Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War (7 page)

Kinndy was curious about Jaina’s role as a leader as well as a mage. Jaina would have liked to have told the gnome about the secret
meetings with Go’el—Kinndy seemed the type of person who might understand Jaina’s reasoning—but of course could not. Fond of the girl though Jaina might be, Kinndy was, in the end, honor-bound to report everything she knew to the Kirin Tor. Jaina’s slip with Anduin had taught her to take extra precautions, and thus far, she was certain that Kinndy was still ignorant of the meetings.

“How is Master Rhonin?” Jaina inquired.

“Oh, he is well. He sends his best,” Kinndy replied. “He seemed a bit distracted,” she mused, pausing to take another bite of cookie.

“We’re magi, Kinndy,” Jaina said wryly. “We’re always distracted by something or other.”

“This is true!” she said cheerily, brushing at some crumbs. “But even so, my visit seemed rather rushed.”

“Did you get to spend time with your parents?” Kinndy’s father, Windle, was entrusted with the important duty of lighting all of Dalaran’s streetlights with his wand in the evening. According to Kinndy, he so enjoyed the task that he sold wands that enabled others to experience it themselves a time or two. Her mother, Jaxi, often provided baked goods for the high elf Aimee to sell at her stall, and the gnome’s red velvet cupcakes were extremely popular. This heritage was part of the reason that Kinndy was so frustrated at her own—in her opinion—subpar pastries.

“I did!”

“And yet you still want cookies,” Jaina teased.

Kinndy shrugged. “What can I say? Every tooth I have is a sweet tooth,” she replied with the cheerful attitude that Jaina had come to expect, but it was clear something continued to worry the gnome. Jaina placed her plate down on the table.

“Kinndy, I know that you are supposed to report back to the Kirin Tor. That was part of the agreement. But you’re also my apprentice. If you have any problems with me as your master—”

The blue eyes widened. “You? Oh, Lady Jaina, it’s not you at all! It’s just—I felt that something was off in Dalaran. You could sense it in the air. And Master Rhonin’s behavior didn’t help put me at ease.”

Jaina was impressed. Not all magi developed the sixth sense that
told them, as Kinndy had put it, that there was something “off.” Jaina herself had the ability, to a degree. She couldn’t always tell when things were magically amiss, but when she did get that feeling, she paid attention to it. And Kinndy was only twenty-two.

Jaina smiled a bit wistfully. “Master Rhonin was right about you,” she said. “He said you were gifted.”

Kinndy blushed, just a little.

“Well, I’m sure if there is something truly amiss, we’ll hear about it soon enough,” Jaina said. “In the meantime, did you finish the book I sent along with you?”

Kinndy sighed. “
An In-Depth Analysis of the Temporal Effects of Conjuration of Foodstuffs
?”

“That would be the one, yes.”

“I did. Although…” She hesitated and wouldn’t meet Jaina’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well… I think there’s now a smudge of frosting on page forty-three.”

•   •   •

Night fell in Orgrimmar. The heat dwindled but did not dissipate; the hard-baked sand, devoid of vegetation, held the sun’s heat, as did the large, newly constructed metal buildings. Orgrimmar, like all of Durotar, was hardly a pleasant place from a climate standpoint. It never had been, and now it was even less so.

That suited Malkorok just fine.

He found the heat of Durotar uncomfortable, as he had found the heat of the interior of Blackrock Mountain. And that was good. The best thing that had ever happened to the orc people was leaving the softness of places like Nagrand back on their homeworld of Draenor. This was a place that tested one’s mettle, that tempered and tried one. It was not good to become too comfortable. And part of Malkorok’s job was to see to it that no orc grew too comfortable.

Some orcs at the recent gathering had been too comfortable. Too secure in the rightness of their opinions. They had openly voiced displeasure and disagreement with one who was not just their warchief
but the leader of their own kind. The leader of the
orcs
! The very arrogance of it caused Malkorok to grit his teeth in anger. He forced himself to stay silent as he moved quietly through the streets.

He had told Garrosh that they were all worth watching. Garrosh had initially assumed Malkorok meant that all the leaders of the various races composing the Horde should be observed. The Blackrock orc had a much, much larger view. When he said they were “all” worth watching, he
meant
the entire Horde.

Every member of the Horde.

And so it was that he’d had had some of his best orcs follow a few of the malcontents who had dared to stay silent while others cheered. Of course Eitrigg, well loved and respected, an advisor Garrosh had promised Thrall he would listen to, could speak with impunity.

For the moment.

But others who had sided with the old orc must pay the price of what Malkorok—and Garrosh—considered nothing less than open, unabashed treason. His mind went back to several years ago, when he had been service to Rend Blackhand. He thought with satisfaction of what had happened to those adventurers unwise enough to enter into the heart of the mountain and challenge Rend. But even more vividly, he recalled what he himself had done to his fellow orcs who had muttered against Blackhand, thinking themselves safe in the shadows.

He had stalked them, carrying out his own implacable justice. Rend had commented once when one of the traitors had gone missing. Malkorok had simply shrugged, and Rend had given him a sneering grin of approval. It was never mentioned after that.

Things were different now. But not that much different. Now Malkorok did not walk in the shadows alone. Four Kor’kron, appointed specifically by Garrosh to obey Malkorok’s orders as if they were his own, accompanied him, moving as stealthily as if they were shadows themselves.

Kor’jus lived in the Cleft of Shadow, one of the more unsavory parts of Orgrimmar. One might assume that, with such a residence, Kor’jus was involved in shady business. However, the name of his shop, Dark Earth, was nothing more sinister than a description of the
soil needed for his crop—mushrooms. While Kor’jus was, as far as Malkorok knew, a law-abiding citizen, the fact that he lived here made the Blackrock orc’s duty easier. With a wink and a few gold coins, would-be witnesses nodded and looked away.

Kor’jus was kneeling, using a sharp knife to harvest mushrooms for sale on the morrow. He cut swiftly, close to the base of the fungus, tossed it in a sack, and moved on to the next. His back was to the door, which had a curtain partly drawn over the entrance and a sign that read
CLOSED
. Though he could not see his visitors, he sensed their presence and stiffened. Slowly he rose and turned around, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Malkorok and his companions standing at the entrance.

“Read the sign,” he grunted. “The shop doesn’t open until tomorrow.” Malkorok noticed with amusement that the mushroom farmer tightened his grip on his small blade. As if that would help.

“We’re not here for mushrooms,” Malkorok said, his voice soft. He and the other four orcs moved into the shop. One of them closed the curtain. “We’re here for you.”

D
awn’s light, gentle but persistent, found its way through the cracks in the curtains of Jaina’s bedchamber. Used to awakening at this hour, she blinked, smiled sleepily, and stretched. She swung her legs out over the bed, rose, threw on a robe, and pulled back the dark blue curtains.

It was a gorgeous morning, rose and gold and lavender where the sun hadn’t yet chased away the shadows of night. She opened the window and breathed deeply of the salty air, letting it tousle her bed-rumpled golden hair still further. The sea, always the sea. She was the daughter of the lord admiral, and her brother had once quipped that the Proudmoores all had seawater in their veins. A hint of melancholy touched her as she thought of her father and brother. She lingered for a moment longer, remembering, then turned from the window.

Jaina brushed her hair, then sat down in front of a small table. With a thought, she lit a candle and gazed at the flickering flame. She started every day thus, if she could manage it; it helped her focus and prepare for whatever might be thrown her—

Her blue eyes widened and she became instantly alert. Something was about to happen. She recalled talking to Kinndy last evening (the gnome was no doubt still asleep; she could have been born a night elf, she liked to stay up late so much) about her visit to Dalaran and subsequent unease.
It’s just—I felt that something was off in Dalaran,
Kinndy had said.
You could sense it in the air.

Jaina was sensing something now, like an old sailor who could feel a storm approaching in her bones. She felt a vague fluttering of apprehension in her chest. Her morning ritual would have to wait. Quickly she bathed and dressed, and so it was that she was already downstairs and making tea when one of her most trusted advisors, Archmage Tervosh, knocked on the door. Unlike Kinndy, he didn’t have anything officially to do with the Kirin Tor. He was, like Jaina, more comfortable on his own, and the two had developed a great and rewarding friendship, living in Theramore as a couple of mavericks.

“Lady Jaina,” he said, “I—well—there’s someone here to see you.” He looked unhappy. “He won’t give me his name, but he bears a letter of safe passage from Rhonin. I checked; it’s genuine.”

He handed her the rolled-up scroll, sealed with the familiar eye symbol of the Kirin Tor. Breaking the seal and reading, Jaina instantly recognized Rhonin’s handwriting.

Dear Lady Jaina,

I ask that you give this visitor whatever aid he requires. His cause is frighteningly real and he needs all the assistance those of us who practice magic can offer him.

—R

Jaina inhaled quickly. What was going on, that Rhonin would say something like this?

“Show him in,” she said. Looking as disturbed as Jaina felt, Tervosh nodded and withdrew. While she waited, Jaina poured herself a cup of tea and sipped on it, pondering. A moment later, a man with a hood pulled low over his head strode into her parlor. He wore simple traveling clothes that yet bore no stain of traveling such a great distance. A blue cloak made from rich fabric swirled about him as he moved with a lithe quickness. He bowed and straightened.

“Lady Jaina,” he said in a pleasant voice. “I apologize for coming so early, and unheralded. It’s not the way I would have wished to arrive.”

With that, he pushed back the hood that had hidden his face and gave her an uneasy smile. He had the best of both human and elven features, blue-black hair that fell to his shoulders, and blue eyes bright with purpose.

She recognized him at once. Her eyes grew wide, and her teacup crashed to the floor.

“Oh, that’s my fault,” Kalecgos, former Aspect of the blue dragonflight, said. He waved a hand. The spilled tea disappeared and the teacup reassembled itself, reappearing empty in Jaina’s hand.

“Thank you,” Jaina managed to say. She gave him a slightly lopsided smile. “You’ve also taken away the chance for me to welcome you in a proper manner. At least I can offer you some tea.”

He returned her smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I would welcome some, thank you. And I regret that we don’t have time for the formalities and pleasantries. It’s nice to see you again, even under these circumstances.”

Jaina poured tea for them both with a hand that didn’t tremble. She’d recovered almost at once. She had seen Kalecgos at the bonding ceremony of Go’el and Aggra, and had liked him immediately, although there had not been time for much conversation. She handed him a cup and said sincerely, “Lord Kalecgos of the blue dragonflight, I know well of your noble deeds and good heart. You are welcome in Theramore. The letter you presented instructs me to offer all aid I can, and that is what you shall have.”

She sat down on the small couch and indicated that he join her. To her surprise, this being, so powerful and ancient, seemed almost… shy as he accepted the tea.

“It is an honor for me to work with you as well, Lady,” he said. “You have a reputation also—one that I have long admired. Your understanding of magic and the solemnity with which you wield that power—as well as the more, shall we say, mundane powers of diplomacy and leadership—are to be respected.”

“Oh,” Jaina said. “Well—thank you. But pleasant as it is, I don’t think you came all the way from Northrend to compliment and be complimented.”

He sighed and took a sip of the tea. “Unfortunately you are correct. Lady—”

“Jaina, please. I don’t stand much on ceremony in my home.”

“Jaina…” He lifted blue eyes to her that no longer held any hint of lightness. “We’re in trouble. All of us.”

“Your flight?”

“No, not just my people. Everyone in Azeroth.”

“My, that’s a tall tale.” Kinndy stood in the doorway, looking both confused and wary. “Or at least exaggerated. Surely not
every single person
in Azeroth will be affected by whatever trouble the blue dragonflight has gotten itself into now.”