There was a pound on the door of Jaina's cabin on the embassy ship known as
the Majesty. She looked up from her work in disgust.
"What do you want?" she yelled.
"You've visitors, Miss Proudmoore," the guard called back.
"Who is it?" she shouted at him.
There was an amazingly loud bang and the door flew open, splintering slightly around the knob. In the doorway stood Lord Uther and a small cadre of knights. Lord Uther pantomimed knocking.
"May we come in?" he asked.
She shrugged and went back to her work, which was tying the ends of sheets together. The knights filed one by one into the room, and the last one shut the door. The cabin was not a large one, and by the time they had all entered they were rather cramped.
"My, my," Uther said, noting the young sorceress' handiwork. "Breaking out?"
"Of course," she replied without looking up. "You can tell my father if you want, it won't surprise him. He took my wand so I can't teleport, but short of boarding up all the portholes, he can't stop me from getting out the old- fashioned way."
"No," the Lightbringer said, "We're not here to keep you locked up. Quite the opposite, actually." She looked up.
"What do you want?"
"To give you this, firstly." Uther reached into his cloak and produced a short wand with a blue gemstone on the end. "I convinced your father to give me this. I think he rather imagined I would return it to the Kirin Tor, but I think you'll make better use of it." He held it out to her. She hesitated.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because its your bloody wand!" he exclaimed.
"No, Uther, I mean why are you helping me? You're a paladin, Uther, and paladins don't go around breaking prisoners out on whim." Uther's face hardened, and he nodded.
"Remember, I was there when that 'prophet' talked to you Jaina. I gather he gave Arthas the same tale, and I'm glad you want to make the right choice where he didn't." He paused and cleared his throat, as if unsure whether to go on. After a brief hesitation, he spoke again. "I've seen what's been happening here with the undead and the cultists and whatnot. Whether your 'prophet' was right or not, bad things are happening here, Jaina. Times are going to be very hard soon for these people, and they deserve a way out if they want it. Your trek to the lands the prophet mentioned fits that description perfectly. I'm prepared to let you, even help you escape if it means you'll lead these people to safety."
"These men will help you in this?" she asked, gesturing to the paladins.
"That's the other reason I came," he said. "The Silver Hand has decided that a group of paladins be sent north to search for the source of the plague, since the Light protects us from disease of any kind. They will learn what they can and possibly even find a cure."
"Touching," Jaina agreed. "These are that group?"
"Yes. But," Uther added, "they will need a ship."
"And what are you supposing I do about that?"
"Since you've been captive in this room, three of your father's navy vessels have entered and become anchored in the bay: the Vigilant, the Guardian, and the Posthaste."
"Yes, I saw them through the porthole. So?"
"We will help you commandeer those vessels, plus the Steadfast, to bear you and your followers across the sea. In return, you will give these men a ship for their quest."
She stared up at him from where she was seated on the floor, the sheet-ends knotted together in her lap, forgotten. She hesitated for a few long moments, then nodded quickly and stood up, reaching for her wand, which Uther still held extended towards her.
"Alright," she said, "this is going to feel a little weird..." She spoke a few words of magic. A bright hourglass-shape made of light appeared, stretching from her feet to the ceiling, and everyone in the room felt a strange tingling sensation. The room grew dark, and then completely faded from view.
Presently, new surroundings appeared. They were on a dock of some sort, and it was cold. Rain drenched them. Thunder clapped above, and lightening revealed the setting. They were on the western shore of the Lordamere bay, at some fishing village or another. The ships Jaina had seen enter the bay were moored nearby; probably they had been moved when the storm came up to stop them from capsizing out on the waves.
"There," Jaina said, pointing to a bend along the coastline. "You can't see it from here, but the river flows out around the bend and turns south towards the sea. The ship captains will listen to me; I doubt my father told them I was a prisoner. I can have them move the Vigilant, the Guardian, and the Posthaste into the river before the Majesty and the Steadfast notice they're missing." Uther nodded.
"The Silver Hand has rallied the refugees from Hearthglen and Stratholme. They want to go with you. They are waiting a ways down-river, in a village called Watertown. Your father's ships will have more than enough room for them."
"We do have one problem," Jaina admitted. "Once we're gone, Father will send his men after us. Now, the Majesty is purely for show, and its so big and bulky, it could never catch us. The Steadfast, however, is the fastest and most maneuverable ship my Father owns, and there's no way it won't reach us before we load the refugees and get to sea. I don't want a battle," she added. "I won't pit my father's men against one another."
"We will deal with the Steadfast," Uther promised. "Just get the other three ships to Watertown. My group will meet you there to take their ship."
Jaina turned and darted away towards the Vigilant, the Guardian, and the Posthaste. Uther explained the plan to his men, who, due to the noise of the rain, had not caught all of the conversation. They agreed. At Uther's side, Perenolde watched as Morte, Lawdron and a man named Frederick marched away in the opposite direction, towards the Majesty and the Steadfast. Uther turned to Perenolde.
"Go with them," he said.
"But my debt is to you," Perenolde argued. "You can't just order me away." Uther sighed. They had had the argument several times in the last few days since the quest had been announced.
"I won't make you go, Perenolde," Uther admitted. "But I want you to. You need this quest. You do what you want, but if you really want to repay your debt to me, go with them." Uther turned and walked away, disappearing between two of the buildings in the village.
"Wait," Perenolde called, but Uther was gone. Perenolde cursed. He stood there a moment longer, debating, feeling the rain soak through his dirty cloak, and then, cursing again, he turned and ran after the other paladins.
***
"Wait up!" he called as the three came into view ahead. They turned to look at him, their faces ones of extreme annoyance. Perenolde couldn't blame them, he decided. They were cold and wet, and they were being made to spend more time outside cold and wet because he, someone they did not want to be with, had called to them to wait up.
"Sorry," he said lamely as he jogged up to them. "I'm going with you."
"No," Morte replied. "You're not."
"Uther ordered me to go with you."
"I doubt that very much, and even if he did, it doesn't much matter now that there's no Silver Hand for him to be boss of."
"Oh, can't we worry about this later?" asked the one Perenolde knew was named Frederick. "We're wasting time out here arguing in the rain, and in any case, we could use his help with the Steadfast."
"Fine!" Morte shouted. He turned away from Perenolde and resumed walking. Perenolde, Frederick and Lawdron followed quickly.
They reached the shipyard where the Majesty was moored and continued on towards the Steadfast. As they saw soon afterwards, the smaller ship was docked at the end of a rickety pier that extended only a few yards into the water. The ship had no doubt been docked there because it was nearby rather than for any structural quality, for the dock appeared to have been hastily built and, Perenolde thought, would be easily collapsible. It mightn't even last the storm, he said to himself.
They climbed out gingerly on the pier and climbed aboard the ship, which had been lashed to a tall post on the dock. The stepped up to the main deck, pushing the two lone guards into the water before they could sound an alarm. Morte laughed aloud.
"This will be easy," he said, swinging back his warhammer and taking aim at the wheel. "How can they follow us if they can't steer?" He steadied himself and prepared to swing.
"Wait," Perenolde said. Morte looked at him agitatedly.
"Can any of you rig up a mast?" Morte and Frederick shook their heads, but Lawdron spoke up.
"I can," he said. "My uncle used to be a merchant captain out at Crestfall, and I worked rigging on his schooner for a couple of summers when I was a boy." Morte and Frederick scoffed, as if to say, You still are a boy. Perenolde cleared his throat. Boy or not, Lawdron had just proven extremely helpful.
"I've got an idea," Perenolde said, ""I can steer a ship, but I would need a man to work rigging. Alterac had its own navy years ago when I ruled, and I owned my own ship. This bugger here is supposed to be Admiral Proudmoore's fastest, right? So how about instead of disabling it, we take it? We can sail down the river and catch Miss Jaina before she reaches Watertown, let know she can keep all three of hers, and turn North when we reach the sea."
They were staring at him again. I do wish they'd stop doing that, Perenolde thought.
"Well?" he asked. "Does anyone see a problem with that plan?"
"I do," Morte said caustically. "Who's going to row until the storm cuts out and we can use the sails?"
"And who's going to pull up the anchors?" Frederick added.
"You two look strong," Perenolde returned. Lawdron chuckled.
***
The wind whipping his hair and the rain soaking his clothes, Perenolde gripped the helm and tilted it slightly. The K.T.S. Steadfast turned ever- so-subtly towards the mouth of the river. They were moving, slowly, across the bay, the heavily-muscled Morte and Frederick churning the oars from the sides of the lower deck to push the vessel ever closer to freedom in the river.
The real captain, Perenolde knew, would be inside some tavern, drinking with his men while they waited for the storm to pass. He would not know that his and three other ships of war had been stolen from under his nose until hours later, as Perenolde judged from the stormy skies, when the sun finally peeked through the clouds and the water ceased to fall from the sky. By then, the Steadfast and its sisters would be too far downriver to be retrieved.
Lawdron stood nearby, watching the village buildings as they disappeared behind them into the storm and waiting for the time when he would climb the mast and wrestle with the sails. Perenolde smiled. This he could handle. The bay, and beyond it, the river and the sea, he could handle. Never again, he vowed, would he be thrown from a horse or fall from a tree. Never again would he run away, never again surrender. Never again would he embarrass himself or those he fought for.
He would see the quest through for Uther, and then he would be under obligation to no man alive. He would fight for himself then, and no one else, and the world would see that Perenolde of Alterac still had some honor left, after all.
***
"What do you want?" she yelled.
"You've visitors, Miss Proudmoore," the guard called back.
"Who is it?" she shouted at him.
There was an amazingly loud bang and the door flew open, splintering slightly around the knob. In the doorway stood Lord Uther and a small cadre of knights. Lord Uther pantomimed knocking.
"May we come in?" he asked.
She shrugged and went back to her work, which was tying the ends of sheets together. The knights filed one by one into the room, and the last one shut the door. The cabin was not a large one, and by the time they had all entered they were rather cramped.
"My, my," Uther said, noting the young sorceress' handiwork. "Breaking out?"
"Of course," she replied without looking up. "You can tell my father if you want, it won't surprise him. He took my wand so I can't teleport, but short of boarding up all the portholes, he can't stop me from getting out the old- fashioned way."
"No," the Lightbringer said, "We're not here to keep you locked up. Quite the opposite, actually." She looked up.
"What do you want?"
"To give you this, firstly." Uther reached into his cloak and produced a short wand with a blue gemstone on the end. "I convinced your father to give me this. I think he rather imagined I would return it to the Kirin Tor, but I think you'll make better use of it." He held it out to her. She hesitated.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because its your bloody wand!" he exclaimed.
"No, Uther, I mean why are you helping me? You're a paladin, Uther, and paladins don't go around breaking prisoners out on whim." Uther's face hardened, and he nodded.
"Remember, I was there when that 'prophet' talked to you Jaina. I gather he gave Arthas the same tale, and I'm glad you want to make the right choice where he didn't." He paused and cleared his throat, as if unsure whether to go on. After a brief hesitation, he spoke again. "I've seen what's been happening here with the undead and the cultists and whatnot. Whether your 'prophet' was right or not, bad things are happening here, Jaina. Times are going to be very hard soon for these people, and they deserve a way out if they want it. Your trek to the lands the prophet mentioned fits that description perfectly. I'm prepared to let you, even help you escape if it means you'll lead these people to safety."
"These men will help you in this?" she asked, gesturing to the paladins.
"That's the other reason I came," he said. "The Silver Hand has decided that a group of paladins be sent north to search for the source of the plague, since the Light protects us from disease of any kind. They will learn what they can and possibly even find a cure."
"Touching," Jaina agreed. "These are that group?"
"Yes. But," Uther added, "they will need a ship."
"And what are you supposing I do about that?"
"Since you've been captive in this room, three of your father's navy vessels have entered and become anchored in the bay: the Vigilant, the Guardian, and the Posthaste."
"Yes, I saw them through the porthole. So?"
"We will help you commandeer those vessels, plus the Steadfast, to bear you and your followers across the sea. In return, you will give these men a ship for their quest."
She stared up at him from where she was seated on the floor, the sheet-ends knotted together in her lap, forgotten. She hesitated for a few long moments, then nodded quickly and stood up, reaching for her wand, which Uther still held extended towards her.
"Alright," she said, "this is going to feel a little weird..." She spoke a few words of magic. A bright hourglass-shape made of light appeared, stretching from her feet to the ceiling, and everyone in the room felt a strange tingling sensation. The room grew dark, and then completely faded from view.
Presently, new surroundings appeared. They were on a dock of some sort, and it was cold. Rain drenched them. Thunder clapped above, and lightening revealed the setting. They were on the western shore of the Lordamere bay, at some fishing village or another. The ships Jaina had seen enter the bay were moored nearby; probably they had been moved when the storm came up to stop them from capsizing out on the waves.
"There," Jaina said, pointing to a bend along the coastline. "You can't see it from here, but the river flows out around the bend and turns south towards the sea. The ship captains will listen to me; I doubt my father told them I was a prisoner. I can have them move the Vigilant, the Guardian, and the Posthaste into the river before the Majesty and the Steadfast notice they're missing." Uther nodded.
"The Silver Hand has rallied the refugees from Hearthglen and Stratholme. They want to go with you. They are waiting a ways down-river, in a village called Watertown. Your father's ships will have more than enough room for them."
"We do have one problem," Jaina admitted. "Once we're gone, Father will send his men after us. Now, the Majesty is purely for show, and its so big and bulky, it could never catch us. The Steadfast, however, is the fastest and most maneuverable ship my Father owns, and there's no way it won't reach us before we load the refugees and get to sea. I don't want a battle," she added. "I won't pit my father's men against one another."
"We will deal with the Steadfast," Uther promised. "Just get the other three ships to Watertown. My group will meet you there to take their ship."
Jaina turned and darted away towards the Vigilant, the Guardian, and the Posthaste. Uther explained the plan to his men, who, due to the noise of the rain, had not caught all of the conversation. They agreed. At Uther's side, Perenolde watched as Morte, Lawdron and a man named Frederick marched away in the opposite direction, towards the Majesty and the Steadfast. Uther turned to Perenolde.
"Go with them," he said.
"But my debt is to you," Perenolde argued. "You can't just order me away." Uther sighed. They had had the argument several times in the last few days since the quest had been announced.
"I won't make you go, Perenolde," Uther admitted. "But I want you to. You need this quest. You do what you want, but if you really want to repay your debt to me, go with them." Uther turned and walked away, disappearing between two of the buildings in the village.
"Wait," Perenolde called, but Uther was gone. Perenolde cursed. He stood there a moment longer, debating, feeling the rain soak through his dirty cloak, and then, cursing again, he turned and ran after the other paladins.
***
"Wait up!" he called as the three came into view ahead. They turned to look at him, their faces ones of extreme annoyance. Perenolde couldn't blame them, he decided. They were cold and wet, and they were being made to spend more time outside cold and wet because he, someone they did not want to be with, had called to them to wait up.
"Sorry," he said lamely as he jogged up to them. "I'm going with you."
"No," Morte replied. "You're not."
"Uther ordered me to go with you."
"I doubt that very much, and even if he did, it doesn't much matter now that there's no Silver Hand for him to be boss of."
"Oh, can't we worry about this later?" asked the one Perenolde knew was named Frederick. "We're wasting time out here arguing in the rain, and in any case, we could use his help with the Steadfast."
"Fine!" Morte shouted. He turned away from Perenolde and resumed walking. Perenolde, Frederick and Lawdron followed quickly.
They reached the shipyard where the Majesty was moored and continued on towards the Steadfast. As they saw soon afterwards, the smaller ship was docked at the end of a rickety pier that extended only a few yards into the water. The ship had no doubt been docked there because it was nearby rather than for any structural quality, for the dock appeared to have been hastily built and, Perenolde thought, would be easily collapsible. It mightn't even last the storm, he said to himself.
They climbed out gingerly on the pier and climbed aboard the ship, which had been lashed to a tall post on the dock. The stepped up to the main deck, pushing the two lone guards into the water before they could sound an alarm. Morte laughed aloud.
"This will be easy," he said, swinging back his warhammer and taking aim at the wheel. "How can they follow us if they can't steer?" He steadied himself and prepared to swing.
"Wait," Perenolde said. Morte looked at him agitatedly.
"Can any of you rig up a mast?" Morte and Frederick shook their heads, but Lawdron spoke up.
"I can," he said. "My uncle used to be a merchant captain out at Crestfall, and I worked rigging on his schooner for a couple of summers when I was a boy." Morte and Frederick scoffed, as if to say, You still are a boy. Perenolde cleared his throat. Boy or not, Lawdron had just proven extremely helpful.
"I've got an idea," Perenolde said, ""I can steer a ship, but I would need a man to work rigging. Alterac had its own navy years ago when I ruled, and I owned my own ship. This bugger here is supposed to be Admiral Proudmoore's fastest, right? So how about instead of disabling it, we take it? We can sail down the river and catch Miss Jaina before she reaches Watertown, let know she can keep all three of hers, and turn North when we reach the sea."
They were staring at him again. I do wish they'd stop doing that, Perenolde thought.
"Well?" he asked. "Does anyone see a problem with that plan?"
"I do," Morte said caustically. "Who's going to row until the storm cuts out and we can use the sails?"
"And who's going to pull up the anchors?" Frederick added.
"You two look strong," Perenolde returned. Lawdron chuckled.
***
The wind whipping his hair and the rain soaking his clothes, Perenolde gripped the helm and tilted it slightly. The K.T.S. Steadfast turned ever- so-subtly towards the mouth of the river. They were moving, slowly, across the bay, the heavily-muscled Morte and Frederick churning the oars from the sides of the lower deck to push the vessel ever closer to freedom in the river.
The real captain, Perenolde knew, would be inside some tavern, drinking with his men while they waited for the storm to pass. He would not know that his and three other ships of war had been stolen from under his nose until hours later, as Perenolde judged from the stormy skies, when the sun finally peeked through the clouds and the water ceased to fall from the sky. By then, the Steadfast and its sisters would be too far downriver to be retrieved.
Lawdron stood nearby, watching the village buildings as they disappeared behind them into the storm and waiting for the time when he would climb the mast and wrestle with the sails. Perenolde smiled. This he could handle. The bay, and beyond it, the river and the sea, he could handle. Never again, he vowed, would he be thrown from a horse or fall from a tree. Never again would he run away, never again surrender. Never again would he embarrass himself or those he fought for.
He would see the quest through for Uther, and then he would be under obligation to no man alive. He would fight for himself then, and no one else, and the world would see that Perenolde of Alterac still had some honor left, after all.
***