Cycle of Hatred (world of warcraft) Page 11

  "Yesterday. There have been several incidents along the Merchant Coast, involving orcs provoking humans. Some have even led to arrests—right now a human captain is being held in Ratchet because an orc attacked him."

  Lorena nodded, having seen that particular report. "What of it? The goblins have the right to stop brawls."

  "This wasn't a brawl!" Kristoff was shouting now, a state of affairs that surprised Lorena. The chamberlain was often supercilious, condescending, arrogant—and, she was occasionally willing to admit, brilliant and very good at his job—but she'd never heard the thin man raise his voice before.

  "Whether or not it was a brawl," she said in a quiet tone deliberately chosen to belie Kristoff's increasing volume, "is not the point. Why was Northwatch being fortified?"

  "I told you, orc troops—"

  "I mean the initial reinforcement."

  Kristoff shrugged. "Major Davin thought it necessary, and I agreed."

  Lorena shook her head and turned back to the window. "Major Davin doesn't think the orcs are worth the time of day, Chamberlain. I wouldn't trust his statements on the subject. He's probably exaggerating."

  "I don't believe he is—certainly not now with troops massing." Kristoff got up and stepped down off the throne, walking to stand alongside Lorena. "Colonel, if Northwatch is to be the front of another war between humans and orcs, we need to be ready. That's why I sent the two garrisons, as well as the Elite Guard."

  At that, Lorena's jaw fell open. Shifting her position both so she was facing Kristoff and also so she was a bit farther away from him, she said, "The Elite Guard? Their function is to guard Lady Proudmoore."

  Calmly, Kristoff said, "Who is presently out of contact and can take care of herself. Better they be used at Northwatch than be allowed to sit uselessly here."

  Again, Lorena shook her head. "You're making an incredible leap, Kristoff. Right now, we've got a few tense situations. That doesn't mean another war."

  "Perhaps not—but I'd rather be prepared for one we don't have to fight than not be prepared for one we have to."

  The logic was sound, but Lorena still didn't like it. "And what if the orcs interpret this as a hostile act?"

  "It's how I am choosing to interpret their actions, Colonel. Either way, we need our best troop commander on—site. That is why I want you to lead the regiment that reinforces Northwatch. Speed is of the essence, so you may take your senior staff on the airship to set things up—the rest of the troops will travel by boat, arriving in time for you to give them their assignments when they catch up to you."

  Lorena sighed. If the airship was already prepared, Kristoff had made this decision before she ever walked in the room. Still, she had one last card to play. "I think we should wait until Lady Proudmoore returns."

  "You're entitled to think that." Kristoff walked back over to the throne and sat in it, placing his arms rather theatrically on the flared rests on either side of him. "However, Lady Proudmoore is busy helping her precious orc friends, while they mount defenses and prepare to destroy us. I will not allow what she has built to be destroyed by her own shortsightedness when it comes to Thrall. Now then, Colonel, you have your orders. Kindly carry them out."

  "Kristoff, this is a mistake. Let me try to find Strov and find out—"

  "No." Then Kristoff softened, and lowered his arms to his side. "Very well, Colonel, I will grant you one concession: you may assign two soldiers to search for Private Strov. I can spare no more than that."

  She supposed that was the best she was going to get from the chamberlain. "Thank you. Now if you'll excuse me, it seems I have to put a senior staff together."

  Picking up the scroll once again with his right hand, Kristoff waved dismissively with his left. "You may go."

  She turned on her heel and angrily left the throne room.

  Fourteen

  As Aegwynn told the story of how she was made Guardian, Jaina found surprise piling upon shock. The histories she had read had always painted the appointment of Aegwynn in nothing but a positive light. The notion that the council was reluctant to appoint her, and did so despite misgivings about her sex—and that they would have resisted her methods so thoroughly—was completely alien to her.

  Of course, Aegwynn's memories of those days were several centuries old. "Your account of matters does not match what is in the history scrolls, Magna."

  "No," Aegwynn said with a sigh. "It wouldn't. Better to let you young mages think that all wizards function in perfect harmony. Figure you might learn from their lack of example." She shook her head and slumped a bit farther in her seat. "But no, they didn't want a girl there, and only appointed me because they didn't have a choice. I was the best qualified—certainly more than the other four. And they regretted it every minute." She sat back up straight. "In the end, we all did. If it wasn't for me…"

  Jaina shook her head. "That's ridiculous. You did so much."

  "What did I do? I insisted that Tirisfal be more proactive in dealing with the demons, but what did my insistence accomplish, exactly? For eight centuries, I tried to stem the tide, to no avail. Zmodlor was just the first. So many demons, so many battles, and in the end I was still tricked by Sargeras. I—"

  This time, Jaina didn't need to hear the story. "I know what happened to you when you faced Sargeras. You destroyed his physical form, but his soul remained inside you—and was passed on to Medivh."

  Chuckling bitterly, Aegwynn said, "And you still think I was a great wizard? I let my arrogance interfere with my judgment. I assumed the Tirisfalen to be a group of hidebound old fools, rather than what they truly were: experienced mages who knew better than me. After I ‘defeated' Sargeras, I became more arrogant, if that's even possible. I ignored every summons the council sent me, disregarded their procedures, disobeyed their orders. After all, I beat Sargeras, and he was a god, so what did they know?" She snarled. "I was such an idiot."

  "Don't be ridiculous." Jaina couldn't believe this. Bad enough that the greatest wizard of her time, the woman she'd idolized all her life, turned out to be such an unpleasant person, but now she was just being idiotic. "It was Sargeras. Any mage would have made the same mistake you did. As you said, he was a god. He knew he would have to trick you because of your power, and he knew how to manipulate you. What you did was perfectly natural."

  Aegwynn stared at one of the corners of the ramshackle hut that she apparently called home. "I did far far more than that. There was also Medivh."

  Now Jaina was even more confused. "I knew Medivh, Magna. He was—"

  Whirling to look at Jaina, Aegwynn snapped, "I'm not talking about what my son was. I'm talking about how he was."

  "What do you mean?" Jaina asked, genuinely confused. "Medivh was fathered by Nielas Aran, and—"

  " ‘Fathered'?" Aegwynn let out a noise that sounded like a rock shattering. "That's far too generous a term for it."

  Sixty—nine years ago…

  The summons had been insistent this time, which was the only reason why Aegwynn responded to it. The Guardians of Tirisfal had changed over the years. The three elves were the same, but the humans and the gnome had all died and been replaced, and then their replacements died and themselves had successors. In many ways, though, they had not changed at all. Rather than deal with them in any way, or deal with an apprentice, Aegwynn had used her magicks to extend her life so she could continue to do her duty as Guardian.

  She had almost fallen to her death while standing on a parapet in Lordaeron, casting a seeker spell for one of Sargeras's former thralls, rumored to be out and about in the city. In the midst of the incantation, the council had decided to hit her with a summons so powerful that she almost lost her balance. It was the third summons in as many days, and the first that had interfered with her ability to function.

  Realizing that she would not hear the end of it until she answered, she teleported to the Tirisfal Glade. She stood on top of the very rock Falric—who had also long since died, as had her other three fel
low apprentices, all perishing while fighting demons—had transmuted into fool's gold all those centuries ago, time having exposed and tarnished it so it was a dull brown instead of the bright golden color it was eight hundred years past.

  "What is it that's so important that you interrupt my work?"

  "It has been eight centuries, Aegwynn," one of the new humans said. Aegwynn had never bothered to learn his name. "It is past time you relinquished your duties."

  Drawing herself up to her full height—which made her taller than any of the men surrounding her in this glade—she said, "I am properly addressed as ‘Magna. That's one of those ridiculous rules you insist on foisting upon the magical world." The word was a dwarven one meaning "protector," and had been the honorific for every Guardian since the first. Aegwynn didn't care much for titles, but the council's insistence on the rules and regulations, and their disapproval of her flaunting them, made her sensitive to their own violations.

  Relfthra threw it back in her face. "Ah, so now you're a stickler for rules, eh?"

  The human gave Relfthra a look, and then said, "The point, Magna, is that you know as well as any of us the risks of what you are doing. The longer you extend your age, the greater the risk that it will be undone. The de—aging magicks are not precise, nor are they stable. In mid—conflict, in mid—casting, you could find yourself suddenly brought to your natural age. If that happens without a successor—"

  Aegwynn held up a hand. The last thing she needed from these fools was a lecture on the ways of magic. She was a stronger magician than any of them. Had they faced down Sargeras himself? "Very well. I will find a successor and transfer the Guardian power to that person."

  Gritting his teeth, the human said, "We will choose your successor, just as we chose Scavell's—and that of every Guardian before him."

  "No. I shall make the choice. I believe I know better than anyone what is involved in being a Guardian—certainly more than you who stand around this glade and make pronouncements while the rest of us do the actual work."

  "Magna—" the human started, but Aegwynn wished to hear no more.

  "I have heard your advice, and for once it is worth heeding." She smiled. "I suppose it was bound to happen eventually. Even a village idiot may stumble upon a valuable philosophy once in a while. When my successor is chosen, you will be informed. That is all."

  Without waiting to be dismissed, she teleported back to the parapet. While the council's words were in fact true, she was in the midst of doing her duty. She once again cast the seeker spell to determine if the demon was loose in Lordaeron, as rumored.

  Once that was taken care of—there was no demon, only some teenagers indulging in magicks they didn't understand; had they continued, that demon would have been summoned, but Aegwynn was able to forestall their adolescent efforts—she traveled to Stormwind, specifically to the home of Nielas Aran.

  Aran had been an admirer of hers for many years. Aegwynn barely paid any attention to him, except insofar as he was more talented than most of the mages who were part of the Tirisfalen. He was blissfully free of the prejudices of the council, and had done well by his craft, serving also as the court magician for King Landan Wrynn. Were she several centuries younger, she might have admired his steel blue eyes and his broad shoulders and his easy laugh.

  However, she wasn't several centuries younger, and so had neither interest in him nor desire to even acknowledge his interest in her. She'd had plenty of dalliances in her younger days, starting with Jonas, but she'd long since lost patience with them. Eight hundred years of life had exposed romance to be a mass of fallacy and artifice, and she had neither the time nor the inclination for it.

  Still and all, she managed to dredge up the flirtatiousness that she had first used on Jonas as a teenager, and started speaking to Aran. She suddenly became fascinated in his hobbies and his interest in dwarven music.

  All of it served one purpose, which was for him to share his bed with her.

  The next morning, she knew that she had been impregnated by his seed. She had been mildly disheartened to realize that the embryo within her would grow to be a male child. She had been hoping for a daughter, as yet another poke in the eye to the Guardians of Tirisfal. But even so, this boy would serve the purpose for which he had been conceived.

  Taking her leave of a rather disappointed Aran—who truly had expected little else, but had been hoping that Aegwynn could at least have been polite about it—she departed Stormwind. For nine months, she performed her tasks as Guardian as much as she could, and eventually bore Medivh. Only then did she return, handing the infant to Aran and declaring him to be her heir.

  "I can see by the look on your face that you're horrified." Aegwynn said the words to Jaina with a vicious smile.

  "I am." Jaina spoke true. She had fought alongside Medivh—it was he who had encouraged Jaina to ally herself with Thrall and the orcs against the Burning Legion—but she'd had no idea that the prophet's origins were so tawdry. Indeed, she knew very little about him, save that he had returned from the dead and was trying to atone for his sins by doing everything he could to stop the Burning Legion.

  "That is why I told you the story," Aegwynn said. "I'm no hero, I'm no role model, I'm no shining beacon to inspire wizards of any sex. What I am is an arrogant ass who let her power and the wiles of a clever demon destroy her—and the rest of the world."

  Jaina shook her head. She remembered many conversations with Kristoff about how the lessons of history are rarely in the written word, for such accounts were invariably biased in favor of what the writer wished the reader to know about. She realized that the histories she'd read about the Guardians of Tirisfal in Antonidas's library were as vulnerable to such biases as the historical texts that Kristoff had spoken of.

  Then, suddenly, a feeling pricked at the back of Jaina's neck. She stood up.

  So did Aegwynn—no doubt the old woman felt the same thing. She confirmed it by saying, "The wards are back up."

  Jaina found it interesting that Aegwynn felt that—especially given Jaina's own ability to break down the wards without her knowledge. It confirmed a growing suspicion of hers.

  Of greater concern, however, was that these wards felt far more powerful. And had entirely the wrong feel. "Something is wrong."

  "Yes—I know this magic. Never thought I'd encounter it again, to be honest." Aegwynn made a tch noise. "In fact, I'm not really sure how it's possible."

  Before asking Aegwynn to explain herself, Jaina had to make sure she could penetrate the wards. She attempted a teleport spell, this time adding a ward—penetration incantation to the mix, bracing herself for the ensuing pain should it not succeed.

  Sure enough, it didn't. It would have worked previously—she hadn't used the penetration spell to teleport the thunder lizards only because she needed to investigate the highlands before bringing hundreds of agitated animals there. Closing her eyes briefly to block out the pain, she turned to Aegwynn. "I can't get through them."

  "I was afraid of that." Aegwynn sighed, apparently not relishing being stuck with the "little girl."

  Jaina wasn't entirely thrilled with the prospect, either, but more because she couldn't fulfill her promise to Thrall while trapped in these highlands.

  "You said you knew this magic?"

  Aegwynn nodded. "Yes. Remember Zmodlor, the first demon I encountered—the one who imprisoned those schoolchildren?"

  Jaina nodded.

  "These wards are his."

  Fifteen

  Kristoff hated sitting on the throne.

  Intellectually, he understood the need for it. Leaders needed to convey that they were in a position of authority, and the intimidating physicality of a giant chair that was raised above everyone else in the room conveyed that authority beautifully.

  But he hated sitting in it. He was convinced that he would damage the authority of the position by making some kind of mistake. Because Kristoff knew his limitations—he was no leader. He'd spent years obs
erving leaders firsthand and studying leaders he didn't have access to, and knew as much as anyone living about what good leaders had to do right and what bad leaders often did wrong. One thing he had learned early on was that the arrogant rarely lasted long. Leaders made mistakes, and the arrogant never admitted to such a thing, a conflict that often resulted in self—destruction—or destruction from outside forces. Certainly, that was true of Kristoff's previous employer, Garithos; if the Highlord had simply listened to Kristoff—or any of the other six people giving him the same advice—he wouldn't have sided with the Forsaken. As Kristoff had predicted, the undead creatures betrayed Garithos and his warriors and led to his downfall. By that time, Kristoff had left for greener pastures.

  This tendency was rather unfortunate, because the arrogant were usually the only ones who pursued leadership positions in the first place. The conundrum had fascinated Kristoff as a young student, and also explained why there were so few truly great leaders.

  Kristoff was also self—aware enough to know that he was incredibly arrogant. That supreme confidence in his own abilities was why he made such a good advisor to Lady Proudmoore, but it was also why he was so terribly unfit to take her place.

  Nevertheless, he did as he was told, and served in the lady's stead until she returned from her ridiculous errand.

  On top of everything else, Kristoff also hated the throne because it was a damned uncomfortable piece of furniture. For the proper effect, one had to sit on it straight, with arms on the armrests, gazing down upon one's petitioners with an all—knowing eye. The problem was, sitting like that was hell on Kristoff's back. He could only avoid spine—chewing agony if he sat slumped, and off to the side. The problem there was that he looked like he was treating the throne like a sofa, which was not the right impression to give.

  It was a difficult situation, and Kristoff fervently wished that the lady hadn't hared off into orc country to do whatever ludicrous thing she was doing. As if the needs of Theramore weren't of considerably more import than the disposition of some rampaging reptiles in Durotar.