“Even after being married to an elf, their logic still confounds me,” said Rhonin. Vereesa gave him a mock glare. Rhonin winked at his wife, then turned back to Jaina. “Well, here we are. I need to speak with you privately, Lady Proudmoore, but my colleagues here await instruction.”
“Let us say rather requests,” Jaina said, turning to Tervosh. “Tervosh, Kinndy, Pained? Will you acquaint our guests with the layout of the city and introduce them to Captain Vimes and Captain Evencane?”
Pained merely nodded. Tervosh said, “It would be an honor. We are most grateful for your aid.” Kinndy looked a little stunned and, for once, seemed to have nothing to say. Jaina watched the group go, then turned to Rhonin.
“You realize you’ve irritated a lot of magi,” Rhonin said without preamble.
“I?” Jaina was confused.
“I know, I know, that’s usually my area of expertise,” the red-haired archmage said with a self-deprecating grin. “Some people like to hold grudges. I won’t go so far as to say you made enemies during the Third War, but your choices didn’t endear you to very many.”
“What did I do?”
“It’s more what you didn’t do. Some in Dalaran feel you abandoned them. When you chose not to work with the Kirin Tor but struck off on your own.”
“I wasn’t needed there,” Jaina replied. “I had a different—well, calling. I went where I felt I could best serve. I had no idea other magi felt insulted by that choice.”
“It’s old grumbling, nothing more,” Rhonin told her. “Some people just like to be cranky. And the main reason it still doesn’t sit right with a few of them is because there were more than a few magi who thought that you should have been the future of the council, not a smart-mouthed redhead.” At her shocked expression he added, “Come now, Jaina, I’ve heard you say often enough that it’s as much a mistake to downplay one’s talents as it is to inflate them. I’m good. Damn good. And so are many others in the Kirin Tor. Some of those are here today. But you…” He shook his head admiringly. “You’re a fine diplomat, no question. Azeroth owes a lot to you. But even I think you may be squandering your gifts, staying here in Theramore.”
“Theramore is a nation. One I founded to shine out as a beacon of hope for peace in this world. One I have promised to take care of and protect. I would be but one of many in the Kirin Tor. Here…” Jaina gestured at the activity all around them. “I can’t leave, not now and probably not ever, Rhonin. You know that. Theramore needs me. And whatever you say, I cannot believe that I could better serve Azeroth as one of many magi in the Kirin Tor than I have as a diplomat.”
He nodded, a bit mournfully, it seemed to her. “You are Theramore,” he said in agreement. “More than I or anyone can be the Kirin Tor. This world is in a sad, sad state, Jaina. It’s not been allowed to recover. First the war against Malygos and the blues. Then fighting that bas—forgive me, the Lich King—cost so many lives. And then Azeroth itself practically cracks in half. No disrespect to your efforts, but I don’t think that either the Horde or the Alliance would know what to do with peace if it bit them.”
Jaina knew that Rhonin did not mean his comments as a criticism. He was merely lamenting, as did she, the fact that Azeroth and its denizens had been forced to endure so many catastrophes, so much violence. And yet, what he said galvanized her, as it struck far too close. Was she wasting her time? Hadn’t she said as much to Go’el not so long ago, that she feared her words were falling on deaf ears? What she said came back to her: It seems as if I am struggling through mud simply to be heard, let alone actually listened to. It’s… difficult to try to be a diplomat and work for real, solid results when the other side
won’t acknowledge reason anymore. I feel like a crow cawing in the field. I wonder if it’s just wasted breath.
Kalecgos, too, had expressed the same thing. Why are you not in Dalaran? he had asked her. Why are you here, standing between swamp and ocean, between Horde and Alliance?
Because someone has to, she had answered. And because she believed she had the ability to succeed as a diplomat.
If you believe that—and I am not saying you are wrong—why are you trying so very hard to convince yourself?
Had she been doing the wrong thing, in the wrong place?
Jaina forced the thought back. Now was not the time to get lost in regrets. Now was the time to act, to defend her people from the battle that was quite literally on the horizon. “I must see my people safe first,” she said to Rhonin. “Not even I can talk of peace while they are in harm’s way. Let’s go.”
14
The sun set, red and swollen. The troll and the tauren, fur and skin seemingly bloodied by the hue, made their silent, steady way up the hill to the ruins of Northwatch Hold. There was no Alliance there anymore, not even corpses. Garrosh Hellscream now slept in a tower once occupied by an admiral, and it was he whom the troll and tauren sought.
Garrosh was in a good mood. The evening campfires for cooking, warmth, and light were already lit. Garrosh was happy for any Alliance spies to see how many of the Horde they would be facing, and put no limits on how large the fires blazed or how numerous they were. A haunch of zhevra roasted over one such fire now, turning on a spit and rendering both fat that sizzled as it dripped and a mouthwatering scent as it cooked.
“Let them come forward,” Garrosh said expansively to Malkorok. “They are the leaders of their people. Vol’jin, Baine, come join me. Tear off some of this delicious meat for yourselves!”
The tauren and the troll glanced at each other, then stepped forward. Each had a knife and sliced off and speared a chunk of the dripping flesh. A cask of cherry grog was passed around, and they drank politely.
“Now,” said Garrosh, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Warchief,” said Baine, “your people sit and await your orders. Their blood burns with the fire for battle. You know our feelings on this matter. We come, openly, imploringly, to tell you that you must strike soon, or the Alliance will have time to prepare a defense!”
“I thought you liked the Alliance, Baine Bloodhoof,” drawled Garrosh. His small dark eyes were sharp and alert, contradicting his languorous pose.
“You know where my loyalties lie,” said Baine, his voice dropping almost to a growl. “I have no wish to lead my braves into a battle where they will be slaughtered—not when I can lead them into one in which they will be the victors.”
“You share this opinion,” stated Garrosh, turning to Vol’jin.
The troll spread his arms. “You heard us before on dis, Wahchief. My people be ready to taste Alliance blood. Dey get impatient if you keep holdin’ dem back. Da Forsaken might be fine wit’ patience an’ all, but I gotta ask you—what you be tinkin’? You be a great warrior! You not be afraid of dem Alliance. So why we not be strikin’ now?”
“You are right. I am a great warrior. And I know more than a little of strategy,” Garrosh replied. “I am growing very weary of your questioning my wisdom in this matter.” Gone was the cheerful, relaxed pose. Garrosh had neither drunk too much nor feasted too much. His eyes were fixed upon them intently.
“We do not question,” said Baine carefully. “We too are warriors of no little repute. We too understand the need for tactics. We are offering our advice, dearly bought with the blood of our people, in an effort to prevent unnecessary bloodshed. And we urge you to listen to us.”
Baine took a deep breath, rose, strode to Garrosh, and knelt before him. The gesture of obeisance rankled, but it was genuine. He needed Garrosh to listen. His people—nay, the entire Horde—needed it.