Most of the men were to accompany Jaina, while he fortified his forward position. He was to be a forward scout, an advance fortification – whilst the majority fell under the command of Lord Argos, who would protect their ships and was already sending an expedition into the wild, ancient forest that marched threateningly away and in all direction. A wood the like of which he had never seen, for it was almost equal to the power and grandeur and fearsomeness of the ocean they had just crossed, as if it were somehow ensorcelled by some primeval rivalry. Or, most like, it had been undisturbed by civilised life for as long.

The mages had spoken often on the journey, sometimes in mutters, sometimes in out-raged argument – and it seemed they had a matter of some controversy regarding the titanic ocean. Devron could make neither head nor tails of their talk, despite his own learning, but he was fascinated by their fascination with something so simple as an ocean.

Again, Jaina remained silent and apart from these discussions – rising only to interrupt them to speak of some of her own concerns. Some of it made sense, military tactics, strategies, logistics – the business of unloading nearly a thousand men onto a foreign land. Scouts. Things that would doubtless be discussed by the commanders, and then the captains like himself, but he was pleased to be forewarned.

He would be in charge of no insignificant force. Jaina was taking about three hundred men, initially, he was told. He himself would be taking command of anywhere between eighty to a hundred. And Lord Argos would establish their stronghold with the largest portion, about six hundred men, and after doing so, would be able to reinforce Jaina when she had established her expeditionary points.

From there, it would be possible to do a feat as amazing as transporting an army all the way from Lordaeron, onto the circles of power the Magi would summon. But even Devron knew what a feat that required, it would exhaust all the Mages to bring them so far. But it meant that at long as they could do so, Lordaeron had a firmly established position.

He didn't understand what it was the beautiful Archmage woman sought in the land of "Kalimdor" (as she had named it), he only knew from his older Paladin-Brothers that it was an artifact of some power. Others suggested it was a person, but Devron couldn't imagine what person, however incredible, could draw them all the way across the dread and deathly ocean to see. It was only thanks to the Archmage their ships had survived the incredible weathers, waves and storms that would have dashed their ships to pieces, had she not sung out with her power and soothed the wrath of the vengeful ocean.

One should be so lucky to have such a mage on all their voyages, he wagered.

At times he stole a glance, her head down, covered by a blue hood, and wondered what such a person could be thinking about. But he would chide himself to mind his manners and his rope, and simply put his best effort into his part, hoping that in some way it'd lend the aid she required, without him having to be a nuisance. Her jewelled staff, when it wasn't covered, bathed the deck in a somewhat comforting glow, between the fixed lanterns they tended and the darkness they endured. He felt, that somehow, that jewel was what was guiding them over the waves. He imagined the ships almost lifting out of the water occasionally, buoyed by some invisible magic, but of course he saw nothing and he said nothing.

Magic. Strange beast, to be sure. Even for a Paladin the wizards were wrapped up in their oddities and their mysteries. His path was simpler, after a fashion. But one he loved, and as his teachers said, the simplest is often best loved – and the best loved is often the truth.

(*)

The Kalimdor expedition had been harsh and difficult, and many times he found himself regretting it. The lands of Lordaeron were falling foul of undead, and he was stranded upon an unceasing ocean. A journey unlike any undertaken before, the waves and the sea were… endless…

But eventually they reached their destination, feeling starved and weak, and overwhelmed with immense gratitude.

Jaina of course, their… the… archmage – was the only one unperturbed. And he believed she was the only reason they had survived, although she never did or said anything obvious about it. Even when he had asked, in order to pick up the men's spirits. She was a surprisingly girlish and youthful thing, for all the air of command, an almost frighteningly adamant spirit. But after all, she was a practitioner of magic, and the weak did not survive there, no matter their appearance.

Everything proceeded as foreseen.

He looked at the few score weary men crowded in what was to be the centre ground, the array field. Peasants and workers, many with families they had left behind, businesses that had to be closed. He didn't doubt that they had been provided for – although as a Paladin he no longer owned estates, he knew there were significant tithes put aside precisely for those who served Lordaeron. Even if those businesses no longer existed, the families would be provided for, no less because their menfolk were putting their lives on the line in battle.

They were untrained, but he would see to that himself. An army was always comprised of several elements. The officers, the knights, and the soldiers. A soldier had the opportunity to advance himself, even if not a noble, and this was a sufficient draw. A commander or even a knight well pleased with a soldier in battle, might grant him a title or land. And Devron had brought knights of good character and excellent management with him. Chances were, there'd be a good story or two to be had after this, assuming they survived.

END OF CHAPTER TWO