CHAPTER 14
A quiet knock came to the door. "Hey little lady," Ryback called, hesitant. "You alright in there? It's almost noon."
Her mouth dry and head aching, Idira dragged herself from the bed, listless. She pulled the door open and leaned against its edge. A blast of heat hit her. She eyed the fireplace, a whole pig hung on the spit, roasting, gobbets of grease dripped from its flesh, hissing and sizzling in the flames.
Ryback held up a cup, she took it. Water. She drank, grateful.
"You look terrible," he said as she handed back the empty cup. Idira didn't say anything, somehow she felt like it didn't matter what she looked like anymore. He scratched his head and looked down at the cup, turning it round in his big hands. "Um, I made up a plate of food for you, why don't you come out and eat?" He glanced behind him at the stairs leading up to the dining room. "Elly won't be bothering you no more, Maegan's told her what's what."
"And what is what?" Idira asked, tired.
"Nothing," Ryback said, a little too fast. "Come on, I made your favourite today, roast asparagus and potatoes and whitescale salmon in cream sauce."
Idira glanced up at him, surprised. "Since when is fish on the menu here?" she asked, suspicious.
Ryback shuffled back a little, recoiling at her sharp tone. "Just, please, just come and eat before it gets cold. Please," he finished, suddenly self-conscious, his gaze returning to the cup in his hand. He went to the table where he had laid out a place for her; a plate, one of the good china ones, silver cutlery, a crystal wine glass half-filled with a pale white wine. He pulled out the stool and waited beside it.
A flash of guilt swept through Idira. Through her numbness, grief and despair, a tiny spark of light glimmered. Ryback felt sorry for her, and was doing the one thing he could to comfort her. She found a weak smile for him and followed him to the table, sinking down onto the stool with a murmur of thanks. She picked up her linen napkin, noticing he had prepared a beautiful plate of food for her, laid out so pretty it almost looked like art.
"It looks lovely," Idira said, quiet, as she cut into the fish, delicate cream sauce oozing out from its tender flesh. She brought the meat to her lips, sighing as the complex flavours of several rare herbs burst onto her tongue. She took her time eating, savouring every delicious bite. The last time she had eaten this well had been years ago, when VanCleef had still lived at the house in Moonbrook and the money had been pouring in.
She looked up as she sipped from the wine glass. A very good wine, robust, but light, with hints of oak, certainly not the kind of vintage that would be kept in the cellar of The Pig and Whistle. Ryback watched her surreptitiously from the stool by the fire, where he feigned a deep interest in turning the spit.
"Your talents are wasted here," Idira said, and she meant it.
He quirked a brow, a flash of pleasure showing on his face, but said nothing.
She finished the food and got up, carrying the wine glass with her to stand beside Ryback, the heat of the fire making her skin itch. "Thank you," she said.
Ryback nodded, keeping his eyes on the roasting pig. "The least I could do," he muttered, gruff. He got up. "Can you keep an eye on this for me for a minute?" he asked, glancing at the sweating carcass.
Idira nodded and took his place, turning the handle of the spit, slow, just like he'd trained her to. He went down the stairs to the cellar. A key in a lock, followed by a door creaking open, no more than a minute passed before the door slammed shut, and the key turned once more. He came back up, his boots creaking against the worn wooden planks of the staircase. He stopped in front of her and held out a crisp white envelope, sealed with a blob of gold wax, the impression of a thistle stamped upon it.
"Logan asked me to give this to you once he left for the fight at the Broken Shore," he said. His gaze flicked to hers, then away, uncomfortable. When she didn't take it right away, he gestured for her to move so he could resume his position at the spit. She got up, accepting the envelope from him as they traded places, wondering what Logan could possibly have to say in a letter after all the things he had already confided to her in the night. She went to open it, curious.
"You might be wanting to take that somewhere more private," Ryback murmured from behind her.
"You know what's inside?" Idira asked turning, surprised.
Ryback nodded. "Logan and me, we go back a bit. Used to fight alongside him when he was just starting out. Got discharged for having lied a bit on my application," he shrugged. "Well, that part don't matter. Anyway, Logan never forgot about me. It's the only real reason he kept coming here to drink you know, even after he was promoted to Commander and became way too important to be hanging out in this dump."
Idira digested this new piece of information, cautious.
"So, what's in it?"
Ryback eyed her for a beat, then turned back to the spit. Keeping his expression carefully neutral, he answered. "Your ticket out of here."
Logan had left her four-thousand-two-hundred-thirty-five gold, the incredible amount written out in florid script across a gilded banknote drawn on the Royal Bank of Stormwind. In the privacy of her room, she stared at the note, unable to comprehend the enormity of his gift.
She turned her attention to the letter he had written, tucked into the envelope behind the folded bank note. She bit her lip, hesitating, bracing herself before reading his final words, sensing he was going to break her heart all over again.
Idira,
I have never forgotten the night the Legion came to Westfall, and what your Light did to them. I admit I went to you harbouring a long cherished hope I might live with you in an apartment of our own in Stormwind, but after I saw what you could do I knew it was a fantasy, that it would never be. Whoever you really are, and whatever power you contain is clearly meant for a very great purpose, and I think that purpose might just be to fight against the Legion.
Being a soldier, I don't know much about magic, but this much I can be certain of: with your Light there can only be one place for you. You must travel to Dalaran and apply to become an apprentice in the arcane school of magic presided over by the Kirin Tor. I am sure they will be thrilled to have you in their ranks. Perhaps one day, with power like yours, you might even become an Archmage, and stand alongside Khadgar and the Council of Six.
Anyway, I did a little asking around, and was told the application fee is four thousand gold, so there is enough here to pay your way in, plus a little left over for some nice new things to wear, and of course, some books. I know how much you like those.
Be well, dear, sweet Idira. As I close my eyes for the final time on those Legion infested shores, my last thoughts will be of you; your beautiful face filling my mind as I travel to the Nether to begin the long wait to start again. Perhaps in another life you will be mine. I can wait. No problem.
Logan
Her throat tight, Idira stared at his final declaration of patient waiting. She pressed his letter against her heart, grief striking her afresh. "Logan," she cried out, sobbing. "Logan . . . " She crawled onto the bed still holding his letter against her chest and curled into a ball, grieving for the man who waited, stoic, on one of Stormwind's juggernauts as it raced to another shore, prepared to sacrifice his life so she and hundreds of thousands of others could continue to live.
Early the next morning, just as the sun's first rays painted the sky in glorious shades of deep pinks and dark purples, Idira stood beside Ryback near the top of Stormwind's walls, inside a wooden planked, straw covered corridor, waiting for her turn to speak to Stormwind's Gryphon Master. Her hand tucked into the crook of Ryback's arm, she glanced up at him, freshly washed and shaved, his hair combed back, wearing his Holy Day best: a blue linen shirt, starched and pressed, and a pair of brown leather breeches. He'd even gotten up early and polished his boots for the occasion.
"Now don't you be worrying about being up there on a big old gryphon," he said as he patted her hand, reassuring her as she eyed the enormous creatures, uneasy, "those are some smart beasts. They know exactly what they're doing, and those saddles, well they are about one of the most comfortable, safest things in Azeroth. Once the novelty wears off of seeing the world from up high, there's no reason not to have a nap," he chuckled, his eyes unfocusing as he reminisced, "Light knows I've done it plenty of times."
Idira nodded and smiled for him, but her heart pounded, filled with trepidation as she watched the great beasts, hybrid creatures, half-lion, half-eagle leap from the platform's opening to plummet, screeching towards the city's moat far below, their great pounding wings catching them just moments before hitting the water's surface.
"Ah, that part's the hardest to get used to," Ryback admitted, as Idira tightened her grip on his arm, fearful. "Best not to go on with a full stomach, or drunk, drunk's bad too. Nothing stays down after that. That's why I said to eat light this morning, anyway there'll be lots of delicious things to eat in Dalaran, fanciest city in all of Azeroth, only the best of the best get to live there, with all the fine things to match." He patted her hand. "It'll be ok. You'll be fine. The good news is Dalaran is a lot closer to Stormwind than it used to be because of the Legion's invasion, it's just over Karazhan now. Not so long ago, you'd have to take a ship all the way to northern continent, and then a gryphon. Colder than a frost mage's nipples up there."
Idira blushed, smiling faintly at his attempt to lighten the mood. She thought of the maps folded into the front leaves of her books, how much she had loved to pore over them, imagining other lands and what it would be like to visit them. But Ryback wasn't exaggerating, she knew of Karazhan well enough from her books, the great towering fortress, long deserted, which stood within the Deadwind Pass. Once, long ago, Khadgar had studied there under the Guardian Medivh. Compared to the vast size of the Eastern Kingdoms, the Deadwind Pass was quite close, even Unambi had been there once, the time Khadgar had saved his life and—
"Wait," she blurted out, Ryback's earlier words jolting her from her thoughts, "what do you mean over Karazhan?"
Ryback glanced at her, taken aback. "Dalaran is a floating city. Didn't you know that?"
Idira stared at him. She didn't. The only thing she knew of Dalaran was that long ago, when she was still a child, Lady Nin had told her of how she had travelled to Dalaran, nestled in the province of Hillsbrad Foothills to buy her hats from a famous milliner. Nothing in any of Idira's books mentioned Dalaran being anywhere else, all she had read was that the city in Hillsbrad had been destroyed by Arthas during the Third War. Since coming to Stormwind, she understood that Dalaran had been rebuilt, but as a floating city? She shivered as the scattered pieces of her life gathered together, assembling quietly around her dream from all those years ago. She touched her pouch, containing the precious bank note and Logan's letter. Of all the people who could have opened the way for her, it was the man who loved her who had given her the money so she could go to the very place where she would finally come face to face with Khadgar. Unambi was right, the Light did move in mysterious ways.
"Are there . . . balconies in Dalaran?" she asked, hesitant.
For a beat, Ryback stared at her as though she had lost her mind. "I suspect so," he finally answered, slow, "since it's all towers and spires." He scratched his head, baffled. "That's a very strange thing to be asking. Are you afraid of balconies or something?"
Idira shook her head, but didn't have time to say anything more. Her turn had arrived.
It was worse than she feared, the drop down to the moat. With barely a chance to say goodbye to Ryback, the gryphon galloped to the edge of the wooden platform and fell, screeching with joy down to the moat, its powerful wings pumping, beating hard against the shear of air rushing up past them, catching their fall just as its talons brushed against the moat's cold, dark, murky waters.
Up they went, the transition from falling to rising so abrupt, Idira barely had enough time to get the disposable linen vomit bag the gryphon master had tucked into one of the leather restraints to her mouth. Surging waves of nausea crashed over her, so powerful her vision narrowed to little points of light. She hung over the bag, sagging in the grip of the restraints, emptying the bitter contents of her stomach, the sharp stink of bile making her continue to retch long after she'd finished. Don't you be puking on my gryphon, that's just disrespectful, the Gryphon Master had warned her as he tightened the restraints holding her, trembling and quaking with terror in the saddle.
She finally finished. With shaking hands, she tied off the stinking bag and settled it into the leather satchel hanging from the saddle for later disposal. All she had eaten for breakfast was half an unbuttered toasted roll, but it seemed even that was too much. Next time, she vowed, if there ever would be a next time, she wouldn't eat for hours beforehand.
As the gryphon lifted into the air, ascending towards the clouds, cold, fresh air blew into her face, reviving her. She turned and looked back at Stormwind as it fell away. The city lay in diverse, compact sections divided by canals. In the distance, to the north, the palace loomed high up against the mountains, its spires and turrets gleaming in the early morning sunlight. Further out, the harbour lay packed with ships: juggernauts, trade ships and ferry boats jostling for space at the massive docks. The bright glint of metal winked back from along the docks' wooden platforms as the sun's first rays reflected against the armour of thousands of soldiers waiting for their turn to board one of the ships, ready to make their way to the shores of the Broken Isles.
Her heart suddenly heavy, Idira turned from the sight to face forward, her hand once more straying to touch the pouch where Logan's letter lay, nestled safe within, tormented by the knowledge he had stood on those very docks just yesterday morning. She wondered where he was now, if he had reached the muster point off the coast of the Broken Shore; waiting for the others to arrive so they could begin the battle he knew would cost him his life.
She thought she had cried every tear she left to cry in the last two days, but it seemed she still had more. Despite the enticing blur of trees, rivers, roads, villages and lakes sweeping away beneath her feet, she grieved again for Logan and Unambi as she flew alone among the skies and clouds, weeping until the impossible floating city of Dalaran appeared on the horizon, emerging from between the parting clouds, the sight of it astonishing her so much, she could only stare, hiccupping and dumbfounded as her gryphon wheeled, screeching, towards it.
Even from a distance it looked enormous. Dalaran was at least the size of Stormwind, if not bigger. Despite its impossible size and weight, the city hung suspended and still in the sky, perched on a vast rocky platform which looked like it had been pulled up from out of the ground along with the city, an inverted mountain that tapered down to a jagged point far below the city's foundations. Above, the entire city seemed comprised of slim, silvery white towers of various heights topped by colourful spires, their filial points tiled in varying shades of blue and purple, the whole of it looking like an elaborate confection. The gryphon tilted to its side, homing in for its approach to the landing, a massive circular platform tiled in an intricate white and blue mandala. Apart from the opening where the gryphons departed and landed, the rest of the platform lay surrounded by gardens. As they neared, the delicate golden spirals and filigrees decorating the largest towers glinted in the sun's morning light, temporarily blinding her.
As the gryphon descended towards the platform, she glimpsed the city's wide avenues and lanes, lined by luxuriant, verdant trees and gardens. It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen, nothing in her fairytale books, written or illustrated had even come close to describing the breathtaking contrast of Dalaran's fragile beauty and grandeur.
The gryphon sailed in for its landing, hitting the ground at a run. It came to a stop just heartbeats before the edge of the gardens. It turned and walked, docile to the Gryphon Master, throwing its head up and down, trilling with pleasure.
"Whoa there girl, you're in a good mood today," the Master remarked to the gryphon as he caught hold of Idira's stirrup and led the gryphon to the side, to rest with the others. Unlike the roughly dressed gryphon master in Stormwind, this man wore an elaborate blue tunic and fitted trousers edged with silver piping. Embroidered in silver thread upon the breast of his tunic he wore the sigil of the Kirin Tor, the stylised image of an eye, with three long points descending from it, the middle the longest, flanked by two shorter ones. He looked up at Idira, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She met his eyes for the barest of moments before he paled and looked away. Clearing his throat he lowered his head and busied himself with unfastening the straps of her restraints.
"Is something the matter," Idira asked, dabbing her sleeve against her mouth, trying to be discreet. "I was sick on the way," she whispered to him, mortified. "Please tell me I haven't arrived with sick on my face."
"No, you're all right there, Miss," he answered, ducking under the gryphon to unfasten the restraints around Idira's other leg, his fingers working so fast, the straps fell down and slapped against the gryphon's flanks, startling the creature.
Idira glanced down at her threadbare dress, smoothing her hands over it, inspecting it. It was still clean. She looked back at the Master again, perplexed, hoping he might enlighten her, but he turned away, moving to catch the next gryphon, smiling up at its rider, all charm and conversation.
At a loss what to do, Idira waited for him to come back and help her down, watching as he hurried to assist the other woman, who looked no more than a few years older than Idira. The woman sat in her saddle, erect and regal, dressed in a very expensive, well-cut burgundy gown, reminding Idira of the quiet wealth of Lady Nin. Dark-haired and square-jawed, her thin face made her cheekbones stand out, proud and elegant. Her eyebrows curved, perfectly arched above her dark blue eyes framed, by long, thick lashes. She looked beautiful and dangerous, reminding Idira of a viper. The corners of the woman's lips curved downward as she looked around the landing, her expression seething with disdain.
"Look at all this riff-raff exploiting the situation, seeking a quick path to fame, wealth and glory," she said, her tone arch and dripping with condescension. "How I wish I had the power to grant you to keep them from entering our fair streets."
Boisterous laughter rose up from the gardens. Her face twisting with distaste, she turned in her saddle and glared at a group of young men and women lounging on the grass, eating apples from one of the trees. One of the men tossed his apple into the bushes, half-eaten. She made a sound of outrage. "You see? How dare they litter? Modera has tried, by the Light she has tried," she sighed, rolling her eyes, "to convince Khadgar of the need to keep to our previous standards and only permit applicants from good, decent, established families. But you know what he's like, all equality and the greater need must preside over protocol in these dire times blah blah blah." She lifted her fingers to her lips, yawning with mock boredom.
"Huh, if only," the Gryphon Master grunted as he unfastened the last strap, freeing the woman's ankle. He leaned closer, lowering his voice, though Idira could still hear him. "One came in just before you, all raggedy and rough, with the strangest eyes I've ever seen. Purple, gave me the creeps. Then, she comes right out and tells me she threw up and wondered if she had any on her face, asking me, the Head Gryphon Master of the Kirin Tor such a question."
The woman scoffed, shaking her head, reaching out, dainty, to accept his assistance as she dismounted. "Khadgar goes too far, he will regret this one day, mark my words, the Kirin Tor is no place for gutter trash and nobodies."
The Gryphon Master bowed low as she swept away, the subtle scent of jasmine wafting behind her, washing over Idira, screaming of wealth. He turned away and caught the next arrival, guiding the new gryphon further down the line. Idira sighed, realising he had long forgotten about her, the so-called gutter trash. Clutching onto the saddle, she lifted her leg over the pommel and slid down, praying the gryphon wouldn't step on her, or worse, bite her.
But it didn't seem interested in her at all. As soon as she left, it began to preen its wing feathers, cooing softly to itself.
Once in the city, Idira experienced another paralysing spike of shame. She had thought the men and women she had seen shopping along the canal in Stormwind had looked well off, but this city's residents made Stormwind's prosperous citizens look like paupers by comparison. Now she understood what Nin meant about making the trip to Dalaran to buy her hats from a famous milliner.
Within a glass-fronted shop, its interior finished in luxurious fabrics and sumptuous colours, Idira glimpsed an elegant group of three slender, beautiful women reclining on pale sofas, holding crystal-cut glasses filled with sparkling wine. They nodded and chatted amongst themselves as liveried attendants carried out fantastic gem-encrusted gowns, holding them out for their inspection.
One of the women glanced out the window, catching Idira watching them. She said something, tilting her head at Idira. The others turned and eyed her, hostile, bristling with indignation. An attendant moved to the open door and closed it, his expression dripping with contempt. Idira backed away, drowning in humiliation, trying and failing to blend into the crowded street, realising as she searched the faces for others like her that she was utterly alone, at least on this street. Everywhere she looked, beauty and wealth surrounded her, down to the smallest detail, even the potted palm trees lining the street were perfectly tended.
The deeper she went into the city, the more she became convinced only the most elite and privileged of Azeroth could afford to be in Dalaran; the families of kings and princes, the highest nobility, the wealthy barons of war and titans of commerce. She didn't belong in such a place. She stopped and half-turned, thinking to go back to the Gryphon Master to fly back to Stormwind. She could go back to The Pig and Whistle, it wasn't much of a life, but at least she wouldn't be alone, she would have Ryback, and she could earn her keep. Maegan had said there would always be a place for her there, should she want one.
Her hand drifted to her pouch, a stab of guilt puncturing through her insecurities. No. It was Logan's wish for her to do this, she had to at least try. She looked around, searching over the heads of the people strolling along the avenue and found a guard. Steeling herself for another derisive dismissal, she approached him and asked where she might apply to join the Kirin Tor. He didn't say anything cruel, but neither die he say anything at all, he simply ignored her, as did the other two guards she found. She tried very hard not to take it personally, but it wasn't easy.
Several wrong turns later and after losing herself in a garden maze for almost an hour, she discovered, quite by accident, a low, discreet opening at the base of an enormous citadel. Despite the steady flow of fashionable people moving up and down its vast, ostentatious staircase, no one seemed interested in the little patch of grass where Idira stood, tucked away behind the street, accessed by a narrow grassy alley. She leaned back, looking up at the citadel. Over its main entrance the magical sigil of the Kirin Tor, an eye with three pointed lines descending from it hung suspended, glowing a cerulean blue and pulsing with arcane energy. She shivered, sensing the power that the citadel contained, for a heartbeat temporarily diverted from her own misery as her body resonated to the steady pulse of the Eye.
Tearing her gaze from the sigil, she leaned back a little more. The citadel towered so high its topmost turrets disappeared into the clouds. She realised as she returned her attention to her immediate surroundings that for the first time since she had arrived (apart from a few times in the maze, but they hardly counted, since she had been lost in vegetation, hardly the same as being on the street), she was completely alone. Here in this quiet corner of Dalaran, no imperious, disdainful guards stood in front of the low opening in the wall. Considering all the places she had seen them standing, beside a post box, outside an pet menagerie, even flanking the entrance to a barber shop for Light's sake, she was surprised not to find any here in front of a dark, suspicious looking, musty staircase leading down into the bowels of the city. It seemed as if by their absence they were sending a message: This place is beneath us. Despite herself, she smiled at the pun.
She leaned in and peered down the stone stairs towards the shadowy, torchlit depths. Old cobwebs clung to the edges of the opening, drifting lazily in the draught. The stairs looked like they hadn't been cleaned in years; burnt-out butts of cigars and empty tankards littered the way, while other unnameable things lurked in the corners.
Voices drifted up, reminding her of the background hum of The Pig and Whistle. Familiar smells of roast meat, wood smoke, and stale ale wafted past, caught in the flow of stagnant air rising up from below. She wrinkled her nose as the stink of old urine found its way to her nostrils through the miasma. Curious, she followed the stairs, hoping she wasn't about to walk into a place filled with men like Papa. The stairs ended, giving way to a long stone walkway. Ahead, the light brightened, and the smell of roasting meat grew stronger, overwhelming another new stench, of dampness and rot. The voices grew louder, there, the clank of crockery, and then, the thud of tankards against tables. She turned a corner and found herself staring face to face with the very goblin who had taken all the things from VanCleef's house, still wearing that ridiculous top hat. Before she could stop herself, she slapped his face, hard.
"What in the Light!?" the goblin burst out utterly taken aback. He rubbed his gold-encrusted fingers against his jaw, eyeing her, cautious. "What did I ever do to you?"
"You! You fiend! You took my clothes, and my books," Idira hollered, his sudden, unexpected presence triggering a dormant rage and resentment she hadn't known she still harboured, her anger so fierce, it felt as if it she was once more a little girl, watching her things being loaded up into a wagon as he rubbed his hands together in glee. She raised her hand to hit him again, "You took everything we had, and for a pittance, too. You left us with nothing!"
Someone caught her, holding her wrist in a viselike grip. She spun around, furious.
"Easy, there," a woman said, quiet, from behind the concealing depths of a dark hood. "You don't want to be attracting the wrong kind of attention in this place. Come on, let's get you a drink."
Still holding Idira by the wrist, the woman fished in her leather tunic and tossed a gold piece at the offended goblin. "This ends here, Kuzzik," she said, cold. "I know what you're like, you probably had that coming."
"Huh," Kuzzik scoffed, eyeing the woman narrowly. He bit the coin, then tucked it into his brocade waistcoat. "Fine, I'll let it go," he huffed, "but if it happens again." He narrowed his eyes at Idira, menacing.
The woman walked past him, "Yeah, yeah, big man. Whatever."
Kuzzik spluttered, outraged. The woman beside Idira chuckled as she wended her way into the bar area of a ramshackle wooden tavern, all crooked angles and edges, her hand still holding Idira fast against her. "He hates to be called that," she said as she nodded at the blond-haired barkeep, leaning against the wall behind the bar, his muscled arms crossed over his red-shirted chest. "Two ales, Baxter, and clean tankards this time, eh?"
"Clean ones cost extra," muttered Baxter, as he pushed away from the wall, surly.
Another gold coin appeared from the woman's tunic, she slid it across the top of the bar. He eyed it, then scooped it up, pocketing it. "I'll bring 'em to ya," he muttered, "gonna have ta boil up some water first ta wash 'em, so hope ya ain't in no hurry."
The woman shrugged as though she didn't care and led Idira further into the tavern, where the light was thinner and the air lay blue and ripe, blanketed in greasy, curling trails of old cigar smoke. Her hooded companion ducked into a shadowed alcove and settled onto a stool. Dragging another stool over with her heel, she put her feet up, crossing them at the ankles and leaned back against the wall, her arms folded over her chest. She nodded at the other empty stools surrounding the table, indicating Idira should choose one and take a seat. Not knowing what else to do, Idira sat down onto the stool nearest to the door, gingerly, hoping she wasn't sitting on anything that would stain her dress. Eyeing the table's surface layered in sticky tankard rings and grease stains, she decided to keep her hands in her lap.
"What brings you to Dalaran?" the woman asked as she dug inside her tunic and pulled out a small pouch, her fingers dipping in to retrieve a bag of tobacco and some rolling papers. She busied herself with making a roll-up, her fingers slim, elegant and deft, nothing like Idira had expected after having felt the strength of the other woman's grip around her wrist.
"Um," Idira temporised as she watched the woman work, fascinated, "just wanted to see it, I guess."
"Right," the woman said as she leant towards the candle in the middle of the table and lit her cigarette. The paper at the end flared up, bright red as she dragged on it, lighting the tobacco, making her dark eyes gleam, like a cat's. She leaned back and exhaled. "If you say so." Smoke curled up out from under her hood. She sat there, saying nothing, just looking at Idira, unnerving her.
Idira looked away, uncomfortable, wondering what she was going to have to say or do to get away from her new 'friend'. Even though the tavern was almost empty, the few who were there looked like the kind of people VanCleef used to hire, mercenaries and criminals; their faces scarred and rough, all hard edges and brutality. Dalaran was turning out to be a much stranger, more complicated place than she first perceived.
Baxter turned up with their drinks. He slid them onto the table, careless, ale sloshing over the tankards' brims, and walked away without saying a word.
The woman leaned forward and pulled her tankard closer. She gestured at Idira's beverage. "Drink up, you're going to need it if you're going to survive this place."
"Oh, yes, thank you," Idira said, polite and sipped at her ale. It was quite good, she looked up in surprise.
Her companion scoffed and waved her hand in the direction of the ceiling, trails of smoke drifting after her cigarette. "It's the magic in this place, makes everything taste better, even this pig's piss Baxter likes to call ale." After several minutes of quiet drinking, the woman stubbed out her cigarette on the heel of her boot. "You planning on applying to join the Kirin Tor?" she asked, tossing the butt into the shadows behind her.
The ale was making Idira feel better, more confident and positive. She nodded. "I'm going to try, anyway."
"Well, good luck to you," the woman said, sour, as she lifted her tankard in a mock toast, "the first trick is to find the office where you apply. Lots of politics here, Dalaran stinks to the skies with hierarchy. Since the spoiled brats don't know anything about the real world, they like to play their little games—the social inbreeds—making it as difficult as possible for the 'outsiders' to get in. Of course if you are one of the 'in crowd', you get a nice gold-gilt card sent to you telling you exactly where you need to go, with a nice little map and everything." She tilted her head at Idira's half-empty tankard. "When you finish your drink, I'll walk you there."
"Oh, I don't want to trouble you," Idira demurred, wondering how her companion knew about the gold-gilt cards, "I'm sure I can find it on my own, eventually."
"You won't," the woman said, "trust me. They do this on purpose, the bastards."
"How much do you want for it?" Idira asked, hesitant. She'd lived long enough with VanCleef to know people who frequented places like this never did anything for nothing.
"This one's on me," the woman said, "it will give me a kick to piss them off. And I know you especially are going to wind them right up."
"Me?" Idira asked, offended. "Why would you say that? You don't know anything about me."
"I know plenty," the woman said as she pulled back her hood and leaned closer to the candle.
"No, it can't be," Idira breathed, feeling something grind to a halt inside her as the combined features of Myra and the dark colouring of VanCleef looked back at her from a face six years younger than her own. She stood up, panicking, fearing the ale had been laced with hallucinogenic herbs. "No. You're dead," she said, her voice rising, feeling herself begin to gibber. "You died four years ago. I grieved for you. The dead don't come back to life, not even here, in magical Dalaran. No. You don't exist. I'm imagining you."
The woman, who looked exactly like she remembered Vanessa from the last time she had seen her, stood up and grabbed hold of Idira's arm, giving her a hard shake. "Stop your nonsense. As you can see, I'm very much alive. I faked my death. Sit down and shut up," she ordered, sharp, glancing around the room, "people are looking."
Idira sank back down onto the stool, staring at Vanessa, fighting a sudden incomprehensible urge to cry.
"Listen, the stories you heard, none of them are true," Vanessa said as she sat back down, drumming her fingertips on the table, agitated. "When I knew I couldn't win, I drank a potion, saying I was ending my own life to throw them off, but really I just went into a deep state of unconsciousness for about a day, one heartbeat a minute sort of thing. Pretty risky, since a drop too much means you're a goner. Gave me a headache that took a week to wear off." She shook her head, the drumming stopping as she winced at the memory. "Never going to do that again."
Idira stared at her niece, an upwelling of anger slamming into her, overwhelming her panic and grief. "You let me believe you were dead," she seethed. "All this time, you never contacted me. You left me believing you were gone to the Light. Why?"
"You wouldn't understand," Vanessa sighed as she pulled out her pouch and tapped a little tobacco onto a rolling paper and rolled a new cigarette.
"Try me."
"Alright," Vanessa said as she lit the roll-up. She inhaled, deep, before continuing, smoke drifting out of her mouth as she talked. "At the time it seemed for the best. If you didn't know I was alive you wouldn't be implicated if I was ever found. I did it to protect you."
Idira scoffed, waving a hand in front of her face, to fan the smoke away. "I see you've inherited your father's warped sense of logic."
"I knew you wouldn't understand," Vanessa said, cold.
"Whatever," Idira said, folding her arms over her chest, looking away, new raw feelings of betrayal rising up in the wake of her anger. "I taught you to read and write," she grated, her throat aching, "I took care of you, I was practically your mother. You should have told me."
She glanced at Vanessa, and caught the look of guilt slicing across her face.
"I know," Vanessa said, as she took another long drag from her cigarette. "I hated what I had to do to you, but it's done now. As it turns out my fortunes have changed for the better, and with what's happening with the Legion everyone has long forgotten about little old me. For what it's worth I was bloody thrilled to see you walking down those stairs. I also enjoyed seeing you giving Kuzzik what's what. He's scum, through and through. Now we can sit here and commiserate about what I did or didn't do, or we can be on our way and get you into the Kirin Tor, your choice."
Idira stood up, bridling at her niece's cold logic. "You sound just like your father," she muttered, annoyed.
Vanessa arched an eyebrow but said nothing. She led the way out of the tavern and back up the stairs into the fresh air and sunlight. "You need four thousand gold to get in," she murmured as they walked across the grass to the alley leading back onto the street. "Do you have it?"
"Yes, Logan gave it to me," Idira answered, quiet, her heart aching anew at the thought of him.
Vanessa nodded, a look of approval crossing her face as she slid her hood back up over her head.
"I knew I did the right thing letting that one live."
Vanessa hadn't lied, Idira would never have found the place. They walked for a long time, leaving behind the bustling streets of shoppers, past the vast campus of the Academy, through an enormous park encircling a brilliant blue lake, and down into a maze of residential avenues, crammed with elaborate apartments sporting long, narrow iron-wrought balconies, high windows, and open double doors offering tantalising glimpses of the opulent wealth hidden within.
At the end of a narrow lane a tiny park nestled , more of a garden, filled with flowering bushes and a little circular path that led to a small burbling fountain in the middle. Behind it, a solid wall of stone loomed overhead, several stories high.
Idira glanced at her niece, annoyed. Her feet hurt and the feeling of fullness the ale had given her had long since worn off, leaving her hungry and irritable. There was nothing here. It was a dead end. She waited for her niece to realise her error and turn back. Instead, Vanessa continued to move forward, straight towards the wall and a cluster of bushes, their branches slim and light, sweeping down to the ground, filled with luxuriant, wide leaves. Vanessa pushed aside the curtain of weeping branches and to Idira's utter astonishment she discovered a small, neat staircase leading down to a wrought-iron gate set into the wall.
Vanessa caught her astonished look. "Told you they made it difficult," she muttered. "Though it wasn't always like this. When the city was still up in Northrend, they had a sign-posted office just outside the Academy's gates. They only moved to this place once Dalaran came down here and they were overwhelmed with 'undesirable' applicants."
"But when this place is so hard to find how can anyone like me ever apply?" Idira asked, thinking of the complaints the woman had made on the gryphon landing, behaving as though the unwanted applicants were still getting in to the Kirin Tor.
Vanessa smiled. "I was lucky, coming across their little map. I started out solo, but now I have four others working for me. They hang out in the city waiting for opportunities to arise." She chuckled, smug. "And these days there are plenty. Business is booming." She swept her hand towards the steps. "Shall we?"
Idira went down the steps and pushed on the latch of the iron gate, half expecting it to be locked. It wasn't. The gate swung open, silent and smooth. They emerged out into brilliant sunshine, onto a little stone courtyard lined with benches surrounded by a low wall no higher than Idira's knees. She went to the edge and looked down, curious. The sky fell away beneath her, the gulf of space separating her from the real world below—obscured under a veil of scudding clouds—giving her a brutal dose of vertigo. She staggered back from the edge into the middle of the courtyard, her legs turning to jelly.
"Yeah, the first time's shock," Vanessa said as she went to the little border wall and lifted her foot up onto it, leaning down to look at the empty expanse, her easy confidence terrifying Idira. She glanced back, sweeping her arm out into the air. "No wind here, bet you didn't notice that. It should be blowing like storm at sea at this height. But no, nice and calm. Good old Dalaran magic." Vanessa reached into her tunic, pulled out her tobacco pouch and began to roll a cigarette on her leather-clad thigh. She jerked her head to the side. "The door's just there behind you. Since there's no one out here waiting, it looks like you're next."
Idira turned and saw the door set into the wall, plain, discreet and unassuming. It looked like nothing more than a door to a storeroom. She went to it and pushed it open, hoping she wasn't interrupting anything. Inside, the stone-walled space was clean, though dimly lit. The arches of its low roof reminded Idira of the crypts she had seen in her illustrated fairytale books, but as her gaze swept over the room, she realised there were no dead here, nor had there ever been. It was just an empty space that had been converted into a temporary office. At the far end of the room, separated by thick, luxurious rugs, a dark-haired woman sat at an ornate desk, writing in a notebook. She looked up as Idira entered, her welcoming smile immediately fading from her lips.
Idira took a step back, apprehensive, recognising the woman as the same one who had been speaking to the Gryphon Master.
"You are not the one I was expecting," the woman said, cold. "What are you doing here?"
Idira stepped towards her hesitant. "I have come to apply to join the Kirin Tor."
The woman sat back and folded her arms over her chest, her eyes roaming over Idira's faded, old dress. "Have you indeed?" she asked, arch.
Idira moved closer, reaching into her pouch. She pulled out the bank note from Logan. "I have the gold," she held the paper out to the woman, ashamed by how her hand trembled.
The woman took the bank note and looked it over, suspicious. "How did you get all this? Someone like you?"
Idira blinked, taken aback. Surely if she had the money, its provenance was none of the other woman's business. The woman, waited, hostile, glaring at her, holding the bank note pinched between her thumb and forefinger as though it were dirty.
"One of the Commanders of the Elite Forces who is leading the assault on the Broken Shore left it to me," Idira answered, feeling her face begin to heat up, embarrassed to have to share her personal business with such a woman as she. "His parting wish was for me to join the Kirin Tor. I could show you his letter, but it's . . . personal."
The dark-haired woman raised an eyebrow, cynical. "So you were his lover. Typical."
Idira stared at the woman, astonished. "I was not. I have known him for almost all my life. He was like a brother to me." She reached out and took the bank note back. "I don't understand what this has to do with my application."
"It has nothing to do with it," the woman scoffed, "I was merely curious. People like you fascinate me, like watching animals in a menagerie."
Completely at a loss, Idira didn't know what to say. The woman looked back down at her ledger and waved her slim, ringed fingers at the door. "You application is denied, you may leave."
"But," Idira said as she looked back down at the bank note, perplexed, "I have enough money, four thousand gold. I have it right here."
The woman continued writing in what Idira now realised was a ledger. "That amount is for those the Kirin Tor wishes to have in its ranks. For those like you, the amount is five thousand, and as you can see, your Commander is a little short." She said Logan's title without even trying to hide her derision, as though she couldn't accept someone like Idira could know a Commander of Stormwind's Elite Forces. She glanced up, impatient. "Now please leave, you're blocking the light."
Idira backed away, drowning in humiliation. The woman turned her attention back to her ledger, completely ignoring her. Idira pushed back out into the sunshine, where Vanessa was just stubbing out her cigarette, her hood thrown back. She tossed the butt over the side, watching it tumble away, a strange look of longing on her face. Idira moved closer, Vanessa turned, her forlorn expression melting into one of cool arrogance. She jerked her head at the half-open door. "That was fast. Even to them, money talks, eh?"
Idira sank down onto one of the benches, too stunned and humiliated by what had just happened to answer.
"Hey, what's going on?" Vanessa asked, turning to Idira. "What happened in there?"
When Idira didn't answer, her niece's fingers drifted to the hilts of her daggers, her eyes slid to the door, narrowing into dangerous slits. "Did someone disrespect you?"
Alarmed, Idira stood up. "I don't have enough money, so they denied me." She shrugged her shoulders as though she didn't care, desperate to lighten the mood.
Vanessa screwed her face up, disbelieving. "What are you talking about? It's four thousand, always has been."
"Well I guess they changed the rules. For people like me, it's five thousand."
"What do you mean people like you?" Vanessa erupted, furious. "You were bloody raised by Edwin VanCleef, the man who rebuilt their precious city of Stormwind, or have they forgotten?"
"I don't think it's a good idea for me to mention him," Idira murmured, shrinking back against rising heat of Vanessa's temper. "Not everyone feels the same about him being a hero."
"Bloody ungrateful bastards!" Vanessa spat, stalking back and forth across the courtyard, her feline grace reminding Idira so much of VanCleef she felt like she was looking at a smaller, slimmer version of him.
"Never mind, if money's the only thing holding you back, I can fix that," Vanessa erupted, storming back to the gate and pulling her hood back into place. She flung the gate open. "Come on. Let's go to the bank."
They came back an hour later, with a bank note made out to the Kirin Tor for five thousand gold, the difference from Logan's note made up from Vanessa's substantial savings. Idira went back in to the shadowy room, thinking only of fulfilling Logan's wish. If it hadn't been for him, she never would have gone back.
The woman glanced up from a book she had been reading. "You again?" she asked, her tone dripping with disdain.
Idira didn't wait, she could hear the sharp staccato of Vanessa's boots moving back and forth across the flagged stones of the courtyard, primed to take matters into her own hands should Idira's application fail a second time. She walked straight up to the desk and lay the bank note on top of the ledger.
The woman looked down at the bank note, drawn on Dalaran's Merchant Bank. She picked it up and examined it, her upper lip curving in distaste. She scoffed and flung it to the side.
"Name?" she asked without looking up, her demeanour so frosty, Idira sensed the temperature in the room dropping.
"Idira Northshire," Idira answered, her heart trembling with hope as she watched the woman write her name into the ledger.
"What are your abilities?" she snapped, terse as she dipped her quill into a silver and gold ink pot.
"I can kill demons, I have this Light inside of me? I stopped an invasion," Idira whispered, looking down at her feet.
"Of course you did," the woman scoffed, condescending. "They'll say anything these days," she muttered to herself. Idira watched what she wrote beside her name. Can conjure butterflies.
"I can't—"
"Names of parents," the woman demanded, her eyes fixed on the ledger.
"Jac and Marian Northshire," Idira answered after a moment's hesitation, suddenly fearing the woman would know her father's notorious name. She bit her lip, fretting, watching the woman write in the names. She spelled her father's name Jak. A wave of relief washed over Idira.
"Age?"
"Twenty-six."
The woman set her quill back into its gilt holder and crossed her arms over her chest, annoyance emanating from her as looked Idira over. "Your eyes are violet," she said, matter-of-fact, almost indifferent.
"Is that usual for mages?" Idira asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
"Not at all," the woman answered, closing the ledger and handing Idira a crisp white card, lettered in silver runes and gilt in gold. "Show this to the guards at the entrance of the Academy. They will take you were you need to be."
"Thank you," Idira said, as a tremor of happiness washed over her. Logan would be so pleased.
"We'll see how thankful you are in a week's time," the woman snapped, disdainful, as she picked up her book and waved her fingers at the door.
On the way to the Academy, Vanessa bought Idira lunch from a little sandwich shop. Carrying the wrapped parcels in a small paper bag, she led Idira into the park and to a bench by the impossibly blue waters of the lake, sparkling in the light of the afternoon sun.
As they sat, Vanessa reached into her tunic and handed Idira a small leather purse, containing fifteen gold pieces and a bank note for two hundred and twenty gold, made out in Idira's name. "The leftover money from Logan," she said as opened the wrapper around her lunch and bit into a fat bagel stuffed with thin layers of braised steak.
Idira raised her brow as she looked at the bank note and the gold pieces, surprised, she hadn't expected that. "Thank you," she said tucking the purse into her pouch. "When did you—"
"When I said I needed to use the facilities," Vanessa shrugged, her mouth half-full. "I lied." She eyed Idira's dress. "You really need to replace that, it's falling to bits. We can stop somewhere I know on the way if you like."
"Okay," Idira said, biting into her own sandwich; smoked whitefish salmon with grainy mustard on rye. It was delicious. She sighed with delight.
"That's genuine, good food right there, nothing to do with magic," Vanessa said around the bite in her mouth. "The Bagel Brothers make the best sandwiches anywhere, nothing can beat them."
They finished their lunch in companionable silence, and while Vanessa rolled a fresh cigarette, Idira ventured to the water's edge and trailed her fingers in the lake's crystal clear waters, feeling for the first time in a long while a tiny tremor of happiness ripple through her. She looked up at the silvery white towers surrounding the park, the tallest one, rising above the rest, resplendent and imposing, caught her eye. As they had eaten, Vanessa told her that particular tower was called the Violet Citadel and was where the most powerful archmages leading the Kirin Tor, called the Council of Six could be found.
Idira hadn't said anything at the time, grateful for the excuse of having had a mouth full of food, but in her heart she felt a stirring, an awakening, of her purpose becoming clearer, and her path opening up before her. She watched as her fingers moved through the waters, distorting the reflection of the Violet Citadel, shimmering in the sunlight, thinking of the man who had touched her shoulder and caught her elbow, saying he had her. All my life I have waited for you, she thought, looking up at the Citadel. Soon now, somehow, some way, I will stand with you on a balcony and you will look at me and see me. And then, maybe my life will finally begin to make sense.
Vanessa called to her, waving her arm, gesturing for her to join her, impatient. Idira backed away from the lake and went to her niece, reluctant, wishing they didn't have to leave so soon. As they departed she looked back one last time, just as an enormous black raven landed where she had stood on the lake's shore. It lowered its head to drink from the waters before surging back up into the skies, breathtaking and graceful, soaring away until it vanished into the pure, white light of the sun.