It was two days after the siege of Ambermill. Sylvanas was back in the Undercity and had been hurrying through a great deal of tasks, tasks she did not have the time or inclination to tend to at the current time but even less opportunity to delegate as things stood. It was imperative to deal with them quickly as she had certain far more vital concerns on her schedule today. Not least the funerals for Anthis and the rest of the fallen rangers.
Sylvanas had spent the last half hour briefing Varimathras on the siege and the mysterious destroyers, as her rangers had taken to calling them, deployed by whoever had commanded the enemy. She did not exactly relish it but there were reasons why she kept her chancellor around after all, and his expetise on the Scourge a very compelling one. Sylvanas thoughts on the debacle with the shackles notwithstanding, the dreadlord was anything but stupid. He had an especial knack for grasping the main point of a problem and the overlying large lines in a conflict. That was probably why he excelled at both manipulation as dreadlords did, and administering the Undercity Council.
If only she had been able to trust him without the many reservations she had very good reasons for having.
"…No, this new unit resembles nothing I am familiar with." Varimathras leaned back with his claw-like nails joined, which was the dreadlord's way of looking contemplative.
"Which means it is a new addition? Or that the liches kept secrets from you dreadlords?" Sylvanas asked pointedly.
"I would assume they did, and consider it unwise to rely on the opposite. Me and my brothers were tasked with keeping watch over the Lich King and the Scourge as a whole, rather than running it. But of course you know that."
Being a former Scourge general herself and having been a part of its despicable campaigns. It was immaculate deference and at the same time snide.
"And the Lich King himself? Could he have engineered these things without your knowledge?"
"We failed to anticipate his rebellious actions through the means of his champion and we were also taken by surprise by the Burning Legion's defeat and that champion's sudden return. It stands to reason that more things could have escaped our notice, and that a magically immune type of undead could obviously have served the Lich King well in his ultimate confrontation with the Legion."
"You use the past tense. What would have changed? I would assume the Legion would return at the first opportunity."
"Naturally. But by then I expect that My Queen will have carried out the task for them since long."
Which was correct. The Lich King would die next after his loathsome champion. But not because she did any demon's bidding.
"Who commands the Scourge in the south?" Sylvanas asked directly, although she was aware that Varimathras' knowledge would be obsolete at best.
"Obviously we can rule out the Lich Kings champion, who would never bear to let it remain a secret if he was arrogant enough to return." Even her chancellor was reluctant to speak the name. "The vast majority of the regular liches were employed near Icecrown for necromantic research or the raising or creation of new undead and structures that could be summoned. With my own kind no longer in place the most likely candidate would be another death knight. They were with few exceptions deployed in and around Lordaeron and know the land well."
"And which ones would have commanded in the south?"
"That is more than I can say."
"Your lack of usefulness is beginning to disappoint me, dreadlord."
"My Queen. Until just about the time of your…secession…the Scourge did not operate as a kingdom or an army where rulership or military command was delegated. Certain amounts of independent action was required from different agents, such as yourself, to fulfil their tasks but there was never a command structure in any real sense. All power and control over the undead stemmed from Ner'zhul and even his highest servants remained no more than that. We Nathrezim did not concern ourselves with which minion was sent where so long as our will was obeyed. What petty death knights or otherwise who operated in the north or south was of little importance to us."
"Perhaps you should have paid better attention. Then things might have worked out quite differently." Sylvanas gave him a hard smirk but in truth she felt no triumph. Circumstances outside her own control had weakened the Lich King's grip on her will and other circumstances had allowed her to lead the Forsaken into what counted as freedom for them. It could all have gone in many different ways.
"Perhaps we should. Ner'zhul's treachery was counted on of course but not the time and scale of it. If we had shown more foresight his champion could have been dealt with."
Not a single shift of tone or stature betrayed any emotion from Varimathras. Sylvanas allowed herself to show neither in return as the dreadlord salted that wound.
If, with or without demonic aid, she had succeeded in slaying Arthas as she had been so close to.
What would she have done then? Would she be able to lead the Forsaken with as much determination after the deed was accomplished?
"This unknown commander of the Scourge at Ambermill…"Varimathras continued. "What was his style? Presumably we are dealing with something vastly different from the ordinary necromancer coven with delusions of being generals, so I assume a death knight is the likeliest guess to start with?"
"No, he failed to anticipate my flanking attacks even though it should have been second nature to count on something like that. He threw all his strength in the centre at one time. That is not conventional military tactics, at least not sound ones."
"I see." The dreadlord made a pause. "And how about unconventional tactics, such as eliminating key strategic assets even at the cost of a lost battle? Such as the Scourge can recover from in a matter of time."
"That is the most easily discernible objective. They deliberately focused their artillery and their heavier units on our centre where my rangers and I fought, along with this new magic devouring creature."
"A troubling discovery. They are by all accounts the result of very accomplished necromancy." Varimathras paused before continuing. "Is it possible though, that they were a contingency rather than an ambush planned beforehand?"
"Possible. But the point is moot in my opinion. Whoever commanded the Scourge still sent them all forward against my ranger mage and considered their use and revelation an acceptable cost to eliminate Jaina Proudmoore."
"Ah, yes. The human mage has made herself known."
"She does have a name, Chancellor."
Varimathras did not acknowledge the mild admonishment and Sylvanas did not press the point. It was something that struck her as instinctively repelling about lingering on the subject of Proudmoore in the demon's presence. Perhaps because of the harm he had caused her by supplying the loathsome fel-induced shackles.
"I will be meeting with the City Council in full tonight before returning to Ambermill. We will enter Dalaran tomorrow."
"With her?" So Proudmoore was 'her' now? An improvement, at least.
"Yes."
Sylvanas did very much not like how her chancellor leaned back with his claw tips touching and his green gaze utterly inscrutable.
"At which point the Kirin Tor's archmage will finally be reunited with her own kin…" Varimathras said slowly.
"Meaning?"
"An observation. The balance of power will have shifted dramatically at that point."
Sylvanas did not like this new angle at all but she signed to him to continue.
"My Queen currently possesses the archmage as a hostage and – dare one say – the goodwill of her?" Sylvanas did neither confirm nor deny that. "In the middle of Dalaran where the former will no longer be a fact the latter may prove…insufficient. Humans are after all more reliably motivated by fear than affection."
"Proudmoore is different."
"Undoubtedly. For now."
Sylvanas said nothing but inside she boiled with something that was close to anger. Would there be not no damned end to the sickening lack of faith in Proudmoore because she was living? They were winning the bloody campaign thanks to her! How many times would she have to go through this? How many battles and how many scars on her mage's back would it take for her to earn the trust she deserved?!
"My Queen knows her rangers best, obviously." Varimathras continued. "It goes without saying that their esprit-de-corps and comradery coupled with their supreme fighting skills would impress anyone inducted into their ranks. Especially if that person had found herself in an alien and unsettling environment where the safety and reassurance provided by belonging would be so much more alluring. But will that person feel the same after black has given way to Krin Tor purple?"
"It will only be for one day. Less than one day."
"Negotiations have a tendency to be drawn out." Varimathras commented almost wryly.
Sylvanas had truthfully not counted on that, not really. At least not on her and her mage staying inside the city for any extended time. She was set on saying her thing and leave the wizards to debate at a safe distance and with Proudmoore still with her. That was the most reasonable approach as a Forsaken, given that she had decided to attend in person to add the reassurance her personal involvement would signify.
But Proudmoore was after all not Forsaken. She would not be entering a city filled with what was currently at best only potential living enemies. She was an archmage who had grown up among the now largely ruined spires.
She would be coming home.
"Long or short, these negotiations places the Forsaken Queen in an exposed position."
"The Kirin Tor would not turn on one of their very own." Sylvanas scoffed. "Should it come to that, I am not without means to defend myself and my ranger mage would teleport us out at any sign of trouble."
"Let us assume that we were in the Kirin Tor's position." Varimathras leaned back just slightly. "Let us assume also that we for various reasons did not desire an undead nation growing at our doorstep. What would we do?"
"Proudmoore as a Kirin Tor agent in our ranks? Preposterous." They had just about kidnapped the mage and Sylvanas had been close to killing her with her Wail in the process. Belore!
"I concern myself with facts, My Queen. Facts and probabilities. Deliberate or not, My Queen's ranger mage has been instrumental in enabling the Forsaken to clear Dalaran's northern flank from the Scourge. We also know for a fact how instinctively mistrusted – at best – all undead are among the living. Let us consider what the Kirin Tor knows and sees. They see one undead faction crumble before another, if anything. A rising new power, a Banshee Queen instead of a Lich King, but undead all the same. Improbably, but not impossibly, the Kirin Tor knows that it was her envoys they murdered on sight and that it was on her order that Grand Marshal Othmar Garithos was slain."
"Thank you for outlining our political position, Chancellor, it was news to me." Sylvanas dripped with sarcasm but in truth Varimathras was by all means factually correct.
"Now, consider the position of the Kirin Tor. They are lacking any sizeable army and their city lies still largely in ruin. They lack the means to openly confront either us or the Scourge in the field without great risk. Then, through a most improbable development, they find one of their best mages in Forsaken custody. Gaining the Forsaken Queen's trust." Varimathras paused slightly. "What would be their most probable course of action?"
Sylvanas could not resist. She barked out a loud and hard laugh.
"Proudmoore as a Kirin Tor spy sent to manipulate me into doing the wizards' bidding, is that it?"
"A far more preferable method for a militarily weakened city, would it not be?"
"Is your memory by some chance escaping you? She nearly got herself killed striving to preserve undead lives."
And would have stood a far better chance at doing that and escaping unscathed had it not been for Varimathras' own doing.
"By ensuring that undead Forsaken and living Scarlet Crusaders would cease fighting each other and focus on the greater threat that is the Scourge. Something that would hardly be out of alignment with the Kirin Tor's interests."
Sylvanas shook her head. Varimathras had not been there. He had not seen Proudmoore's compelling agitation and insistence after speaking with her rangers, not seen the naïve but so very moving naked hope she conveyed. And Sylvanas would not be the one to tell him about it.
"It can safely be assumed that the Hearthglen negotiations did not go according to anyone's plan, no matter what agenda the mage has." The dreadlord said it almost dryly. "And the Scourge attack on the capital would have been equally inconvenient. But the fact remains that every action taken by her after that has contributed to the weakening of both the Scourge and the Forsaken forces in Lordaeron while costing Dalaran nothing. Two undead nations, balancing each other out and ensuring that neither has resources to devote to crushing the last living stronghold of note in the region. Now, faced with the prospect of one of them rising to – possibly – dominance, what would be the Kirin Tor's next logical move if its leader presented herself within striking distance?"
"Not gaining another enemy by provoking hostility through regicide could be a fine start." Sylvanas pointed out but she knew how hollow that argument rang. If you assumed the overlying hostility towards the undead that Varimathras did, and that all experiences so far pointed at, then Dalaran would at worst have a less coherent enemy to contend with. And at best see the Forsaken fracture and fall to infighting like the Scourge previously had. "So? The risks are huge as they have always been, so what else is knew? And even if the Kirin Tor planned something along these lines, how the hell would they have cooked up the plot to let Proudmoore become my prisoner initially? That is madness."
"On that I agree. A far more easily imagined interpretation of events is that she has chosen to stay, and a far more relevant question is why. How is it that the human, living mage has not yet used her very apparent portalling abilities to leave at the first available opportunity?"
"She sees the greater need to unite against the Scourge." Which was true and important, but not nearly as important as the way Proudmoore smiled when dark rangers were watching over her, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked with them, the way she wore her ranger cloak like it was woven of diamonds.
Because her heart was large enough to hold a place even for undead.
Or so Sylvanas had told herself. And hoped. And found that the thought of it being otherwise frightened her to the bone.
Like far too many times, she felt as if Varimathras saw exactly what she was thinking, and she wanted to wrap herself in shadow, to escape the inscrutable fel gleam of his unblinking eyes.
"Perhaps. I hope that My Queen is correct in that, for I would not relish letting our fates hang by the thin thread of one fickle human's affection for the same living dead who devastated her home and murdered her Master."
Jaina had not wanted to stay away from Sylvanas at a hard time and least of all now, but when she noticed how Anya led them to stand at Areiel's side she agreed completely with the decision.
Didn't a ranger captain have anyone to stay by her side at a time like this? That was heartbreaking.
The pyres of Anthis Sunbow and the other fallen rangers were crackling and the smell was from them was right now nauseating. It was probably not respectful to think that way but Jaina couldn't help it. Not when she knew what it was.
Human Forsaken soldiers had made an agreement of sorts to be burned and buried in the field where they fell, at least if they were victorious, as in other cases they could probably not count on having any burial service at all. Lordaeron, all of it, was theirs by right and they would walk wherever they pleased in it, fight the Scourge wherever they pleased for it, and be buried anywhere in their own lands. The battlefields belonged to their fallen who had won them.
The dark rangers were not at home in Lordaeron. Not in that way. And they claimed no fields, and held no ground in the same manner as the regular forces. They patrolled endlessly back and forth, raiding and scouting and harassing their foe. They brought their – mercifully few – dead back with them to mask their numbers and what they were, and because they would rarely be given time to conduct a proper burial in the field. Instead they interred the ashes of their fallen outside the capital city in a secluded copse of trees. If new trees would ever grow there, they would be the only tombstones worthy of an elven ranger.
Jaina despised funerals. She did not know how to act and could not think of what to say that would make anything easier for anybody. But just to watch in silence as the flames consumed the wood and cloaked bodies – the armour and bows were kept but the rangers shrouded their fallen in their cloaks – was stifling.
Something tugged at her sleeve. Anya was silently beckoning her to come closer to Areiel. Anya walked noiselessly as usual and Jaina just about tip-toed the few small steps to match her silence as far as possible.
"You don't like being here, do you Jaina?" Areiel asked lowly without turning her head.
Jaina wanted to hide her face and disappear through the ground, however unbecoming that kind of metaphor was at a time like this. Was she being that obvious? So that it showed? How…how utterly mean of her in that case. But Areiel made no such allusion.
"Neither do I." The ranger captain sounded heavy, heavy and tired like she never was otherwise. "Some things, most things I suppose, gets easier with practice. But not all."
Sometimes a loved animal would put its head in your lap when it sensed your distress. Westley's horses would brush their noses against him when he talked to them. It looked the same when Anya glided over to Areiel's right side and held out her cloak. A silent question, or offer, to just be close to her.
Being unneeded to shield them from the cold, the rangers' cloaks were no less important to them. Very important. And very significant.
Areiel sighed almost imperceptibly and let herself lean a little on Anya. The rest of the squadron had followed her and circled around Areiel just as silently, like when they covered Jaina against the wind.
Jaina hesitated, teetering on the edge of the tightly clustered ring. It was so touching to see, and she would very much want to comfort Areiel if she could, but she also hadn't been with the rangers for a long time and nothing like elves who had served together for decades or centuries. This could very well be such a moment where it would be most considerate to allow the others a little bit of distance.
Or so Jaina was thinking when Kitala reached out and pulled her even closer to the rest of them. Pulled her in.
"Before you came to us, Jaina, Anthis led a scouting party on a deep foray to track down some of our missing envoys sent to the human lands. It was a highly dangerous mission and I believe she had desperately wanted to be able to bring some hope back to us. Finding that our envoys had been killed on sight got to her deeply." Areiel spoke thoughtfully while Anya and Clea huddled close to their captain. "Seeing you help us like you have, and Cyndia's rescue, must have meant a lot to her after that. She was growing very fond of you, Jaina. And she admired you greatly, Anya, for how you looked out for your squadron and kept their spirits up."
"She did?" Jaina felt so bad. Anthis and her squadron had never visited her tent and joked with her like Kalira's and Amora's had. But she would have let them. Invited them in, gladly, if only she had known. All night long if they wanted.
"She cared a lot more for a lot of people than she let know." Areiel said gently. "And she died defending her sisters and the first living human to show us kindness. She died clearing the path to Dalaran for us. That is a worthy end."
"I got…lost in that mist. I'm…" Jaina stopped herself before saying that she was sorry. Sylvanas' lessons about not apologising reflexively for things out of her hands had stuck. "I'm so sorry that she is dead. That all of them are. It is so cruel. You have already died once!"
Jaina's voice was starting to shake and she stopped herself, fearing that she had said something she shouldn't. But to her astonishment the old ranger captain huffed out a sad laugh.
"Sometimes… Yes, I quite agree with you, Jaina. One time should be enough for anybody." Areiel stretched out her left arm for Jaina. "Come here. I think I need a little bit of warmth right now."
Jaina hadn't realised until then that she was crying. She fell into Areiel's arms and hugged her as hard as she could.
"Most new rangers are allowed to feel invincible for longer than two mere months..." Areiel mumbled into her ear. "You are one of us Jaina, and you lost sisters too. And you never got the chance to know them. If that is not cruel I do not know what is."
"I would have died if it wasn't for Irizadan." Jaina said in a small voice and felt just as small. "When my magic failed I just didn't know what to do."
How stupid that sounded when she said it. She hadn't even thought of just trying to teleport away, or invisibility, or conjuring mists of her own or anything else practical in the surreal situation. She had acted like a panicking first year apprentice and needed to be rescued instead of rescuing. And she could not rid herself of the sickening, nagging thought that if she hadn't, there would have been less pyres here and outside Ambermill.
"We assigned him to keep track of our junior mages. You can say that he has something of experience in keeping watch over spellcasters. And he apparently decided that you counted as part of the assignment." Areiel said with palpable affection.
"I think I'll have to kiss Ire some day. Even if Spite would flay me." Kitala said.
"Spellbreaker is a bad designation." Anya said. "It doesn't do him justice anymore. It should be spellkeeper."
"Spellkeeper… I think he would like that. That is another one who cares more than he lets others see, Jaina." Areiel sounded regretful.
Jaina hugged her harder. At least that she knew how to do.
"Areiel…I mean Captain Areiel…"
"Right now I would want to be just Areiel to anyone, I think." Areiel whispered.
"Don't ranger captains get to have a ranging partner? Don't you get…lonely?"
Areiel stiffened in Jaina's arms. She did not push her away, and she did not let Jaina attempt to pull herself away either, but she did not answer.
"We think Areiel's ranging partner could still be alive." Kitala finally said, very hesitantly.
"It is not…it does not change anything right now." Areiel sighed as she relaxed a little. "And you are right, Jaina. I am a bow widow – you know that expression, don't you? – in every respect, even if I was the one who died. Ranger captains tend to have a partner acting as their adjutant and bodyguard, or quartermaster of the company. Since we don't need to sleep I managed most of those duties on my own."
"But…"
"But maybe I should not overlook the fact that it does sometimes get very lonely."
"You had better not. Otherwise I will go straight to Anthis and tell on you." Anya sounded both threatening and sad at the same time and Areiel actually smiled at her.
The pyres had nearly burnt down. They stood and watched in silence, and Jaina channelled a little bit of fire magic around her to warm herself and Areiel and the rest of her squadron.
"Anthis Sunbow, how dare you leave me like this?" Areiel whispered, still with one arm around Jaina and the other around Anya while Clea, Kitala and Lyana huddled around them. "Only half your squadron is left. Tomorrow I have to speak to them and try to determine if they need to be thrown back into work or into someone's arms. I will do my best, but I am going to wish you were still with us a great many times very soon."
" Rest well, dear friend. And hug Floria and Blaise from me on the other side. They were so proud of you."
The ceremony lasted for as long as it took for the pyres to burn down, pretty much. Jaina was relieved that they didn't have to stay and watch the ashes be collected but could accompany Areiel a little longer.
"Sylvanas asked to see you after the funeral, Anya. I got the impression that she meant your whole squadron."
"We'll go there."
"Will you be alright, Ranger Captain?" Jaina worried.
"Not for some time, no. But as long as there is a single dark ranger left I will be there. Alright or not alright. Don't keep the Dark Lady waiting now."
How dared he?
How, the hell, dared he?
The anger had been slowly boiling inside Sylvanas during the entire ceremony. More and more, as such things tended to do after a tense situation in which you had to make an effort to maintain your composure and only afterwards could allow yourself to actually feel what you were feeling.
It was not the criticism in itself. Sylvanas wanted to believe herself better than to take offense from that and while she may be quite partial she still remained convinced of her ability to stay above that. She could objectively agree that Varimathras raised valid points. She could see the logic in his reasoning, based on what he knew and what he counted on. She could applaud the boldness required from anyone to raise those concerns. Her chancellor was a valuable critical voice that any leader or ruler needed to listen to in order to stay sharp.
Her chancellor was also a piece of fel-stinking filth!
The concerns about Proudmoore being compromised and her motives unclarified was one thing. The woman was a foreign head of state for Belore's sake! What Sylvanas could not condone was the ever-present jibes and remarks and reminders about her mage's humanity. She found herself seething with growing, fuming anger the more she thought about it.
Perhaps it was how it mirrored the treatment she and all other Forsaken had received. Perhaps it stirred the overwhelming feelings of the crushing injustice of their fate. Perhaps it simply felt like such a disrespectful…insult against someone Sylvanas had come to care a great deal about?
She had kept to herself during the funeral, torn between the lingering and rising outrage and the grief for her fallen rangers. It was better that way. Sylvanas did not fully trust herself to be able to act with the dignity that her rangers deserved.
It was hard not to think of this as another failure. It was another hard-won victory. Another dwindling of the Forsaken ranks. Another culling of trusted friends and loyal comrades in the great dark that was their current existence.
She was infinitely relieved to see Anya offering her comfort to Areiel when Sylvanas herself could provide none at this moment. How paltry.
She was back in her rooms now, with facts and implications and probabilities and worries in a tangle inside her mind.
Sylvanas did not trust Varimathras in the sense that she felt confident about his motives. It was unfortunate that the fact did not necessarily invalidate all he said. Sylvanas would still have preferred a critical voice like Areiel or Kalira raising the concerns.
Facts and probabilities? More like facts and implications!
So be it. Sylvanas would go over the damned facts then. She would maintain her calm and her control and conduct a thorough investigation before making judgement. Or at least as thorough as she would be able to, namely questioning her ranger squadron. What they did not know about Proudmoore none other among the Forsaken could be counted on knowing either.
Only after that would she make her final decision about how to proceed with Dalaran. Acting with too little concern was foolish but abstaining from acting because of too much concern was equally foolish. The sweet spot that any commander had to look for was knowing what risks were worth taking and when to trust and when to gamble. There was no more unforgiving task in the world.
…a far more relevant question is why. How is it that the human, living mage has not yet used her very apparent portalling abilities to leave at the first available opportunity?
Proudmoore had not deserted them because she was a bloody faithful ranger mage, that was why!
Sylvanas forced herself to think through their unlikely interactions. Her mage had rarely left her sight, or side for that matter, during the first weeks when they were at sea. If she would have had some sort of contact with the Alliance it should still have been at that time before the deluge of events and Proudmoore's convalescence after Hearthglen. The other alternative would have been after she had been freed from her cuffs and appointed ranger mage. The latter alternative was the more likely but it left Proudmoore's behaviour up until then unexplained by the supposed foreign agent theory.
Could she have communicated with home during their journey across the sea? Not impossible, even though it seemed unlikely given how watched and exhausted she had been. But if she had managed some sort of portal spell, why had she stayed put at that time at all and not gone home?
If Sylvanas followed Varimathras' line of thought it would have been because Proudmoore had already then decided, or had it decided for her, that she should stay to find out more and possibly undermine this new potential undead faction.
Sylvanas had left her unsupervised a handful of times when she was sure the mage was sleeping soundly from channelling the magical current throughout the day. To her knowledge they had not let Proudmoore out of their sights at any other time.
But.
Her mage had been carrying this small bag of belongings with her during the later part of the journey. Not only the night shift they had captured her in. It was such a small and paltry thing that Sylvanas had not wanted to delve deeper into, busy as she was with brooding over how to keep Proudmoore subdued once they landed and hating the idea of doing it. And instinctively not wanting to begrudge her mage of that little thing and what, rummage through the woman's underwear and night clothes? Sylvanas had some damned decency left at least.
How though, had Proudmoore come across her small personal wardrobe? She had explained it away with some flippant remarks about conjuring, but since then she had proven to be a surprisingly inept conjurer when it came to wholesome food at least, though learning quickly. It was not Proudmoore's strongest field at least. Maybe clothes and food were different and clean clothes were something the mage had been envisioning more than carrots.
Or, she had managed to bring them to her in a very much more simple and at the same time advanced way, by creating a portal home and grabbing what she needed. Because teleportation magics were not Jaina Proudmoore's weak point.
Sylvanas did not want to believe it. She could by now very well imagine Proudmoore being capable of the quite astounding feat of magic, but the inclination? Her blushing, prattling, impressionable and, at least to Sylvanas' current knowledge, almost compulsively honest mage managing the emotional strain of playing them all false?
Unless everything was false or Proudmoore was made some form of unknowing tool for someone else. Made to tell a large lie through small truths and half-truths.
That first time they had landed, when Clea had spun her around and Proudmoore had fallen down giggling from her dizziness with her rangers smiling all around her. Sylvanas had been unable to stop herself from doing the same.
"So, Lady Proudmoore, you intend to both curse my rangers and press them into your service?"
"I find myself quite outnumbered, Lady Windrunner, and forced to resort to shameful methods. Divide and conquer, as they say."
"They do indeed, Lady Proudmoore. Shall I need to worry about how you intend to…conquer us all, perhaps?"
"You never know, maybe all that has happened is part of my master plan to do just that."
The banter with Proudmoore had been ridiculous, amusing and an absolutely wonderful distraction from everything.
And if that exchange hid truth behind irony and joking, and Belore knew how many other similar conversations? Could it?
How many times had Sylvanas not found herself smiling at the way she could unsettle her mage and watch her shift between flushed speechlessness and adorable pretended huffing at the Dark Lady's impropriety?
She was walking down a familiar road. She had doubted and misjudged her mage twice and loathed herself for it ever since.
Enough!
Sylvanas rose and forced every miserable speculation out of her head. She could not be trusted with these thoughts on her own. It was high time to call for her rangers.
Jaina fretted.
After Anya, Lyana, Clea and Kitala had been summoned to Sylvanas she had done…just that, and little else.
She missed her squadron and she missed Sylvanas and all the death and grief around her this day made Jaina prone to imagining the worst interpretation of things. She knew that she had that tendency, but stopping herself was easier said than done.
Were they talking about Anthis, was that why Sylvanas had called the other rangers in and not Jaina? Was Sylvanas thinking of breaking up the squadron, putting Anya in charge of the remnants of Anthis' one? What would happen to Jaina and the rest in that case?
Jaina knew that she was probably being childish, and selfish, and not very productive worrying herself useless in this manner. But not having Anya in her squadron…in truth, losing a single one of her friends as a squadmate for any reason terrified her.
Maybe she was working herself up over nothing. Sylvanas was not insensitive towards her rangers, surely she wouldn't split a squadron in two on a whim. Maybe the Dark Lady was simply describing a very important assignment she needed Anya's squadron for.
Was that what Sylvanas was doing now, handing out instructions to the rangers? Would she call Jaina in later and give her others, as a mage rather than a dark ranger? There could be any number of things that needed doing, or preparing for. Quite possibly in preparation for the visit to Dalaran tomorrow.
If she talked to Jaina later, would they be able to go over the subject of the Forsaken prisoners?
Could Jaina fin the words needed to make Sylvanas spare them? Send them away maybe, out of sight and out of people's minds and paint a picture of it as harsh punishment if anyone asked questions. Banishment from the Forsaken lands.
Anything would be better than Sylvanas ordering them killed.
Jaina wished Areiel hadn't had to go somewhere else. She wished she had anyone to talk things over with right now.
The corridors leading to the Forsaken's own dungeons – meaning the odd storerooms used as makeshift prison cells as opposed to the proper dungeons upstairs that were used as guest rooms for visiting archmages – were rather close by. Jaina remembered the layout of the not too large complex fairly well after following Sylvanas there to listen in on the testimony delivered to Areiel. A single soldier was standing guard by that entrance, a member of the dreadguards.
And there seemed to be something amiss.
There was a smaller and thinner Forsaken, just a boy in tattered ruins of clothes and with a decrepit look about him that contributed to the poor appearance. Fragments of an insistent conversation kept down reached Jaina's ears and now she concentrated on discerning what it was about. Just then the voices rose in both strength and intensity.
"You can not go inside and that is final!"
"Please!"
Jaina got up in a blink.
"What's going on, guardsman?" Jaina asked. She didn't actually know if that was the term the Forsaken infantry used but it sounded more polite than simply addressing him as 'dreadguard'.
The dreadguard eyed her suspiciously. He would be well aware of who Jaina was, like the rest of the Undercity by now, but the dark rangers did not outrank deathguards or dreadguards.
"He wants to visit the holding cells." The dreadguard nodded to the haggard-looking Forsaken boy. "He was in there earlier but let out."
Things fell into place at once for Jaina.
"You are the child in the group that…was detained." Jaina spoke out loud. "What's your name?"
"Tim." he said hesitantly and his damaged jaw made it a bit mumbled. "I just want to see my mum and dad!"
It was being chained to the Lich King that removed your humanity, not being undead as such, Jaina had come to conclude. The scene was heart-wrenching.
"Look, kid, be thankful you're out of there." The dreadguard was gruff but he did not strike Jaina as malicious. The comment did not land well, though.
"Thankful?! She's gonna kill my parents and you want me to be thankful?!"
"Hold up, here!" Jaina interrupted, suddenly cold inside. "Has the Dark Lady or anyone else forbidden visitors to the prisoners, Sir?"
"Wha…no, but this is supposed to be kept quiet. We can't have people walking about unsupervised." The irritation was clear in his voice but he would know as well as Jaina that denying the boy entrance would not make him more cooperative regarding the part of discretion.
"And you can obviously not escort him and keep watch here at the same time. I can assist with that." Jaina let ice cover her hand momentarily. "Trust me, no one runs away from me unless I allow it." While the dreadguard nodded somewhat hesitantly Jaina turned to the boy. "Keep in front of me, Tim."
"…and if you take this seriously, Dark Lady, I insist that you reassign Varimathras from chancellor to archery target!" Clea hissed.
When Clea was agitated she no longer shouted or barked at people. She could not. But Belore knew if her voice hadn't grown just a little during the latest months, and instead of an angry whisper this sounded more like an angry serpent that you would be wise to step away from.
"I do not like his notions one bit either, Clea. But this is more important than what I personally think. I need your help. I need to know if there are any objective facts that support the idea of any sort of compromising of Proudmoore."
"She is a head of state." Clea looked like she wanted to throw her hands into the air, almost. "So obviously she can have all sorts of weirdo ideas in her head, as those are known for."
Sylvanas, despite the seriousness of the situation and the revolting topic, could not stop her mouth from drawing up.
"Quite right, Ranger Deathstrider. And as far as I can imagine Theramorian interests could lie both in our ruin and in an alliance with us, but has she had any contact with her people? Could she have?"
"None of us really knows what a mage like her can do or can not do…" Kitala said unsurely. "I for one wouldn't be too sure about Jaina being unable to do anything anymore. She just needs to figure it out first. I bet she'll turn herself into a dragon one day and melt the Frozen Throne for us."
And barring that, one just needed to look at them now, Sylvanas conceded. Sitting in the Undercity, brought there by Jaina's portal. The city that had been saved by Jaina's furious magic, after which that same magic had won them half the Dalaran campaign. No, assuming that Jaina was anything but capable would be utterly wrong.
"There was one time…when I walked into her tent." Anya started, very hesitantly. "There wasn't any sort of spell I saw, I just got the feeling that I had disturbed something she really didn't want me to see. I didn't think about it afterwards because…because I had something important to show her."
Sylvanas looked with interest at Anya, who noticed it but apparently misjudged the reason for it.
"I, uhm, had repaired her mirror with Akara's help and I wanted to show it to her." Anya explained very lowly.
Clea burst out smiling warmly.
"Anya, you are the kindest. Did she like it?"
"Yes."
It was extremely out of place but Sylvanas could not help but share in her squadron's curiosity. It was unfortunate that she had to continue with the present subject instead.
"Are there any other occasions?"
"We lost sight of her at the lake. She just disappeared."
"At Lordamere Lake?"
"No, in Kalimdor. When we went ashore to gather food for her and Jaina swam in that lake where we had landed."
That was right. Sylvanas hadn't counted that time but Anya was indeed right. They had completely lost sight of her mage and Sylvanas had yelled at her rangers for it when Proudmoore reappeared. How it could have any bearing on the issue they discussed was harder to imagine, though. Proudmoore had probably looked quite nervous at the time but who wouldn't in her situation, with a ghostly Banshee Queen glaring down at you?
"There is one other thing, Dark Lady." Lyana had not said much yet but now she reached inside one of her many practical pockets. "When we were in the city last time, and we were playing with Loras' children by that pond…"
"What is it with Kul Tirans and water…" Sylvanas muttered. "Apologies, Lyana, please go on."
Lyana put a letter on the table. Or a paper with just a couple of lines written on it, strictly speaking.
"I found this on the ground beside. I think it is Jaina's but I didn't knowhow to bring it up and then all things happened with Ambermill and…" Lyana looked crestfallen but Sylvanas could not blame her.
"Dear Pained,
Like I have told you before, the dark rangers are incredibly useful."
Pained. Jaina's bodyguard and, presumably, vigilant guardian with the ungrateful mission of keeping her from starving and berating herself to an early grave.
The dark rangers are incredibly useful…
They certainly were. But was it a compliment praising her squadron or an assessment of an asset callously made use of?
Useful. Usually you would word heartfelt praise of a person slightly differently. Unless of course you were someone with the occasional bouts of quirky humour like a certain someone Sylvanas knew of.
The wording proved nothing.
The message was another matter.
"So she has sent messages before this one." Sylvanas concluded with an audible habitual sigh as her rangers passed the paper between themselves.
"Yeah, but…" Kitala begun but apparently did not know how to finish.
"So what?" Clea challenged and all eyes turned on her. "So what if Jaina has written home a few times? Is she our prisoner or our ranger mage? She has an island to run, should we have expected her to keep them in the dark?"
"They must be worried sick." Anya sounded sad. "And miss her."
It confirmed the possibility of what Varimathras suggested about Jaina receiving instructions from afar but contrary to what she expected Sylvanas felt lightened. Because Clea was damned right. Jaina Proudmoore was a responsible ruler who could not be blamed for writing home and if Theramore had any collective wits about them they would love their archmage dearly like she deserved.
Opportunity did not make one a culprit.
But Theramore.
Proudmoore was self-sacrificial to a fault and ready to give up seemingly everything for those under her care. Could that trait in some twisted way would be taken advantage of to make her give up her own friendships and sense of honour and decency for the greater good of Theramore? But what would be the plot and goal in such a case, that would persuade Proudmoore to act so against her convictions?
She has so far not fought any living enemies herself, only the Scourge undead. And yes, it could have been that she tried to negotiate peace with Scarlets out of concern for the living just as much as for Cyndia and the Forsaken. It could also be that the difference was not even meaningful to someone like her mage. She despised unnecessary bloodshed and that would by no means be incompatible with a growing fondness for Forsaken undead.
I would not relish letting our fates hang by the thin thread of one fickle human's affection for the same living dead who devastated her home and murdered her Master.
It was more than affection, it was Proudmoore's sense of duty and decency and loyalty too but Varimathras' point still stood. It was a gamble to approach Dalaran, with or without her mage's company. It was a gamble to approach any foreign faction with her mage beside her.
It would always be a gamble.
So how lucky did the Banshee Queen feel?
Sylvanas had after all seen comparably little of her mage acting reasonably freely, except while they had been fighting the Scourge. The time when she was imprisoned was inaccurate material to judge her character by even if Sylvanas could not really point out a clear difference. Her mage was more serious after being made a ranger, obviously, but for all her early awkwardness she had not exactly been subdued by being kept on the Banshee's Wail or in her dungeon. Proudmoore seemed to like to put up that kind of act at times, but her eyes shone and sparkled so oddly when she did that when Sylvanas was near, that she couldn't believe it was genuine.
People's behaviour could change notably even if their ultimate goals did not, to mentally deal with an extreme situation. Such as finding oneself under the control and in the constant company of a score of charismatic and compelling undead elves, possibly. But in another environment, another context, another company, what then?
Sylvanas would never know. She would ever be sure.
"My rangers. Do each of you trust Jaina Proudmoore?"
"With all we have."
"Yes!"
"Always."
"To our deaths, and beyond it. She is our sister."
So again, how lucky did the Banshee Queen feel?
Too lucky. Because Jaina Proudmoore was too good to be true. But Sylvanas would trust her anyway.
She would. She would throw herself head over heels along this path of catastrophe and disappointment, for such results beckoned along every path and if that would be her fate she would sooner meet it without having misjudged her mage unjustly a third time. For if she could not trust the judgement of her own ranger squadron, what could she trust at all?
"Good. Then I will...talk to her about these letters and let her explain. And tomorrow we will enter Dalaran together."
It was a dismal place.
Not that Jaina should have expected anything else. Her own dungeon was a very rare exception to the dreary norm that were dungeons worldwide. Flickering torchlight illuminated criss-crossing bars fencing off a part of a long and narrow room behind which eleven shadowy, ghoulish forms languished in cramped spaces.
They did not need to eat. They did not need to breathe fresh air. They did not need to sleep.
Jaina pitied them right now regardless.
She could see the improvised manner of the whole area. The bars and barred and locked door looked strong enough but there was a hasty, uneven and rough impression of it al, like it had been bolted together with haste. She wanted to believe that Sylvanas and whoever built this cell for her did not intend to stuff it full of so many people at once, or at all.
"Mum!"
"Timmy?"
"Timmy!" A second voice sounded from the deeper shadows. Tim's father, it had to be. "Are you hurt?"
"No. She let me come in."
Jaina didn't quite know how to act but nodded quickly in confirmation at least. She felt her heart pounding, knowing that she shouldn't be here but unwilling to leave all the same. She wanted to know each and every thing about why Tim's fears for his parents' lives echoed her own.
"My boy, you shouldn't be here... She will be angry with you."
Jaina coughed.
"Your son has been allowed to enter. He is not breaking any rule visiting here."
Tim's mother looked up and seemed to study her.
"What will happen to him? After..." Her voice died down.
"After what?" Jaina inquired, tense as a bowstring.
"Don' toy with us." Tim's father shook his head. "She won't forgive what we've done... She doesn't forgive. Timmy, Timmy if she brings us out to do it you mustn't watch, you hear me? You mustn't."
Jaina grew ever colder. Both of hearing him speak that way of Sylvanas with lingering dread like she was the Lich King himself or close enough, and his conviction that she would have nothing but their deaths in store for them.
"I was under the impression that no sentence had been pronounced yet." Jaina said carefully.
The Forsaken man just huffed with disbelief mixed with despair. Someone laughed bitterly from further inside the gloom.
"I've heard them talk about you. The living woman who wears the black cloak." Jaina heard the noise of something she reckoned was spitting. "How can ye?"
"And who might you be, Master...?" Jaina replied as calmly as she could.
"Gren. Whatever."
"I wear the dark rangers' cloak with pride because they have offered me friendship and protection, and I will fight against the Lich King by their side."
"Heh. That'd be a first."
"What do you mean by that, Master Gren?"
He came closer to the light. A skeletal-looking creature, badly withered and wearing his suffering for all the world to see.
"You've no idea, have you? She hunted us down like beasts! She and her accursed black-cloaks! Like we were vermin to her!" Jaina's initial confusion only seemed to fuel his quiet, quivering ire. "We -" Gren indicated the miserable group around him "- did not fall to the plague or the demons or anything for a year. We stayed hidden, sheltering in the darkest, wettest mountains and hills and always moving with one eye over our shoulder. Then she came, with her dark-cloaked elves and hunted us down one by one. What threat did we pose? What could we do?!"
"But...but that was before they broke free from the Lich King's control!" Jaina protested. She knew what he would be referring to. The skeletons and the burned out houses that had met her on the road from the harbour. The terrible things Sylvanas had alluded to that haunted each and every ranger night and day.
"Yeah, sure... Yesterday in the Lich King's name, today in her own, what does it matter... She hates humans, that one. She despises us. We're just her tools at best."
Tim caught Jaina's attention at that time. He was stretching his arms through the bars and holding on with all strength he had to his mother and father as if he could pull them through the narrow gaps. He had no tears but he was shaking all the same.
Jaina opened her mouth to reassure him that they were wrong, that the Dark Lady was deep down not what they imagined. That she was just.
What if she was wrong?
What if Sylvanas was preparing right now to drag them out one by one to take their heads publicly? Making the most of the vile act she would think herself forced to commit, practical as she always was?
She wouldn't. Jaina's Dark Lady, who had let her send the Scarlet prisoners away and who had held Jaina in her arms afterwards would not do such a thing.
Yet what if she did?
Jaina could not bear to think about it. That would not be her Sylvanas standing cold and cruel to watch these wretched Forsaken be beheaded before her eyes. That would be a twisted mirror image of her, the Sylvanas that the Lich King had forced her to be. That Arthas had forced her to be.
Jaina trembled. Her pulse was pounding like hammer strokes inside her and her heart was the hammer. It was as if it would strike her ribs so they broke.
She had to sit down, to take hold of something. The wall. Where was the wall? Where...?
Jaina swayed and up was down and down was up but somehow she remained on her feet while the dizziness passed over her and left her light-headed and blinking. How could she have breathed so rapidly and still be out of breath?
She cursed the presence of these Forsaken traitors, or whatever they were that she presently didn't care about. She cursed every link in the chain of events that had brought them here to drag Sylvanas down and destroy her. She cursed the Scarlets who had set it all in motion. She cursed the Scourge whose fault everything was in the end.
Her hearing returned to normal gradually as the relentless pounding quieted.
"...my boy, go, you have to go...be brave for us. You are all we have. Tim, please, go..." It physically hurt to hear the words.
"You still sure of yourself, black-cloak?" Gren mocked her but it was a hollow sort of defiance. "They ever tell you of Marshal Garithos, eh?" He spat another time. "She had him killed in cold blood, by that pet demon of hers they say, when he stopped being useful. Even after he'd lent her aid against those other demons and undead here. That's the queen's loyalty for you."
Jaina wanted to shut him out. She wanted to shut everything out, she wasn't up to this, she couldn't do this. She wanted to shut out the sight of Tim who wouldn't let go of his parents, who had not the heart to force him to despite their insistence that he must.
Those poor people who had been lured to the cellars of vile beings like Sister Grete would never come back. Taking Tim's parents from him would never bring anyone back.
Would Sylvanas do it?
Was Jaina prepared to find out? To give her trust?
What if she was wrong?
Then it would be to late.
When Jaina raised her hand it felt like some else's. Was it her hand she was watching? Had she become a spectre herself now, a banshee hovering above her own body and sensing what it did from a distance?
The whole...everything...felt surreal. Like a dream. A dream where she spoke some kind of words she did not remember to Tim. A dream where she drank from her sweet and storming mana, unsteady and flickering in her grasp as she wove the intricate pattern of an arcane portal and stretched across Azeroth's mesmerising webs of magical energies. West. West where they had intended for Westley to be safe. Further west. Far from the Undercity, far from Sylvanas so they could not cause her to do harm to herself. Far from the screaming mobs crying out for ever more death despite it being everywhere around them. Far, far, until she reached the sea.
When the shining portal snapped into place eleven hoarse throats gasped. Light from it illuminated them, shining on ghoulish features and haggard forms all over them.
"Go." Jaina whispered.
The hesitation was palpable, but even it did not last forever. The first step through the light was followed by another and then the first one disappeared. Then the next. And the next. And next.
Until only Tim's mother and father were left.
"Tim. You must let go. You will be safe here. And we...we will be safe there. Wherever this will lead us."
"Take me with you!" Tim screamed. "I want to go with you!"
"You could never return." Jaina heard herself speaking, but her voice was so calm. How could it be? "You could not go back to the Undercity, not to any place ruled by the Dark Lady. Do you understand that?"
"I don't care!"
"Then you must do as your father says and I will let you go with them."
Jaina took two steps forward, took him by the arm and pried it from his father's. On the other side Tim's mother did the same and with a flash of white Jaina had brought them both inside the bars.
"Never lend aid to the Lich King or the enemies of the Forsaken. Go."
Together, in a huddling mass of bony limbs, the last three Forsaken walked through.
Jaina collapsed against the wall and let the portal fade away. All was quiet. So quiet.
She breathed small, quiet breaths, like she would break apart if she tried anything more. The enormity of what she had just done loomed just over the horizon of Jaina's mind. She could hardly believe it herself. Had she saved them all from themselves, or had she thrown everything away now?
Maybe she should stay here, inside the bars, as a trade for those she had let out? Jaina felt like laughing hysterically at the entire situation.
No. What would Anya think if she wasn't there? And Sylvanas. Jaina would have a lot to explain to her. Not only for her own sake but in order to give Sylvanas the opportunity to slavage what she could and turn this into something she could make use of to satisfy her discontent subjects.
Jaina rose on slightly wobbly legs and teleported back out in the corridor again.
People just shouldn't put up unwarded dungeons like this if they didn't want other people to come and go at their convenience, should they? Then she imagined what Sylvanas would look like if she heard her say that and hurried her steps back out.
Yes, she would have a lot to explain to her Dark Lady…
"Hey, where did that kid go?"
In her unhinged state she had forgotten the dreadguard on post.
"I-I saw him out of there. He was much calmer after I brought him to his parents." Jaina lied truthfully.
The dreadguard nodded curtly and Jaina though she detected approval. She felt doubly bad for deceiving him. She would tell Sylvanas at the first opportunity and underline that she was solely responsible.
Yes. She would tell the Dark Lady that and explain her reasons and beg for her understanding.
The Dark Lady, who was in fact striding purposefully towards her right there.
Sylvanas did not look disapproving but she looked very determined, like she had something she was about to do or there was something important she had decided.
"Ranger Proudmoore. We will return to the encampment shortly. I want to speak with you in private as soon as we get back. Wait for me in your tent after you have portalled us there."
"Y-Y-Yes, Dark Lady"
Sylvanas stepped onto the hard ground in the middle of the Forsaken field camp filled with purpose. She would just alert Kalira of her return and inform her that she did not want to be disturbed for the next couple of hours. And afterwards she would ask Areiel about the state of Anthis' rangers and of Areiel herself. Then she could hopefully share the good news that she and Proudmoore had cleared the air about these letters and explain her own distancing during the funerary service. Sylvanas was well aware of the fact that her old mentor enjoyed the company of others during hard times but was not as good at asking for it.
Like tutor like pupil, Anya would say.
Apart from most of the dark rangers there had been a handful of other people joining them on this trip and they now passed in single file through the portal held open by Proudmoore who crossed last and let it close and fade behind her.
The rangers were splitting apart and Sylvanas noted that someone seemed to be talking to Areiel and that the ranger captain stiffened visibly. Was it something she needed to look into? Yes, Sylvanas knew her captain well enough to see when something was out of place and when Areiel caught her eye and nodded her over it was just confirmation.
Areiel cast a quick glance around them when Sylvanas neared her.
"Dark Lady, there has been a…development regarding the prisoners."