“Then why,” asked Karlain, “do you need our aid? Theramore is a military city of no little reputation. And surely with the fleet, you will be able to send the Horde back to their lands, blushing with shame.” Aethas’s head turned at the comment, but the blood elf archmage did not speak.
“Because the Horde is amassed and ready to march,” Jaina said. “And His Majesty’s fleet is yet a few days away.” She turned and spoke directly to Aethas. “I would prefer a meeting of minds to a clash of swords, but I must defend my people, who trust me to protect them. I would not fight the Horde, but I will if I must. It is my most sincere hope that if the Kirin Tor agrees to aid Theramore at this time when it is so very vulnerable, we can turn this potential attack into an opportunity to create peace.”
“For all your years of diplomatic service, Jaina Proudmoore,” said Aethas in a silky voice, “you know little of the Horde if you think they will stop when they see victory.”
“Perhaps they will stop if they see magi from the Kirin Tor,” Jaina retorted. “Please… there are families in Theramore. I will defend them with my life, as will the soldiers quartered there. But we might not be enough. And if Theramore falls, so well might Kalimdor. Nothing would then stop the Horde from attacking Ashenvale or Teldrassil, and driving the night elves out of their ancient lands. Garrosh wishes the entire continent—and, with respect, that cannot possibly be what the Kirin Tor wishes as a whole. Not if it truly believes in neutrality.”
“We understand the situation,” said Karlain. “You do not need to tell us our business.”
“I do not seek to,” Jaina said. “But I am counting on your wisdom to see that this is not asking you to take sides. This is asking you to save innocent lives—and keep a balance that is already too tentative.”
An unseen signal must have passed between the other magi, for as one all of them stepped back a pace. “Thank you, Lady Jaina,” said Rhonin in a voice that was clearly a dismissal. “We will speak and ask the opinions of others ere we decide. I will notify you when we reach an agreement.”
There was the hum of another portal opening, and Jaina stepped through it onto the almost too-clean cobblestone streets of Dalaran, feeling like a little girl who had been told to go tidy her room if she wished to have supper. She was unused to being dismissed but reasoned that if anyone had the right to do so, it was the Council of Six.
She started to cast a teleportation spell back to Theramore but paused in mid-motion. There were two people she should see while she was here.
After Jaina had departed, the other five members turned expectantly to Rhonin. Before any of them could speak, he lifted a hand. “We will reconvene in an hour,” he said.
“But we’re all already here,” said Modera, slightly puzzled.
“I—have some precedents I’d like to check out,” said Rhonin. “I might suggest the rest of you do the same. Whichever way we decide—to aid Theramore or stand back and let the Horde come—it’s a big choice. I’d like more than my own opinion before I cast my vote.”
There were a few sour faces, but they nodded. Rhonin teleported himself back to his chamber and stood there for a moment, his red brows knitting together. Then he strode over to his desk—nearly every inch of it covered in blank parchment, scrolls, or books—and waved a hand.
The messy pile floated upward and remained about three feet off the desk. The desk’s top flipped open to reveal a small, simple box. What was inside, however, was anything but simple.
Rhonin removed the box, closed the desk’s top, and allowed the parchment, books, and scrolls to return to their various positions. He took the box to a chair and sat down with it. “Old friend, it is at times like this that I miss you more than I can say,” he said. “But I must admit, it’s comforting to hear you speak to me beyond death—even if you have to do it in riddles.”
He unlocked the box with a small key he kept around his neck and thoughtfully regarded the small pile of scrolls. Each one was a prophecy from Korialstrasz, the late consort of Alexstrasza the Life-Binder. The visions had come to him over the years, and when he had bequeathed them to Rhonin, saying with a grin, “This may help explain how at times I appear so damned clever,” Rhonin had been humbled. He had asked Rhonin to keep the knowledge of the prophecies hidden, and upon Rhonin’s death he was to leave the key to one person he trusted. “They must not fall into the wrong hands,” Krasus had warned him.
That night, Rhonin had stayed up until the small hours of the morning reading through all the prophecies. And there was one in particular he wished to consult now.
“I take it back,” he said aloud. “Why did you have to write these in riddles, Krasus?”
He was sure that, somewhere, the great red dragon was laughing.
It was only the second visit Jaina had paid the Sparkshine family. The first time, she had come to take their daughter to a faraway land. They had been fairly bursting with pride for Kinndy, but Jaina could easily see that the family was tightly knit, perhaps because it consisted only of the three of them. The parting had been hard, but Jaina had been welcomed not as an intruder depriving them of their daughter, but as a long-lost relative to be received with open arms. Even so, she now hesitated at the door. Coming here had been an impulsive decision. Jaina felt that she owed it to her apprentice’s parents to let them know, first and foremost, how impressed she was with Kinndy’s abilities. And second, to inform them that that impressive, beloved girl was about to be put in harm’s way.
Steeling herself for the encounter, she knocked on the door. As she remembered would happen, a smaller door, inlaid into the main one, squeaked open. An elderly, purple-clad mage peered out, around, and then up.
“Good afternoon, mage Sparkshine,” Jaina said, smiling.
At once he whipped off his pointed hat and bowed deeply. “Lady Proudmoore!” he exclaimed. “What brings you to—” His eyes widened slightly. “Our little Kinndy is well, I trust?”
“Quite well, and performing her apprenticeship duties admirably,” Jaina said. Both comments, at this moment, were utterly true. “Might I come in?”
“Oh, certainly, certainly!” Windle Sparkshine ducked back inside and closed the door, and then the main door opened to admit Jaina.
The tidy little apartment was, as far as Jaina was concerned, decorated in perfect miniature. The ceiling was high enough for her to stand erect, but it would have been impossible for her to sit in the tiny chairs. Fortunately, Windle was already pulling out what he referred to as the “Tall Folk chair.”
“There you are. Sit yourself right down by the fire here.” Jaina looked at the hearth but said nothing. There were logs arranged, but they remained unlit. She smothered a smile. It was an old joke with the Sparkshine family, and she had no intention of spoiling it.
Windle pretended to gasp. “Why, that fire’s not lit!” he exclaimed. He withdrew a wand, muttered something softly, then flicked the tip of the magical tool toward the hearth. At once, a bright blaze sprang up, adding even more cheer to the already pleasant scene.
A lovely smell wafted from the kitchen, and a gray-haired female gnome, her face smudged with flour, peered out. “Windle, who was it at—why, Lady,” she said, “what a surprise! Give me just a moment to get these pies into the oven, and I’ll be right with you.”
“Take your time, Mrs. Sparkshine.”
“I told you when we met, it’s Jaxi, or no apple tarts,” was the gentle reproof. For the first time in what felt like years, Jaina laughed.
She sat in the comfortable and appropriately sized chair and appreciatively accepted some tea and pastries. Windle and Jaxi sat in their own appropriately sized chairs and made idle chitchat for a while.