to look at her, and for a moment she thought she had gone too far. But it was not anger in his eyes; it was anguish. “You,” he said, “are not nearly as old as I. How is it you are so insightful?”
She hooked her arm through his as they walked. “Because I’m wrestling with the same thing.”
“Why are you here, Jaina?” he asked. She raised a golden eyebrow at his bluntness. “I’ve heard that you were considered one of the finest magi of the order. Why are you not in Dalaran? Why are you here, standing between swamp and ocean, between Horde and Alliance?”
“Because someone has to.”
“Truly?” His brow was furrowed. He came to a stop and turned her to face him.
“Of course!” she retorted. Anger rose in her. “Do you want war between the Alliance and Horde, Kalec? Is that what the dragons have decided to do with their time these days? Go around stirring up trouble?”
His blue eyes showed hurt from the blow her words had landed.
She winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
Kalec nodded. “What did you mean, then?” he asked, but there was no rancor in his voice.
She stared at him mutely. She didn’t know. Then words came tumbling out from somewhere. “I didn’t want to be part of the order after Dalaran fell. After… Antonidas died. Arthas killed him, Kalec. Killed so many of them. The man I had once thought I would marry. Had loved. I didn’t… I couldn’t be around that. I had changed, and the Kirin Tor had changed too. They’re more than simply neutral… I think, perhaps without realizing it, they may look down on anyone who’s not one of them. I had learned that to really foster peace, you have to embrace the people—all of them. And although I was the last one to suspect it, I do have diplomatic gifts,” she said earnestly.
The hurt was gone from his kind face, and he lifted one hand to stroke her golden hair, almost as if he were comforting a child. “Jaina?” he asked. “If you believe that—and I am not saying you are wrong—why are you trying so very hard to convince yourself?”
And there it was. He had plunged a dagger in her heart, keen and sharp and so painful that she gasped as if it were a physical blow. She stared up at him, unable to drag her gaze away, feeling tears sting her eyes.
“They don’t listen,” she said, barely audible. “No one listens. Not Varian, not Thrall, certainly not Garrosh. I feel that I am standing alone on a cliff, and the wind snatches the words from my lips even as I speak them. No matter what I do, no matter what I say, it is all… pointless. It has no meaning. I… have no meaning.”
As she spoke, she saw a sad smile of recognition touch Kalec’s lips.
“And so, this we share, Lady Jaina Proudmoore,” Kalec said. “We fear being of no use. Of no help. All that we have known to do is useless.”
The tears spilled down her cheeks. Gently, he wiped them away. “But I do know this much. There is a rhythm, a cycle to such things. Nothing stays the same, Jaina. Not even dragons, so long-lived and supposedly so wise. How much, then, must humans change? Once, you were an eager young apprentice, curious and studious, content to stay in Dalaran and master your spells. Then the world came and ripped you away from your safe place. You changed. You survived, even thrived, in the new role of a diplomat. You had puzzles and challenges, but of a different variety. And that is how you served. This world—” He shook his head sadly, looking up into the sky. “This world is not as it was. No thing, no one, is as it was. Here—let me show you something.”
He lifted his hands, his long, clever fingers moving. Arcane energy sparked from his fingertips. It formed a whirling ball, hovering in front of them.
“Look at this,” he said.
Jaina did, forcing her foolish tears—where had they come from?—down and focusing on the little orb of arcane magic. Deftly Kalec touched it. It seemed to shatter and then reform, with a difference.
“There—it’s a pattern!” Jaina said, marveling.
“Watch again,” Kalec said. A second time he touched it. A third. Each time, the patterns became clearer. There was a moment when, baffled and enraptured both, Jaina wondered if she was looking at a gnomish schematic rather than a ball of arcane energy. Signs and symbols and numbers whirled, then jumbled together, then arranged themselves in a certain formation.