Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War (22 page)

A purple-skinned, blue-haired night elf stepped out, blinking at the sun. Jaina’s eyes widened and she smiled, welcoming this particular ally—Shandris Feathermoon, general of the night elf Sentinels—as a friend.

“Battle sister,” Shandris said, returning the smile gently. “The archdruid and the high priestess send me to you with joy, and it is with joy that I and my Sentinels come to aid you.”

“You and they are most welcome,” said Jaina, realizing that if Shandris had brought some of her people, it was likely that the other generals had brought what could be spared of their finest as well. Garrosh was bringing all the races of the Horde to bear on Theramore; they would be greeted in kind.

The last to stride onto the dock of Theramore Harbor was no general, but a familiar figure nonetheless. Jaina had learned only a short time ago that he had survived the Razing of Northwatch Hold. He had been badly injured and fallen unconscious, and the Horde had left him for dead. Her pleasure at seeing him was followed instantly by shock and grief at his appearance. He had not come through the battle for Northwatch Hold unscathed; he had lost an eye and had a jagged scar marring what had once been a handsome visage. As he walked toward her, she noticed that one leg dragged slightly. He saw where her gaze went and her sympathetic expression on her face, and smiled as much as he could with his damaged face.

“Admiral Aubrey,” Jaina said warmly, hurrying up to him with her hands outstretched in welcome.

“Lady Proudmoore,” he said. “I’m alive, and the Horde didn’t take my wits. That’s all that matters. I’ll serve you as best I can.”

“As best you can is better than most could serve. I am so pleased to see you. The Alliance is going to be very glad of those wits. And a firsthand account of the Horde’s tactics will be helpful as well.” She squeezed his hands and inquired, “Are there any others with…?” Her voice trailed off as his expression grew solemn.

“About half a dozen survived with enough of their body parts left
to join me,” he said. “And I’ve news of the Horde fleet as well, which I need to share as quickly as possible.”

“Aye, Admiral Aubrey’s right,” said Thaddus Stoutblow. “This is nae the time fer a cup o’ tea an’ idle chatter.”

“Agreed,” Jaina said at once. “Would that we had time for proper ceremony. Captain Vimes will help familiarize your crews and soldiers with the city and its defenses. Generals—and Admiral—please come into the keep. We have a great deal to discuss.”

•   •   •

A few moments later saw Jaina, the five generals, the five members of the Kirin Tor, Ranger-General Vereesa, and the single admiral seated around a large table. Ink, quills, and paper were on hand, as were glasses of fresh water. Not even the dwarves asked for alcohol; all knew that their wits needed to be clear and sharp.

“I bid all of you welcome once again,” Jaina said before anyone else could speak. “Generals, Ranger-General, Admiral, the magi you see before you are respected members of the Kirin Tor—including mage Thalen Songweaver. They have come to offer their insight and expertise in defense of Theramore.”

Marcus Jonathan peered at Rhonin. “In defense,” he repeated. “I take it you are still not choosing sides in the coming battle?”

“It is my hope, unrealized as it is likely to be, that there might not be a battle at all,” said Rhonin with a placidness unusual for him. As muttering began to make its way around the table, he lifted a hand. “If our presence is an insufficient deterrent to violence, then we will act to defend the city in order to prevent as much loss of life as possible. In the meantime”—he smiled—“a few of us have gotten our hands dirty before. Perhaps we can help in the planning.”

“The Light sends aid in all manner of ways, and in all manner of beings,” said Tiras’alan calmly, directing the words to the Sunreaver. “I for one welcome your cumulative wisdom.”

There were nods, some more blatantly reluctant than others. “I am relieved that we all realize that we have a common foe,” Jaina said.
“There are so many years of experience gathered here around this table. I am glad every one of you is here.”

Aubrey leaned forward. “Before we start talking strategies and planning, Lady Jaina, I need to tell you what we saw as we sailed toward the harbor.”

Jaina felt the blood drain from her face. “Let me guess,” she said. “Several Horde battleships.”

Jonathan frowned slightly. “You cannot see them from the harbor,” he said, “and Theramore’s ships stayed close to home, or so we were informed. How did you know?”

“They were here a few days ago, being very careful to stay just inside Horde territory,” said Pained. “It appears they never truly left.”

“We were more than ready to engage if they had given us even a whiff of provocation,” said Jonathan. “But they sat there quite calmly, as if out for a scenic boat ride. They didn’t budge.”

Stoutblow glowered. “Which I, fer one, am verra sorry fer.”

“We had no desire to start this war,” Jonathan said, though Jaina didn’t miss that he, too, looked as if he wished that the Horde had fired on them so that the tension, at least, would be broken. “But we
will
be the ones to end it. They’re there, they’re armed, and they’re just… waiting.”

Tiras’alan cleared his throat. “If I may? Lady Jaina, word reached us that you were… warned about the attack. Do you believe that it might have been a trick? That perhaps Garrosh wants you to think the target is Theramore, when in reality it is elsewhere?”

“There’s nae other decent target reachable by land,” said Redmane, scoffing. “Seems a wee bit silly tae have all them Hordies squattin’ there fer nae reason. Th’ Horde’s big, true, but nae that big.”

“The thought did occur to us,” said Shandris. “We have seen no evidence that there are plans to attack anywhere other than Theramore.”

Jaina pondered, then shook her golden head. “No. I am certain it was no ruse. My… contact risked a great deal to warn me, and I trust him completely.” She had sat with Baine while he grieved a father slain by treachery, had seen a weapon sacred to the Light glow approvingly in his mighty fist. He would not betray her.

The draenei regarded her, then nodded. “Then we will take this unknown contact at his word. The evidence does appear to support it.”

Shandris leaned forward. “Admiral Aubrey,” she said, “we have had the honor to speak with you during our journey here. Lady Jaina and the others have not. Why do you not tell them what you have shared with us?” She smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. Shandris Feathermoon was a predator, and it was clear that she was ready to begin the hunt. “Then we shall make our strategies.”

Jaina took a moment to be grateful to the Light—and to Varian Wrynn, A’dal, High Priestess Tyrande, Archdruid Malfurion, Rhonin, and the Council of Three Hammers—for the collective wisdom of these battle-hardened men and women. With luck, not only would they withstand the Horde attack, but they would do so with the fewest number of casualties on both sides.

Then, when Garrosh Hellscream realized that even his best efforts at violence would not prevail, maybe he would be willing to talk peace.

•   •   •

Earth Mother, give me guidance,
Baine prayed silently. He had come to the little remembrance site—the tauren equivalent of a graveyard—close to the encampment that the tauren had passed on their path to Northwatch. He found comfort here, where the benevolent spirits of those who had died might yet linger.

The days crawled by as the Horde waited… and waited, and the Alliance defenses at Theramore grew stronger by the moment. Baine had heard from Perith and knew that Jaina had received his message with the graciousness and appreciation he had come to expect from the lady of Theramore. Even so, the warning had been given to prevent a massacre of the Alliance, not so that the Alliance would have a chance to massacre the Horde. Which it was shaping up to be. Still, this could not be laid at Jaina’s feet; Garrosh, for some unfathomable and alarming reason, seemed content to stay holed up with his Kor’kron and that Blackrock orc while precious moments passed.

Word had come that the 7th Legions famous fleet had arrived and that the decks of the flagship were crawling with Alliance generals whose names ought to have been striking terror into Garrosh’s heart. Instead, Baine had heard laughter and bold comments coming from the warchief’s encampment while the dire news was being whispered among the Horde’s foot soldiers, who sat awaiting orders.

Baine no longer had the heart to even protest Garrosh’s delay. At best, he would be taunted and pushed to his limits, then dismissed. At worst, he could be accused of treason and perhaps executed.

Baine was a warrior. He was no stranger to tactics and strategy and knew that what seemed like foolishness
sometimes
was wisdom. But he could see nothing here that resembled wisdom. Garrosh had attacked Northwatch, and the victory was overwhelming. Had they pushed on to Theramore even a day or two later, a similar victory would have been assured. But instead, Grom’s son had waited and let Jaina learn about the planned attack, had let her stockpile food and weapons, had let her receive outside assistance.

“Why?” Baine said aloud. He thought of his people, steady and solid, and his oath of loyalty to Garrosh as leader of the Horde. And he thought of them lying as stiffening corpses, slain more truly by Garrosh’s foolishness and utterly inexplicable decisions than by Alliance weapons. He lifted his muzzle to the sky, sharp, stinging tears filling his eyes, and, alone with his ancestors, shook his fists furiously and cried with all his confused and aching and angry heart, “
Why?
”

N
othing. No luck. The Focusing Iris continued to zig and zag around Kalimdor as if it was on a tour of the continent directed by madmen. Emotions buffeted Kalecgos—worry, fear, frustration, anger, and worst of all, a dreadful, gnawing sense of impotent helplessness.

He was not usually given to the arrogance displayed by many dragons, his own flight in particular. But he was a blue dragon, once the blues’ Aspect, and the Focusing Iris belonged to them. How was it that so powerful a thing not only could be stolen, but could keep eluding him?

And why did he feel more driven to return to Theramore and protect it against the coming onslaught than to continue his search? The answer to that was simple, but he refused to acknowledge it. He snapped his tail in frustration, dove, wheeled, and turned again toward the east.

The Horde continued to stay where it was: a massive sprawl of small, stationary forms, tiny tents, miniature engines of war. Even during the day, Kalec saw the tiny glowing dots that indicated campfires.

Was the army… larger than before? Was that why Garrosh was playing a waiting game—to gather more reinforcements? Or was it merely spread out?

Clarity came upon him like a thunderclap, and with it a sense of
peace at finally knowing his path. He flapped his massive wings, once, twice, thrice, tilting his sinuous azure form and wheeling back the way he had come.

The Focusing Iris was, of course and still, the most important thing. The damage to this world could be staggering if its abductors chose to use it for destruction. But the Focusing Iris would not be obtained, not as long as it was being moved so erratically. It was a great danger, but not an immediate one.

The Horde was.

It was not the decision he should have made, he knew. Not the decision another blue dragon would have made.

But another blue dragon was not Kalecgos. And the heart of Kalecgos lifted with every beat of his powerful wings.

•   •   •

The planning session, complete with maps, miniatures, sandwiches, and often heated debate, had gone on for four and a half hours when Marcus Jonathan finally called for a break.

Jaina had made certain that she would have a chance to spend those precious minutes of recovery alone. For too long, it seemed, she had lurched from crisis to crisis where everyone needed her attention, her wisdom, her advice, her skills. Most recently it had been the search for the Focusing Iris—a search that she did not dare think of overmuch, as she was fighting a growing fear that it would prove futile, even for the former blue Dragon Aspect. And then this—the Horde destroying Northwatch and now turning its eyes toward her own city.

Jaina had never been a particularly social young woman, preferring the solitary delights of books and scrolls to the more cacophonous and energetic diversions of balls or parties. Nor had she been such as an adult woman, though as a diplomat of note she had attended more than her share of formal functions. She liked to negotiate personally, one-on-one if possible. And when the negotiations were done, and the treaty signed, and the toasts raised to it, she returned home, to Theramore, eager for its comparative isolation and slower pace. Now Theramore was filled with more activity than Jaina ever remembered
encountering at Lordaeron. It was crowded with men and women who exuded power and authority and decisiveness. Jaina’s solitude had been shattered like a broken mirror, reflecting only sharp shards of chaos and urgency.

Not everyone in Theramore appreciated the pungency of the nearby swamp, but as she stepped outside and took a deep breath, Jaina found herself smiling. It was hardly the exquisite scent of apple blossoms and flowers of the Dalaran of her childhood, nor was it the clean, piney fragrance of Lordaeron. But for her, it was the smell of home.