Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War (34 page)

Jaina knew that Vereesa was leader of the Silver Covenant, a presence the high elf herself had formed as a precaution against possible treachery from the Sunreavers, blood elves who had been granted permission to join the Kirin Tor. As such, Vereesa was vocal and outspoken—but had no formal voice in the Kirin Tor. Neither did Jaina, officially, but as the sole living mage to report about the disaster—and as the one whom Rhonin had chosen to portal to safety even as he called the mana bomb down upon himself—she knew she would be given an audience. Now that Rhonin was gone, Jaina found herself remembering a particular conversation. How he had told her that many of the Kirin Tor wished she had not chosen the path she did, how they wanted her to be one of their number.

Jaina might not have been a member of the Kirin Tor. But she was certainly going to speak to them.

Vereesa was still looking at her, her face an implacable mask that doubtless concealed a maelstrom of anguish and rage. Suddenly moved, Jaina strode to the other woman and blurted out, “Rhonin cared about two things when he died. He wanted to make sure you would survive—and he made the effort to get me to safety. He bought both our lives with his own.”

“. . . What?”

“The bomb landed where it did because Rhonin called it to him. Rhonin used his magic to redirect it to the tower, which was heavily warded and magically protected, so the blast would cause as little damage as possible.”

The façade was starting to crack. Vereesa lifted a trembling hand to her lips, listening.

“He—he told me that I needed to survive. That I was the future of the Kirin Tor, and if I didn’t go through the portal he was struggling
to keep open, we would both die—and his efforts would be for nothing. I refused to leave and—he pushed me through. Vereesa—I don’t understand why he chose me. Theramore was my city; I should have died for it. But
he
was the one who died. And I will not forget that, not as long as I draw breath, and I will do all that I can to be worthy of his sacrifice. I was
there,
Vereesa. I know what they did. And I will urge the council to make sure the Horde is never,
ever,
in so powerful a position again. That no one else has to suffer as we have.”

Vereesa’s lips curved into a trembling smile, and the next thing the mage knew, the two women were hugging each other tightly, and Jaina felt warm tears against her neck.

•   •   •

For the second time in more than a week, Jaina stood in the Chamber of the Air. It looked the same, if something that constantly changed could be called “the same.” The simple gray stone beneath her feet was the same, and the display of shifting sky from night to day, from storm to stars, was familiar. Yet everything was different. Jaina was no longer dazzled by the glorious vista, nor by the honor of being permitted to speak to the Council of Six. Five, now. She was unmoved as she looked about at the faces of the remaining members of the council.

Standing next to them, but not officially part of them, was the stone-faced Vereesa. Jaina was glad she had been permitted to attend. Surely she had earned the right by losing the one she loved best in this world.

“Sad is the occasion that welcomes Lady Jaina Proudmoore a second time to these chambers, but glad are we to see you survived.” It was Khadgar who spoke, and this time he seemed to truly be the age his appearance proclaimed him as. His voice was weary; he leaned heavily on a staff; and even his formerly dancing eyes looked old. His companions, too, appeared strained. Modera had dark circles beneath her eyes. Disciplined Karlain was clearly having difficulty restraining his anger and pain. Aethas, the leader of the Sunreavers, who had recommended Thalen Songweaver, still wore his helmet, so Jaina could not see his face. But his body language was agitated.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Jaina said. “Forgive me if I dispense with formalities. I came here not so long ago, asking for the Kirin Tor’s help to defend Theramore. You granted it, and for that I am grateful. For the death of Archmage Rhonin, I grieve with you. He died a true hero. I am alive because of him. I am humbled by that gesture, and I vow to honor it as best I can. I will not mince words. I am here to ask you to join with the Alliance in attacking the Horde. The armies gather in Orgrimmar, to feast and drink and celebrate a massacre. If we strike now, we will destroy them so that they are unable to perpetrate such evil again.”

“Dalaran is neutral,” said Modera. “We went to Theramore only to protect and advise.”

“And if you had done more than that, Theramore might be of note to mapmakers of the future,” Jaina retorted. “Rhonin gave his life to stop the mana bomb as best he could. If there had been more—if the full force of the Kirin Tor had been brought to bear—he might still be alive!”

“I am… revolted by Garrosh’s actions,” said Aethas. “And I take responsibility for the harm done by one of my own Sunreavers. But attacking Orgrimmar is not the answer.”

“You Sunreavers cannot be trusted,” growled Vereesa. She looked imploringly at the other members of the council. “Why is he even still here? They are traitors, all of them! I warned you not to let them join the Kirin Tor!”

“There have been human traitors, and high elf, and gnome, and orc,” said Aethas calmly. “I will do what I can to atone for the treachery of Songweaver. The irony that I sent him as a gesture of goodwill does not escape me. But we must not abandon our stance of neutrality for vengeance!”

Others were nodding. Khadgar looked thoughtful, as if he were turning things over in his mind. Jaina could not believe their reactions, their hesitation.

“What will it take for you to realize that the Horde will eventually turn on you? They do not understand ‘neutral,’ just as they do not understand ‘diplomacy’ or ‘decency.’ They will flow over Kalimdor,
then turn on the Eastern Kingdoms, then come here. Your refusal to stop them will mean that one day soon, Horde will be swarming over Dalaran itself! Please, strike while we still can! We have uprooted the city once—let us do so now. Take it to Orgrimmar. Attack from above while they lie in a drunken stupor, dreaming of conquest! You’ve lost Rhonin and an entire city. Will you act when Teldrassil falls? When they are burning a World Tree?”

“Lady Jaina,” said Modera, “you have been through the unspeakable. You have beheld horrors and watched a friend die while he saved you. There is no one here who approves of the actions of the Horde. But… we must meet, to decide what next to do. We will summon you when we have reached a decision.”

Jaina bit her tongue against a flood of retorts and nodded. They would do the right thing. They
had
to.

•   •   •

Jaina found both Windle and Jaxi Sparkshine in a corner at the inn called A Hero’s Welcome. The normally lively and bright tavern was quiet and solemn; there was little “welcoming” about it. Jaina hesitated in the doorway, wondering if she should intrude upon their grief. Wondering if she could bear the torment she knew she would see in their eyes. They had entrusted Kinndy to her, and she had failed them. There hadn’t even been enough of the girl left to bury.

She closed her eyes against the sting of tears and turned to leave. As she did so, she heard a voice calling, “Lady Proudmoore?”

She flinched, then turned around. Both gnomes had slipped from their table and were walking over to her. How old they looked now, Jaina thought. Kinndy had come to them later in life, a little “miracle,” they called her. Jaina’s words floated back to her:
I give you my word, I will keep her as safe as I possibly can.

She had planned to be eloquent, to praise Kinndy as the girl deserved. To give her bereaved family comfort, to let them know that Kinndy had fought well and bravely, that she had been a light to everyone who knew her. That she died defending others.

What burst from Jaina’s lips was, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” And
for several long moments, it was the Sparkshines who gave Jaina Proudmoore comfort. They sat back down at the table, talking of Kinndy, wanting to be farther along in the healing process than any of them were.

“I’ve asked the Kirin Tor for help,” Jaina said, her feelings too raw to continue speaking of her apprentice. “I’m hoping they will join the Alliance and attack Orgrimmar. To stop anyone else from—from ending up like Kinndy.”

Windle glanced away for a moment, and Jaina realized he was listening to the chimes sounding the hour. Before she could apologize for keeping them so long, the gnome mage had slipped off his chair. “It’s nine o’clock.”

“Oh, yes,” Jaina said, remembering. “You light all the streetlights in Dalaran. I should let you be about it.”

The little mage swallowed hard, and his bright eyes grew even brighter with tears. “Come with me on my rounds,” he said. “I’ve gotten… special permission. Only for a time, but… it helps.”

Jaxi shooed them both along with a faint glimmer of her old self. “I’ve gone with him before,” she said. “I think it’s right you should go.”

Jaina was utterly confused but still so racked with guilt and pain that she was more than ready to do whatever the Sparkshines asked of her. So she followed Windle out, keeping her steps slow and short so she didn’t outpace him.

He shuffled outside and stood beneath one of the lamps, then drew out a small wand with an almost childish-looking star on the end. Then, with more grace than she expected, he pointed the wand at the lamp.

A spark flew from the tip, dancing around like a firefly. It did not light the streetlamp immediately. Instead, the glowing magical flame began to draw lines in the space above the lamp. Jaina’s eyes widened, then filled with tears.

The golden light was tracing the shape of a laughing gnome girl with pigtails. When the sketch was done, it came to life for a moment, small hands covering a giggling mouth, and Jaina could have sworn she heard Kinndy’s voice. She glanced down with blurred vision at
Windle and saw that the gnome, too, wept, though his eyes crinkled in a loving smile. Then the golden lines broke apart and reformed into a larger ball of light, darting under the shade of the lamp. This lamp lit, Windle turned and trudged toward the next. Jaina stayed where she was, watching once more as Windle Sparkshine paid tribute to his murdered daughter, letting her “live” for a little while each night. No doubt when the tragedy had faded in others’ eyes, Windle would be asked to light the lamps in the usual fashion. But for now, everyone in Dalaran had a chance to see Kinndy as Jaina and her parents had—bright and sparkling, her face alight with laughter.

•   •   •

The summons to return to the Chamber of the Air was not too long in coming. For the third time, Jaina stood in the center of the strange but beautiful room, regarding the council with enforced calmness.

“Lady Jaina Proudmoore,” Khadgar said, “before I tell you our verdict, know this: We utterly condemn the attack on Theramore with all our hearts, down to a member. It was cowardly and despicable. The Horde will learn of our displeasure and be cautioned against the usage of such wanton destruction. But this is a troubled time indeed. Especially for those of us who wield and would regulate and manage magic. A short time ago, we chose to offer our expertise and wisdom. We even agreed to help defend Theramore. Because of that decision, we were betrayed by one of our own and lost several fine magi, including our leader, Archmage Rhonin. Magic is in a dire state in this world now, Lady. No one is sure who’s supposed to be doing what. The blues no longer have an Aspect; they have lost a precious artifact that has been used for destruction; and we don’t even have a leader to guide us or take responsibility.”

Jaina felt a cold sensation in the pit of her stomach and fought to keep her hands from clenching. She knew what they were about to say.

“We can’t take care of Azeroth if we are in disarray ourselves,” Khadgar said. “We’ve got to reform, examine just what exactly went wrong. We can’t give what we don’t have, Lady. And what we don’t
have is any real sense of what needs to happen next. You’ve come to ask us to throw the full force of our magi behind the Alliance. You’ve asked us to transport Dalaran to Orgrimmar and rain destruction down upon an entire city. We can’t do that, Jaina. We simply can’t. We’ve only just figured out we’re grown-up enough to deal with having Horde representatives among us, Sunreavers, and now you want us to destroy Orgrimmar? The world would erupt in civil war, and our part in it would ensure this very city, which has endured so much, would also be divided. And even if we weren’t, even if Dalaran and the Kirin Tor were in a state where we could handle this, there are merchants and craftsmen and innkeepers and travelers who never marched on Theramore. For pity’s sake, there’s an orphanage in Orgrimmar, my lady! We can’t—we won’t—obliterate innocents.”

Jaina had to take a moment to make her voice steady enough to speak. “The orphans there will grow up to become Horde,” she said. “They are being taught to hate us, to plot against us. There are no innocents in that Light-forsaken city, Khadgar. There are no innocents anywhere. Not anymore.”

Before Khadgar could speak, she had conjured the portal. The last thing she saw before she stepped through was his young-old eyes filled with sorrow.

•   •   •

Jaina did not go far. Her destination was the main library. She had been here before, long ago, when she had lived and studied in Dalaran. As she crossed the threshold in the company of one of the Kirin Tor librarians, she felt the very air of the place brush against her body, then subside. In years past, she had cast a recognition spell in order to enter safely; the library wards still remembered her.

The librarian respected her request to be alone to peruse the books. He, as Khadgar had, looked at her with sad, sympathetic eyes. She did not want his sympathy, but she was willing to use it for her own purposes. Her request for solitude in this vast storehouse of books and scrolls had nothing to do with her alleged desire for quiet and reflection.

Once the sound of his footfalls had died away and she was certain she would not be disturbed, Jaina turned her attention to the books. It was a daunting task, to be certain. The room was enormous and filled with shelf after shelf that towered high into the air. Jaina knew from experience there was no real order here; chaos and illogical filing methods would help to confound more mundane thieves yet be no hindrance to magic.