Chapter 6: Blockade on Bolarus
7 Wintermarch 616
Jaina Proudmoore closed the tome Halford Wyrmbane had provided her with and walked onto the main deck of her ship, the Seabolt. The two-deck frigate was nothing special but it was the only that was repaired since the Frost Wyrm's attack.
One of the officers offered her his spyglass but Jaina dismissed him with a shake of her head. There was little point in confirming what she already knew. The defences of Kul Tiras were impregnable with conventional methods.
Baradin Bay was an enclosed sea that was stretched between Gilneas, Southshore, the Wetlands, and Dun Morogh. Kul Tiras was situated at the entrance to the bay, forming two straits; one with the Gilnean city of Stormglen to the north and another with unapproachable mountains of Dun Morogh.
Each of the straits was protected by a coastal fortress that overlooked the surrounding area. Fort Kul was located to the north and—back in the good old days—served as a trade hub with Gilneas while Fort Tiras was located at the other side of the island to the south. A large wall stretched from Kul to Tiras and guarded the entirety of Kul Tiras and Baradin Bay from any naval invasion from the west. Nothing sailed in the bay without the sanction of Kul Tiras. Menethil Harbour, the only Alliance base in the reason, had been completely demilitarised.
"Ships!" the lookout at the top of the crow's nest shouted.
Jaina looked behind her and winced when she saw the approaching fleet. Jaina may have asked for Varian's assistance but she had never expected that the man would bring his entire fleet.
Other than the fact that Lorena did not salute, the Colonel's expression betrayed nothing when she lowered her spyglass. Lorena always saluted. Jaina did not blame her. She had found curled up with Daeldric at the top of her tower after Catherine had abducted Calia Hastings and rescued Gavis Greyshield from the dungeon. Jaina's embarrassment had turned into pure humiliation when a single look on Daeldric's face told her that he had orchestrated the entire event. For what purpose, he did not say even after being threatened with torture.
"Something is wrong," Colonel Lorena said as she lowered her spyglass.
"What do you mean?"
"A bit premature to mobilise his entire fleet don't you think?"
Jaina chuckled. "Varian has always been a bit hot-headed," she explained, "I'm sure he means well."
It was a lie. Jaina knew exactly what Lorena meant and, to an extent, agreed with her line of thought but this kind of thinking was treasonous at best. Varian would not have compromised the entire Alliance for a simple servant of Theramore unless something else was going on. Still, she decided, her beloved King deserved the benefit of doubt.
Lord Admiral Alverold Proudmoore felt his hand tremble as he touched the grip of the ancestral blade. The sweepings and the crossguard of the blade's guard represented the tentacles of the mythical kraken. While the rest of the blade had a watery theme, the gilded pommel depicted the eagle of the Arathi Empire. Alverold placed his other hand on the scabbard of the longsword, steadied his grip on the hilt and drew.
Tidehunter!
The faint sound of a tidal wave could be heard as the blade cut the air. The elementium of the sword gave the blade a silvery hew which glowed as water flowed throughout the blade. Supposedly, the spirit of a mermaid was trapped on the blade and, according to the story, only the truest servant of Kul Tiras could hear her singing if he placed his ear on the blade.
Alverold could not hear it and that angered him greatly for some reason. He cut the air once more to hear the serene sound of the tide but that further annoyed him. The elementium made the blade far too heavy to move with ease. Annoyed, he attached the scabbard to his belt, sheathed the blade, and walked towards the balcony of his quarters in Pride's Citadel.
He looked triumphantly towards his brother's statue at the centre of Bolarus. Alverold could not wait to tear that gigantic filth down. Then, he looked towards the west and took a deep breath when he saw a large fleet with blue sails with a golden lion. "Idiot," he muttered. He pivoted and rushed out of his quarters.
No seats were empty when he entered the chamber of the Admiralty. The lady captain, the five high captains, the captain-general of Bolarus, the commandant of Crestfall, and the two marcher lords of Kul and Tiras were already at their place on the round table.
The rest of the high ranking nobles were sitting further away from the table with limited right to speak. As the tirassian military tradition demanded, once the senate voted—unanimously in this case—to declare war, only those with a place on the war table had a right to make military decisions. Only the marcher lords and, in practice, the elected lord admiral had a hereditary rank that broke this rule.
Clad in the scales of a red dragon, the commander of the aerial dragoons saluted. "Your Grace," Alexandros Wyrmbane stated. "Thirty-two ships of the line, one griffon carrier, and ten frigates."
It was incredible, even by tirassian standards, how Varian had managed to summon his entire fleet and sail it to Kul Tiras within seven days. Still, engaging against a seasoned fleet with greater firepower in the saltwater that gave birth to them was suicidal.
Part of him wanted to send a missive to Varian promising to give him Catherine Rogers' head but Alverold had been completely blindsided by his reckless decision to bring his entire fleet. The tirassians would not sit on the negation table unless the fleet of Stormwind withdrew.
And if hostilities happen…
Alverold pushed the useless thoughts aside. He narrowed his eyes on Catherine but there was nothing he could say. She had won. So much in fact that he had been given no option than to condone her prisoner's interrogation.
"Are the fleets deployed?"
"Aye, my Lord," Catherine said. "First, seventh, and third fleet are stationed at Bolarus; second and sixth at fort Kul; and fourth and fifth at fort Tiras."
Commandant Devon Ainsworth cleared his hoarse throat. "I need ten days for the reserve fleet to be combat capable."
Someone chuckled at the man that was handpicked by Daeldric von Selaniir to run the Naval Academy of War and the headquarters of the Admiralty in Crestfall.
The chuckle was from the former pirate lord, Duke Falrevere. Upon becoming Lord Admiral, Alverold had pardoned the former piratelord in an attempt to reclaim part of their colonies in the southern seas without further bloodshed. It was, to an extent, considered an unpopular decision but Alverold saw no reason to kill the losing Bloodsail Buccaneers when they could rejoin Kul Tiras. Jaina committed a greater crime yet nobody truly cared, he had argued to himself.
And why would they? Daelin Proudmoore had led them to ruin after all.
Some of the nobles shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. Duke Falrevere might be the a skilled captain but he was not popular in this room. Other than Reginald Goodwin, there was no man in this room that would not gut Falrevere himself—if they could that was.
"If you find something amusing, pirate," Ainsworth continued, smoothly, "bring us in on the joke."
Falrevere jumped to his feet and reached for his rapier. "Duel," he snapped.
Ainsworth hesitated but he stood up. "Lord Tiras, will you do me the honour and act as my second."
"With pleasure, good sir," Marquess Tiras replied. The marquess was a tall, stout man that had seen better days before the newly ordained Daeldric had permanently crippled the man during the melee in the Grand Tournament of the Silver Hand. Such an act would have created constant rivalry between the men but—such was their paladin honour—that the men simply shook hands and congratulated each for their duel.
Marchioness Eloise d'Artese of fort Kul waved her hand dismissively. "We may have accepted the Admiral's… ahem… initiative but that gives you no right to threaten us Duke," the ivory beauty toned the last word, mocking Falrevere for his self-proclaimed title.
Alverold nodded his agreement. "After all," he said, "duels are forbidden during war."
"Not unless the Lord Admiral approves," Falrevere corrected.
"Regulation 612/r.74, one of the first regulations his Grace—Tandred Proudmoore—passed after being elected," Captain Mishan Waycrest corrected.
"No wonder he died," Falrevere cackled.
Nobody laughed. Only Captain-General Reginald Goodwin's lips twitched into a smile. Something twisted in Alverold when he saw his two most trusted allies mocking his nephew. Tandred may have been a fool and his death may have worked for the benefit of Kul Tiras but… he was family.
"Enough of this! To your duties," Alverold stood up and reached for his blade. The rest of the war council did the same with the exception of the swordless marchioness who simply stood up and placed a clenched fist on her heart. The nobles not on the war table followed the Marchioness' example.
"My Lord," Catherine interrupted, still sitting on the opposite side of the table. "May I suggest that we proceed with Calia Hastings' trial and invite Lady Jaina Proudmoore to act as a judge?"
"Why?"
"I have reason to believe that Lady Proudmoore might be the first one to vote for the woman's execution."
Alverold tightened his jaw and motioned for everyone to take a seat. The Lady Captain more or less had stated that Varian had sent Hastings to spy on Jaina. That was something he could not allow. "No," when he saw that his words fell on deaf ears, he continued, "she murdered Daelin."
"A bit too late for you to adopt that stance, Alverold," d'Artese said.
"Seconded," Tiras huffed, refusing to believe that he had agreed with her of all people. Whenever the two rival families agreed, there was no option but to concede to their demands.
Alverold nodded. "Very well," he turned towards the dragoon commander, "send for Jaina Proudmoore."
Catherine also looked towards Wyrmbane and nodded to him. Since he was the superior officer, that nod was far too suspicious. There was definitely a hidden meaning there but he could neither decrypt it nor call it out.
He rued the day that he had elected her lady captain for her silence during Daeldric's trial.
Alverold stood up and drew his longsword. This time the sacred ritual was complete. The war council members thrust their blades towards the centre of the table—rapiers, scimitars, a holy longsword, and the legendary Tidehunter—connecting their tips. The marchioness, Wyrmbane, and the other nobles placed their right hand on their heart.
"Glory for Kul Tiras!" they all shouted.
The council members slammed their off-hand on the table and headed to their duties.
The first griffon was mounted by two people. The lanky man in leather gear and the cowled face was the aging Mathias Shaw. Shaw was the leader of Stormwind's intelligence agency.
The brunette woman with the uncharacteristically short hair, the weathered face, and the naval uniform was Jes-Tereth, Daelin's replacement as the Grand Admiral of the Alliance. She placed her tricorn hat on her head, unbuckled the straps that held her on the griffon saddle, and peered through her spyglass.
Halford Wyrmbane was not present, Jaina noted. It did not surprise her. The former lord captain of Kul Tiras had been disgraced during the Siege of Theramore. At her command, the Lord Captain had implored—but not ordered—his men to stand down and not participate in the battle. Wyrmbane himself was too honourable and proud to do that, he had drawn his blade and joined Daelin Proudmoore during his final stand.
Although Tandred never exiled him, Wyrmbane had never returned to his family in Kul Tiras. Instead, he had found the greatest killers throughout the Alliance and formed the 7th Legion. The banners of the 7th Legion were visible in the distance but there was little doubt in Jaina's mind that he was not aboard those ships.
Clad in his blue full-plate armour, Varian jumped off his white-gold griffon and marched towards her. "Get Daeldric," he ordered Shaw. Once the spymaster disappeared in the lower deck, he turned towards her and placed two hands on her shoulders. "What did you do?!"
Jaina flinched at his violent outburst. "I don't follow?"
"You think it is a mere coincidence that the moment Daeldric stepped on your island, my alliance with Kul Tiras is compromised?"
Jaina took a deep breath to calm her anger and forced smiled. "I worked very hard for the Alliance," she begun, "don't you dare accuse me of treason."
Varian sighed and lowered his hands. "I'm not questioning your loyalty—"
"Merely your competence," a sulking voice added. Mathias Shaw had twisted Daeldric's hand behind his back and forced him up the forecastle. Then, he pushed Daeldric to the ground and placed a knife on his throat.
Daeldric's appearance was quite dishevelled and his left eye bleeding from a rough hit from the spymaster. Jaina truly couldn't care less. The man had taken advantage of her in the worst way possible and spat on mercy with his deeds.
What did concern her, however, was that Varian's thug was under the impression that his words or actions would go unnoticed. "Funny," she said, "perhaps next time no prisoner will arrive on my island because someone decided to have some fun in the dungeons."
Mathias chuckled. "Had the King allowed me to do that, Daeldric would arrive to Theramore… in pieces."
Jaina gulped. "VanCleef tortured him…"
"Aye," Varian explained. "Then he went to Kul Tiras and reported that we were torturing their noble traitor."
It was an ingenious plan, Jaina could not deny that. Now she felt like an even greater fool. Daeldric had not only exploited her kind heart but had turned her into VanCleef's pawn. But she was not the only pawn, it was only for a second but Daeldric's green eyes had widened at the revelation. He looked towards Jes-Tereth and smiled.
She narrowed her eyes on him. "What are you smiling at?"
"N-nothing," he replied instantly. Such a swift, stuttering speech was uncharacteristic of him. He is scared, Jaina thought, or acting scared.
When he did not respond, Varian grabbed the prisoner from the throat, pushed him towards the bulwark and practically held him over the sea. Although he was a strong man, Daeldric was smart enough not to fight back. "Jaina asked you a question."
"Death before dishonour," Daeldric said.
Varian tossed him back on the deck and reached for Shalamayne.
"Wait!" Jaina cried out. "If you kill him, you will most certainly start a war with Kul Tiras."
Varian withdrew his hand and approached her. "I am not afraid of war."
"Perhaps you should be," she turned towards Admiral Jes-Tereth. "Care to explain to his Majesty the futility of a naval invasion."
Jes-Tereth lowered her spyglass and sighed. "The only way to prevail against Kul Tiras is to set up a naval blockade at our current position and dispatch Shandris Feathermoon's fleets to invade all their colonies in the Southern Seas to draw them away from their defenses."
Knowing that the kaldorei fleet would never sanction such an operation, Varian pointed towards a crack on the wall towards the south of Kul Tiras. "What about that?"
"That would not work," Jes-Tereth explained. "The waters are extremely shallow and full of reef. Even if we could somehow get within firing range and breach the wall, our marines would get butchered before they could row to the coast."
"We are not going to invade Kul Tiras," Jaina added. "We will take your griffons, we will fly to Bolarus, and talk to my uncle."
"We will do what we must to rescue Calia Hastings." Varian turned towards the prisoner, ready to continue the interrogation.
"Dragoon!" the lookout cried out.
Daeldric snapped his head towards the location of Bolarus. It was an aerial dragoon to be precise. The ebon griffon had an impressive eight feet length and a wingspan of twenty-eight feet; only Sky'ree, the legendary griffon of the equally legendary Kurdran Wildhammer, was bigger that this incredible creature. The griffon's armour was made out of the scales of the red dragonflight, a memento of the dark times when the red dragonflight had butchered Derek Proudmoore and his Third Fleet.
Now that it was widely known that the red dragonflight had not been responsible for their actions during the Second War, the dragonscale armours had been replaced with conventional armour with only the seven most skilled griffon riders maintaining their awe-inspiring armour.
The griffon landed with a loud swoop, breaking part of the rails of the ship. The two smaller griffons backed away but let out a threatening screech. Even in chains, Daeldric saluted the most skilled human griffonrider in the entire world. Alexandros Wyrmbane.
Like his familiar, the rider was clad from top to bottom with dragonscale and his helm was the actual head of a drake. A number of straps on his uniform held a number of long, slender pistols while a long pistol sword was dangling from his hip. The griffon held additional firearms and weapons capable of cutting through flesh or breaking bones.
"I will speak to your leader," Alexandros commanded and removed the drakehead.
Varian towered over the tall dragoon. "And who would you be?"
The leader of the aerial dragoons did not even flinch and met the king's angry gaze.
"This is Alexandros Wyrmbane," Jaina explained, "son of Halford Wyrmbane," she added a moment later, most likely to ensure that Varian would not do anything stupid.
Alexandros scoffed at the mention of his dishonoured father. "These boats," he pointed towards Stormwind's fleet, "do they belong to you?"
"What do you think?" Varian growled.
Daeldric grinned, getting braver now that his death could not be covered as a mere "accident". "Just a military exercise, Ser Alexandros, nothing to worry about."
"A bloody expensive one."
"Well, it's not like people are starving in Westfall."
Daeldric gasped, his ears ringing from the powerful blow to the head. By the light did the man have a powerful hand, twice as strong as his meaty hands looked. When he recovered, he noticed that every man had pointed his blade towards the dragoon. The only exception was Mathias Shaw that had pressed a dagger on Daeldric's throat.
Alexandros himself had one pistol pointed to Varian and another to the filth with the dagger. His griffon, Phaenon, had not moved from his spot, waiting for a single command from its rider.
"Von Selaniir will not be assault in my presence!" Alexandros snapped.
"Sheath your weapons," Jaina ordered.
Like a death knight, Jaina's eyes were glowing an extremely unnatural light blue colour. Daeldric assumed that this was a precursor to an extremely powerful frost spell that was ready to be cast with a flick of her wrist. The disturbing sight was made even worse by the fact that, other than her eyes, her face was completely darkened by shadow cast from her cowl. A layer of ice covered both of her hands and staff. The lady of Theramore was devoid of any beauty.
Immediately, Phaenon extended his left wing and covered its rider from the sorceress' line of sight. Some of the inexperienced sailors took an instinctive step away from both the griffon and their mistress.
"Sheath your weapons," Lorena said, repeating the command.
Varian looked towards Jaina in disgust, he pointed his weapon towards Daeldric. "If he speaks again, I will gut him!" Then, he sheathed his weapon, so did Shaw.
"Lord Daeldric, be silent." Alexandros holstered his pistols. "I assume you are here to recover Gavis Greyshield and Calia Hastings."
"We couldn't care less about Greyshield."
"Well, I do," Jaina interrupted. "Greyshield has committed crimes against Theramore, he will be returned to me."
Alexandros chuckled. "Calia Hastings might be returned to you when we are done with her. Greyshield will be returned on your command after the trial."
"You have no right to—"
"What are the charges, Ser?" Jaina asked.
Alexandros walked towards the sorceress. "Is Calia Hastings a subject of Stormwind or Theramore?"
"Theramore."
"Then the charges are treason against Kul Tiras and Theramore."
Jaina cocked her eyebrow. "And Theramore?"
The dragoon nodded. "As a slighted party, you are cordially invited to act as a juror during the trial." He looked towards Daeldric. "Von Selaniir will also be transferred to my custody."
"No," Varian snapped, trying to establish a semblance of dominance. "You will do as I say or there will be consequences."
"Varian… let me handle this," Jaina whispered.
Daeldric grinned. It seemed he and Catherine had been completely wrong about Proudmoore. Unlike popular belief, even though her gentle tone pointed towards a very submissive and tender woman, Jaina Proudmoore was not Varian's little pet.
Jaina brushed past Varian and hoisted herself on one of the griffons. She looked towards Daeldric, her face devoid of any emotion this time. "Shall we, my Lord?"
A/N:
guest: Thank you for the review and I'm glad you still like the stories though I'm uncertain if Roose Bolton actually lives in Kul Tiras. Nobles complained after all that Daeldric was tortured in the letter in chapter 1! Though he is a noble I suppose...