Jaina nodded. “Well do I believe that. Still, he has participated in an act of violence against the Alliance. Northwatch Hold—”
“Is only a start,” Perith said, interrupting her. “Hellscream would reach much farther than a simple hold.”
“What?”
“His goal is nothing less than the conquest of the continent,” said Perith, the words relentless and horrifying even when spoken by this calm tauren. “He will shortly be ordering the Horde to march on Theramore. And mark me well, their numbers are strong. As you are now, you will fall.”
The statement was not delivered to intimidate. It was blunt and to the point—simple reality. Jaina swallowed.
“My high chieftain remembers the aid you gave him and asked me to warn you. He has no wish to see you caught unawares.”
Jaina was overwhelmed at the gesture. “Your high chieftain,” she said, her heart full, “is a truly honorable tauren. I am proud to be so highly regarded by him. I thank him for this timely warning. Please tell him it will help save innocent lives.”
“He regrets that a warning is all he can give you, my lady. And… he asks you to please take Fearbreaker, and return it to the one who so kindly gifted it to him. Baine feels that it is no longer his to keep.”
Jaina nodded, though quick tears stung her eyes. She had hoped that that night would be the beginning of healing, of understanding, but it was not to be. Baine was telling her, in his typically gentle but firm fashion, that their friendship only went so far—he was not, and would never become, a member of the Alliance. He would stand and fight with the Horde. She understood. She was fully aware of how vulnerable the tauren people would be if they stood against Garrosh now, and she had no wish to see them come to harm.
“I will see to it that Fearbreaker is returned to its former owner,” she said, with the few simple words conveying all the shades and complexities of what was in her heart.
Perith was a fine courier. He understood and bowed deeply. Jaina went to the small desk that was on the far end of the room. Locating parchment, ink, quill, and wax, she quickly wrote a brief note. She dusted powder on the ink to dry it, folded the missive, then sealed it with red wax and her own personal stamp. Rising, she handed it to the waiting tauren.
“This will ensure your safe passage through Alliance territory, if you are caught.”
He chuckled. “I will not be, but your concern is appreciated.”
“And tell your noble high chieftain there will be no rumors of a tauren Longwalker visiting me. To all who would ask, I will say that word reached me from an Alliance scout who managed to escape the battle. Take refreshment, then return safely.”
“May the Earth Mother smile upon you, Lady,” said Perith. “I understand my high chieftain’s choice even better now that I have met you.”
She gave him a sad smile. “One day, perhaps we will fight on the same side.”
“One day, perhaps. But that day is not today.”
Jaina acknowledged this truth with a nod. “Light be with you, Perith Stormhoof.”
“And the Earth Mother’s blessing be upon you.”
She watched him go, fighting an irrational urge to call him back, to offer him, Baine, all the tauren people asylum. She did not want to have to face Baine in battle, to utter spells that would kill these gentle, wise beings. But the tauren were hunters, warriors, and would never shirk their duty. Baine had already done all he could—more, in fact, than Jaina had ever expected. Some would call this warning treason.
She hoped that Baine’s gesture would not result in tragedy for the tauren high chieftain.
Jaina buried her face in her hands, gathering strength. Then, composing herself, she called for Pained.
“Rouse Tervosh and recall Kinndy. Have them meet me in the library.”
“May I ask what is going on?”
Jaina turned a tired visage to her bodyguard and friend. “War,” was all she said.
10
The Focusing Iris appeared to have sprouted wings, so swiftly was it traveling. Like a mastiff on the scent, Kalecgos had spent most of the day dutifully following where it led. It had been to the northwest of Theramore when he had departed that isle, and Kalecgos suspected it was now in Mulgore, perhaps near Thunder Bluff. When Kalecgos had made it to the Great Gate, the Iris stopped for a moment, then began moving northeast toward Orgrimmar. Kalec followed, flying as quickly as his wings would allow in an attempt to catch up. No sooner had he gotten to the Crossroads than the Focusing Iris shifted course yet again, this time heading almost directly south.
A realization struck him, as shocking as lightning, and his wing beats faltered.
“You are clever, my enemy,” he said softly.
They were no fools. But he had been one, more than once on this journey. First he had failed to see through a simple spell. And then he had arrogantly assumed that the thieves who had absconded with the Focusing Iris hadn’t counted on being followed.
Of course they had. One didn’t steal a priceless magical artifact from a dragonflight without being prepared for repercussions. They had known someone from the blue dragonflight, probably Kalecgos himself, would come in search of the Focusing Iris. They had not only disguised the object but were now ferrying it about somehow from place to place in an effort to exhaust him as he followed something he would never get close enough to find.
He believed the human phrase for such a useless pursuit was “a wild goose chase.”
His temper got the better of him, and he bellowed in anger. Not even a dragon could fly ceaselessly. He could never hope to catch it. Even as he realized this, the artifact took a turn toward the southwest.
Kalecgos thrashed his tail and beat his wings, then calmed himself. It was true that as long as the thieves were toying with him like this, he would never get close enough to the Focusing Iris to retrieve it.
But they could not do this forever. As long as the Focusing Iris was flitting erratically from place to place, Azeroth was safe. It would have to come to a halt in order for any use to be made of it.
His path over the last several hours, during which he had been forced to pause and rest, had taken him over Silithus, the Un’Goro Crater, Feralas, Mulgore, the Barrens, and now to—
Northwatch Hold. Or rather, what remained of Northwatch Hold.
Once it had boasted towers, and walls to enclose its inhabitants safely. Once it had been a military stronghold that had sent out scouts and siege weapons, warriors and generals. The troops that had destroyed Camp Taurajo had been garrisoned there. Now it looked as if some giant hand had smashed it like a toy. The towers were reduced to just a pile of stones, as were the walls. The cannons were silent, and smoke wafted upward in a thin gray-black line from a large fire. And swarming around the ruins of a once-proud Alliance hold were hundreds of tiny figures.
Horde. From this height Kalec could not distinguish what races, but he could spot the basic colors of each banner. All were represented here. The wind shifted, and Kalec grimaced as his sharp nose caught an acrid scent. The victors were burning bodies—whether their own in a sober ceremony or those of their enemies, Kalec could not tell, and had no wish to.
The trail of the Focusing Iris continued blithely along. It turned yet again, heading back toward Mulgore, but Kalecgos was no longer following it. With one strong downward beat of his wings, Kalec repositioned his body and changed direction, flying now directly to the south. He knew what he needed to do.