Chapter 6

Eitrigg sat on a plush rug and firm pillow in the ambassador's apartment he had been granted. The sun had gone down over the western hills of Tirisfal Glades long before, and it was quiet now. All of the hammering, sawing, and general noise of construction had ceased with the setting of the sun.

The apartment was a small, two chamber residence in the above ground city of Lordaeron not far from the throne room which had recently been repaired. One room was meant as a workspace with a pinewood desk and chair so new that he could smell the intoxicating scent of the forest whenever he approached them. Fresh ink was corked in a bottle on the desk, and a stack of parchments sat next to it along with a writing stylus. The other room was meant as sleeping quarters with a wooden bed and soft feather mattress more fit for a smaller human than the large, sturdy frame of an orc. Blankets and other linens favored by humans and elves adorned the bed, as well as other accoutrements around the room intended to make it pleasant enough.

Though the apartment might have been considered incredibly spartan by elven standards, it felt almost too much finery for the old orc warrior who was far more comfortable with bear skins to sleep on and well padded rugs to sit on. But the attempt had been made to afford him the honor appropriate to an ambassador. Among humans and elves, part of that honor meant certain luxuries that an orc would find pointless, but he had learned over his many years to respect their attempts.

His legs were crossed, and his back was as erect as he could make it. His eyes were open and fixed on a candle he had lit and placed a couple of feet in front of him. It was a technique the Pandaren monk, Ji Firepaw, had taught him to calm his mind and train his focus, something imminently practical for a warrior, even one with as many years as Eitrigg had.

You never stopped learning no matter how old you became. Life was continuously teaching the orc warrior this lesson, and the younger monk proved to have much wisdom to share with him.

As he watched the candle, he allowed his conversation with Sylvanas to play back through his mind over and over again. As Ji had instructed him, he made no attempts to control his thoughts, only observe them as his attention was kept on the candle's tiny flame. It was the elven queen's questioning of his loyalties that kept repeating itself.

There was no question in his mind that it had been an attempt by the queen to make him question his obedience to the warchief. As the scene continued to replay in his mind of its own volition, he wanted more and more to understand why it had disturbed him so. And the more it did, the more the answer seemed to reveal itself.

As much as he did not trust Sylvanas Windrunner's ambitions and schemes, he trusted Garrosh Hellscream's headstrong recklessness and minimizing of the value of the other races of the Horde even less.

Thrall son of Durotan and Draka, grandchild of the wise and noble Shamaness Geyah, the warchief before Garrosh, had made allies through heroic and honorable actions. He saw the value in diplomacy and peaceful negotiations. He had made a real ally to the Horde in the human woman Jaina Proudmoore and her marshland dominion of Theramore Isle, and used that relationship to further peaceful relations. During the Cataclysm which tore Azeroth apart, he worked tireless to rescue his people. Eitrigg still remembered well the scene of Thrall and the noble Tauren Chieftain Cairne Bloodhoof rescuing infants of all races from the devastation. Thrall cared for his people, all of his people, and wanted only what was best for the Horde. It was the reason why he had ceded his position as warchief, so that he could use his extraordinary gifts as a shaman to understand the torment the spirits of the elements were in because of the cataclysm and help heal them. Thrall was a true hero and a worthy successor to the great and honorable Frostwolf chieftain that his father had been.

Garrosh was not Thrall. Through his foolishness, he had systematically undone every good and honorable alliance Thrall had made, and resorted to war when war was not needed. Claiming that only orcs and tauren were strong enough to be true members of the Horde, he had cast out the races of the Horde he felt were weak from the center of Orgrimmar, consigning them to slums and drudgery. What was worse, he took the life of the aged and wise tauren chieftain in the Orgrimmar arena, leaving behind only suspicion that he had deliberately murdered him by poisoning his blade, and a grieving nation of noble warriors. To add to his list of crimes, he had sacrificed the lives of hundreds of noble Horde warriors as a ruse to draw the Alliance leadership away from Theramore while he committed an atrocity by unleashing a weapon of unspeakable force against their former, relatively friendly human neighbors. Garrosh had destroyed any truce between the human ruler of Theramore and Orgrimmar by dropping that devilish mana bomb on the city. Any real friendship between the Lady Proudmoore and Thrall had died that day and Garrosh had been the architect of its demise.

Was Eitrigg loyal to his warchief?

As the question continued to run through his mind unbidden, the realization came to him that the answer was a resounding "no". Eitrigg was loyal to Thrall, and he had promised to guide the son of Grommash Hellscream, but Garrosh would not listen to wisdom. Not from him, not from anyone. The truth was that he might have called Garrosh out himself to end the brash youth's destructive path if he thought he had any chance against him. Someone needed to bring Hellscream's offspring to justice for his war crimes. The old orc had written a letter to his former warchief explaining this in detail.

But Eitrigg had been a warrior in Draenor long before his people had ever heard of Azeroth. He had not been as young as Garrosh was now during the ill conceived conflicts of the first and second wars. He had been old already when he stood by his human paladin friend, the Argent Highlord Tyrion Fordring against the Scourge forces in Northrend. With the almost seventy years that his mind and body had seen, his wisdom might have grown, but the strength in his axe hand had not. The son of Hellscream was strong, and a cunning warrior in his own right. Challenging Garrosh to an honorable fight to the death meant Eitrigg's certain death, and it would accomplish nothing.

Eitrigg's honor was disturbed by the truth of that rejection of his warchief, but it was more distraught by Garrosh's honorless actions. The truth, he had discovered, was that he only remained in Garrosh's service out of loyalty, not to Hellscream, but to Thrall to whom he had given his word, and he considered his word unbreakable.

Knock! Knock!

The fresh stonework of his apartment began to phase back into his awareness as the sound of someone knocking politely but firmly and repeatedly on the wooden door of his chambers intruded into his meditations.

"Ambassador?" A baritone male, human voice called out.

Eitrigg knew the quality of voice well. It was a voice used to leading troops in battle, and being heard across the tumult of weapons clashing against one another, and men screaming for the mortal wounds that had struck them. It was a voice whose owner he could respect as a fellow, veteran warrior regardless of his race.

"Enter!" Eitrigg turned his head and called out, though he made no attempt to rise. It was late, and the visitor was intruding on the old warrior's personal time. He would have to put up with his orcish manners this close to turning in for the night.

The latch of the wooden door was raised from the outer handle, and the door swung open, the black plate guantlet of a human hand guiding it inwards. The hand was followed by a tall, broad shouldered human warrior with raven black hair and chiseled human features from which grew a short beard and mustache. Regardless of the hour, he still wore the ebony plate armor of the order of death knights. From what Eitrigg knew of human preferences for appearance, the man would have been considered handsome by their people. He certainly knew the elven queen took a liking to him.

"Ambassador Eitrigg?" The man inquired, stepping into the room, his plated boots striking against the newly sanded wooden floor planks.

"Lord Commander Arete." Eitrigg responded. "The hour is late for a visit of any kind, official or otherwise."

"Agreed, but I am here by request of her majesty. She asked that you follow me that we might show something else to you." Arete replied.

"Couldn't it wait until morning?" Eitrigg replied.

"Not if we are to be as discreet as the matter needs be." Arete responded. "We still aren't entirely certain whether Stormwind has kept their end of our truce and removed all of their forces from our lands. It is no longer as easy to tell their people from ours."

"True." Eitrigg replied as he finally brought his own aged but muscular body to a standing position. "What is it your queen wishes to show me now?"

"Please, Ambassador, come with me. I cannot tell you more until we arrive." Arete answered, his voice low but sincere.

Eitrigg drew in a breath and sighed as his gaze was drawn towards the bedroom. It would be a later night than he had planned on. But he was intrigued. He would see whatever Sylvanas wanted to show him. He would make his own decisions however about what the meaning of it would be.

He went to the wall where his axe rested and took it up. The weight of it always felt good in his hand, but the weight of it in its harness across his back would have to suffice. Eitrigg was determined to never be anywhere in this land without it. Arete made no comment, but seemed to take it as a matter of course that the ambassador would carry his war axe with him whether or not he thought it would be needed.

Satisfied that he was ready enough, he gestured towards the door with his wrinkled, greenish brown hand and told him, "Lead the way."

Eitrigg then followed the Death Knight out of his apartment in the city and towards the domed building which housed the throne room. The stars and constellations shone brightly overhead, though the silver white moon was nowhere to be seen. Azeroth's other, blue moon might have been in the sky, but it was difficult to pick out against the night sky for the untrained eye, and Eitrigg's eyes had been trained for other things.

He had been told once by a mage who was a scholar of such things that each star was a sun like Azeroth's own, and that worlds like Azeroth circled many of them. There were times Eitrigg would look up at the night sky and wonder which star his homeworld of Draenor might have circled before its destruction and twisting into the alternate dimension known as Outland. It was the occasional moment of sentimentality, but Draenor had been the home of his youth and his memories of it were not all bad.

"We are headed for the throne room?" Eitrigg asked as they walked.

"You will see once we arrive, ambassador." Arete responded.

"You fought against the Lich King in Northrend?" The old orc asked.

"After my brothers and I were freed from his grip, yes." Arete replied.

"I fought in Northrend against the Scourge as well." Eitrigg then told him. "Bad business there, but necessary. I fought alongside the Argent Crusade Highlord, Tyrion Fordring."

"I knew him by reputation, but it was Highlord Darion Mograine who interacted personally with him. He's a good man and a noble warrior." Arete responded. "Even if we didn't always see eye to eye with him."

"I imagine you wouldn't have at the time." The old orc remarked with a chuckle. "I have heard he returned to Hearthglen after the fall of the Lich King to restore his former lands."

"Yes, her majesty has had many missives from Mardenholde Keep. He has been eager to cooperate with us in the rebuilding of Lordaeron after the rebirth." Arete returned.

"I am glad to hear it. It was a crime when his lands were taken from him." Eitrigg told him, knowing only too well the circumstances surrounding it. "It is only justice that he should be their rightful master again."

Arete nodded in quiet agreement.

They passed into the throne room chamber. Torch lights continued to illuminate the chamber, but it was empty and quiet in stark contrast to earlier in the day. Arete continued leading Eitrigg past the the throne and down a long tunnel which was only too familiar to the orc warrior. The tunnel led down into the royal crypt, and from there into the catacombs which were the passage into the Undercity, the system of sewage canals and structures that the Forsaken had made their own capital city under the ruins of the former kingdom.

"We are heading into the Undercity?" Eitrigg asked, his voice echoing lightly against the walls.

"Yes." Arete responded, then put his finger to his lips and said in a whisper, "we must be cautious even here. You have my word all will be explained when we reach our destination."

Eitrigg nodded and said, "Lead on, Knight."

They continued to descend through tunnels until they entered a circular chamber with a glowing green circle centered in the middle of the floor. As soon as they did, a stone slab slid over the doorway and the floor of the chamber began to drop suddenly.

Eitrigg was not alarmed at either event. He knew the routine of the elevator chamber which led down into the true capital of the Forsaken, at least, what had been their true capital.

When the elevator had reached bottom, the Death Knight continued on, leading Eitrigg into the former beating heart of the Undercity, the trade quarter. In his previous visits, the circular center of the city had been filled with undead merchants, citizens, and soldiers all going about their business. Raspy voices could be heard around the massive stone chamber negotiating, discussing any and every subject. While it might have been unnerving on first glance to the uninitiated, it soon became apparent that it was no different than any other city, with the exception of the unusual nature of its populace.

But as Eitrigg and Arete entered the circular chamber, what struck him most this time was the silence and quiet. It felt more like a tomb now than when it was filled with the undead. The only people to be seen around the walkways were human soldiers in the armor of the former deathguards, but wearing the new red and gold firebird livery which these people had adopted. As he observed them with a warrior's eye, he also noticed that, in addition to the swords and shields which they carried, slung across the back of each man was a boomstick with a scope for accuracy, a weapon favored by hunters. They were patrolling the empty districts of the city.

"It's quieter here now." Eitrigg observed.

"Most of our people have relocated up to the surface. The sun and fresh air agree with the living better than these sewers." Arete told him.

"Most?" Eitrigg asked, wondering what human or elf would want to remain down here.

"There are still some things we would prefer be left unseen. We need trusted people to see to them." Arete told him. "As you will soon see."

Now the old orc was truly curious as to what the Death Knight would show him.

They continued down a flight of stairs and through several tunnels along the underground sewage canals until they came into the stone gateway which led into the Undercity's Apothecarium district. Though he had thankfully never been in it, by reputation it had formerly been a chamber of horrors and experiments by the undead which no living being could walk out of without nightmares for the rest of their natural existence. But as they passed along the tunnels leading into it, he found them too quite empty and silent except for the patrols of the well armed guards.

They passed into a large stone chamber and immediately, Eitrigg had to cover his sensitive orc nose. The stenches of animal rot and revolting concoctions filled this chamber though it looked as though it had been completely emptied except for an enormous metal box, easily taller than the orc warrior was and at least as wide and deep, which sat in the center of it. Stains from dried brownish red and green fluids were splattered across the stone floor, though if there had been human or otherwise remains, they had been removed.

"The stench has been stubborn to remove." Arete said, placing his own hand over his face at the overpowering aroma. "And it presents another layer of deterrent to keep prying eyes from this place."

"What is this chamber, Death Knight?" Eitrigg asked.

"This is what her majesty wished you to see." Arete responded.

The Death Knight motioned with his free hand to one of the chamber's guards who, like Arete, wore the black plate armor of the knights of the Ebon Blade. The guard approached the massive dark gray metal box. Eitrigg then noticed that the side of the box which faced them had hinged built into one side, and a handle with a goblin made combination lock. The guard put himself in between the newcomers and the combination lock, and Eitrigg could only see that he made some motions with his hand. A "click" echoed through the chamber and the guard pulled the heavy, dark metal door to the box open.

Arete then motioned for Eitrigg to inspect the contents of the box.

As Eitrigg moved closer to see inside the box, he could see a purplish field of energy surrounding the contents. Magic was a mystery to him, but it looked as though someone went to great trouble to shield the contents of the huge metal vault. Beyond the energy field he saw gray metal canisters with glowing green rims. He could not count how many, but there could have easily been over a hundred of them.

"Plague canisters." Eitrigg said.

"The last of them, yes. Her majesty ordered the destruction of the rest of our stockpile. I give you my word as a knight, I saw to it myself. These are all that are left, and as you can see, they are under heavy guard. They're as much a threat to our own people as they are to yours or any other living person on Azeroth now." Arete said.

"Why did Sylvanas want me to see them?" Eitrigg asked, turning to face the Death Knight. "I would have thought that I would be the last person she would allow near them."

"Her majesty offers this to you as a gesture of trust." Arete responded. "She honors you with her trust, and hopes you will honor her with your own."

"Hmph." Eitrigg grunted in response. "And where was that trust when she threatened to use these weapons on Orgrimmar if we didn't accede to her demands?" He asked.

"I was there, orc, when she made the same threat to Varian Wrynn's face." Arete responded, gesturing for the guard to seal the vault's door once more. "She doesn't want to use them on anyone any more than you or I do, but it gives us leverage against both the Alliance's schemes and Garrosh Hellscream's viciousness."

Eitrigg carefully noted that Arete singled out the warchief by not saying "the Horde" instead. It seemed that Sylvanas and Arete both were going to great lengths to woo him away from the young fool's side, and Eitrigg could not say that it wasn't working.

But there were still many questions to be answered.

"Her majesty wishes me to trust her?" Eitrigg asked.

"Very much so, yes." Arete responded.

"Then I have questions which will go a long way towards establishing that trust if they are answered plainly." Eitrigg told him.

Arete appeared pensive and wary for a minute or so, but then seemed to decide the reward outweighed the cost of honesty. "Ask your questions, warrior. I will tell you what I know."

"Where is regent Lor'themar?" Eitrigg demanded point blank. "He had his faults, but he was a good ruler."

Arete took a breath and sighed. "Lor'themar has joined the High Elves in Outland in building up the elven settlements and hunting down Prince Kael'thas' remaining followers. He remains in contact with her majesty through secret couriers. It was his wish that his exact whereabouts remain unknown to the warchief."

That is something Lor'themar might do. Kael'thas's crimes against his own people were unforgivable. Eitrigg granted him the benefit of the doubt. He nodded his acceptance of that answer.

"Then my next question is one which the entire world wishes to know the answer to. How did this rebirth happen? It must have taken a source of healing magic of a power beyond anything anyone has ever known before. Your queen knows and is telling no one." Eitrigg asked.

At this question, Arete seemed to balk, and for a moment didn't look as though he might say anything in response. Then, he seemed to have a change of mind.

"My queen and I are bound by a promise of secrecy to not reveal the source of it, and it is not our secret to reveal." Arete told him.

"That is no answer." Eitrigg returned. "For Sylvanas to have access to such a power threatens the rest of us more than your plague canisters ever could. If she wants me to trust her more than my warchief, you will tell me what you know."

It matters not that I already do. Eitrigg kept the disturbing thought to himself.

Seeing his continued reluctance, Eitrigg offered a concession, "If it is a matter of your guards hearing the tale, we can move to a more private location."

"These knights were there when it was told to us. They are my men and would fall on their own swords before revealing this secret to anyone without my say." Arete told him, gesturing towards one of them.

Eitrigg saw the guard nod solemnly in agreement.

"We would do what we must to keep this power out of irresponsible and warmongering hands." Arete continued.

"Like Garrosh's." Eitrigg said. "Or even Varian Wrynn's."

"Yes." Arete agreed, and then said, "I will say this, and hope it is not a violation of my word. It is in the sole possession of two persons chosen by a paladin goddess from another world who recently walked among us, and only those persons may wield it to any purpose. Even her majesty may not touch it much less make use of it without risking its shattering. We were all strictly warned to keep its existence a secret lest conflict break out over its possession by the ignorant."

"A goddess from another world?" Eitrigg asked skeptically. "We have not had much luck with divinities in our world, or their gifts."

"True, but I cannot complain about the results from this one." Arete replied reverently.

Eitrigg appeared to consider this line of reasoning.

He then responded after much consideration, "I will keep your secrets from Garrosh Hellscream, Lord Commander. I agree that these things must not reach the warchief's ears. Not after the crimes he has committed in the Horde's name."

"Thank you, Ambassador. Her majesty will be pleased to hear it. I will now see you back to your rooms. I hope this has done much to foster trust between her majesty and yourself." Arete replied.

"I believe it has, Death Knight. I believe it has." The old orc replied.

I would not dare to breath one word of this to the warchief. That is, at least not that warchief. Eitrigg kept that thought to himself as his thoughts turned towards the ink and parchment at his desk.