Unity: Defiance - Chapter 3
Heeeey, youuuuu guuuuuuys… it’s Part 3!
Title: Unity: Defiance
Part: 3 of 5 + Epilogue
Word Count: 5447 (of this part)
Includes: Violence, drama, cunning use of plot, ninja-pirate-assassin-architects, alcohol and tobacco use (mild), angst, mentioned (semi-original) character death.
Pairings: Thrall/Jaina, mentioned Mathias/Edwin and Varian/Lianne
Summary: Jaina travels to Moonbrook to get some answers.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Sidestory: Linguistics
13 14 15 16 17 18
Sidestory: Defiance - 1 2
Empathy can only take one so far, Jaina thought grimly as she gazed across the town of Moonbrook. The town had been prosperous before the orcs had invaded: located close to a large, prosperous mine and an equally prosperous port, Moonbrook had linked southern Stranglethorn to Azeroth. Even now, the abandoned lighthouse was still visible from the town’s centre, marked by a once proud, and now dilapidated, fountain.
The orcs had changed Moonbrook’s fortune for the worse. A band of ogres that had come through the Dark Portal had made their way to Moonbrook, seizing control of the mine with contemptible ease. Their filth had given rise to horrible slime creatures that had attacked every mining party still trapped inside them. Orcs -- some said only two, others said dozens -- had followed, killing many. Finally, an ancient, sacred tome had been stolen and brought there, and while Anduin Lothar himself had come to retrieve it, he’d needed a second force to get back out again.
Friendly or hostile, an army hurts, Jaina thought. Their port had been destroyed, their town overrun, their fields polluted. Many had been killed, and they had fled north when they could, or cowered in the northern mines when they could not. None of this would have been, as such, preventative towards making Moonbrook prosper once more, except...
Except that they never got the help they needed, and now it’s all gotten worse.
It had taken a huge number of resources to rebuild Stormwind, and Lakeshire had been one of the townships directly in the path of the Horde. Goldshire, the main community outside of Stormwind, had been similarly battered, and others had not made it through the war, being absorbed into other communities. Even Darkshire, as close as it had been to Deadwind Pass and the ominous tower of Karazhan had been given more priority than Westfall. Westfall was on the other side of Elwynn Forest. It was known for being rather large, very flat, and utterly disinteresting. With more emphasis being put on rebuilding Stormwind’s port, Moonbrook’s had fallen by the wayside. The interest in Longshore was non-existent. The usefulness of the distant Jasperlode mine was limited, and what could be removed from the quarries was claimed immediately for Stormwind’s massive rebuilding project. Many of Westfall’s inhabitants had signed on to the project, believing that poverty was about to be at an end any day.
Theoretically, all Westfall had to do was wait. So they waited. They scraped by on what could be spared from Stormwind and its slowly growing army, the determination never to be caught off guard again. In reality, their help would never come. Once Stormwind was partially rebuilt, it was attacked again. Once it was completed, as coffers strained to compensate, things went by the wayside. Projects were cancelled. The entirety of the Stonemason’s Guild was informed that they would not be paid.
Some had committed suicide then, not waiting to see if it would ever get better. They had staked everything on the crown’s ability to repay their debts and for that their faith had been cast aside, dashed on the rocks. Others had grown angry, and none so angry as Edwin VanCleef. The disaffected had followed him into Stormwind, followed him onto its newly built streets for the riot, and followed him into exile and a life of crime. The people of Westfall had largely looked the other way, and it had become a haven for the Defias Brotherhood.
Moonbrook had never been rebuilt, never recovered, and everyone who lived there had become a little harder, a little colder, and a little more paranoid.
One thing they weren’t paranoid about were arcane wards, Jaina thought to herself, fighting down her anger and disgust at the situation. Seeing Moonbrook was hard. She’d heard of the situation. She’d read the reports. It was one thing to read about it and another entirely to witness the criminal neglect of the once-proud town. Not even Dustwallow’s development sites are in this bad of a shape. What was Varian thinking?!
Jaina moved quietly. No one could see her, shrouded as she was in an invisibility spell. She had practiced this for a long time, before she had been given her Archmage’s staff at the age of twenty-three. She had spied on countless meetings of the Council of the Six, offering Antonidas, their leader, her personal opinion. She had used it to see Medivh’s exchange with Arthas, as well as using it to protect herself during that miserable, exhausting flight from Hearthglen to Uther’s front step. Now, she used it to sneak through a dying town that simply shouldn’t be dying.
She approached the barn, slipping in after a stocky man opened the doors, and she could tell that she was on the right path: he smelled of dust and of sweat, the scent ingrained into his clothes. It was a sign of hard work, without the earthy scents usually associated with those who worked with animals or in fields. She followed him in, though she turned left instead of right. This was the mouth of the mine. Taking a deep breath, she nearly gave herself away and stifled a sneeze. Inside the mine the air was filled with dust, explaining the masks worn by many of the miners.
Lanterns hung from the braced ceilings, filling the mineshaft with soft, glowing light. While safer lighting conditions meant fewer accidents, those lanterns would not reveal Jaina as she walked, though excessive noise would. Moving slowly and carefully, she stepped past the miners. As the labourers worked, they talked back and forth, timing their words between loud strikes. Each time they struck the rock, Jaina moved, using the sound to give her extra cover. She continued. The mine was long and winding, and with each corner, Jaina stopped to consult the map Revilgaz had given her.
There are so many dead ends in this place... it makes me wonder if this was done deliberately or if it’s the natural consequence of mining. Thank Sea and Sky that I have a map. The map led her around the labyrinthine, complex tunnels until she heard a sound, something very like saws.
Peeking inside, she could see dozens of goblins, directing hobgoblin and ogre labourers to pick up great lengths of wood, many uncut, so that they could be properly shaped. Jaina smiled. There we are... no ‘mine’ should have need of this.
Countless cords of wood were stacked up, waiting to be shaped into planks. Jaina nearly sighed with envy; the wood from Dustwallow tended to be very twisted and difficult to work with, causing her shipwrights no end of frustration.
There’s nicer wood in Ashenvale, but between the Kaldorei and the orcs, we’re better to make due from our own supplies... and a little hard work never hurt anyone. Particularly when the wood is nearly as strong as steel once it’s the right shape.
Jaina skirted the edges of the sawmill, making note of the goblin in charge of it. She heard the name Sneed uttered and nodded to herself. As she moved on, she heard a call to the ‘mast room’. She frowned. Wait, all of this is for the mast? What kind of monster ship would need all of this?
Moving on, the dust of the mast room all but melted away in the face of the massive heat coming from the forge. How do they ventilate this? This is insane... Jaina wondered, creeping down the long, sloping spiral that led to the primary work area. Goblin smelters worked tirelessly as hobgoblins carried their work from one end of the massive room to another. Another goblin, Gilnid as his workers cursed him, oversaw them. Jaina felt her skin prickle through her wards, and she hurried on. The pathways were more straightforward now, larger and straighter, all the better to ship the smelted metal and shaped wood.
Jaina inhaled, and her eyes widened. We must be right next to the sea... I can smell it from here. Fascinating. She slipped through after the Defias labourers, and Jaina eyed them with curiosity. They did not wear the masks of their higher-ranking counterparts, but each bore the gear and hammer tattoo of the Stonemason’s Guild. At least that’s something, it lends credence to what we believe to be true. There’s only one way to find out.
Once they went through the last set of doors, the labourers headed along a small dock, and up a gangplank to one of the largest ships Jaina had ever seen. Not even her father’s flagship, the Azure Shards, was this big, or rather, it was in an entirely different way. There was something utterly wrong about the great ship that lay before her, floating in shallow water though sheer force of will. This ship bristled with cannon emplacements, and there were heavy, endless piles of cannonballs visible through the ports. A goblin captain and his tauren first mate were arguing loudly near the gangplank as they disagreed about where to send the labourers, and Jaina shimmied up the docking ropes, silently using magic to prevent the rope from doing much more than gently sagging from her weight. She hauled herself up onto the deck and moved inside the main cabin.
This isn’t even a logical idea, why would you put a cabin on the deck when you could put it safely inside? Jaina wondered. It’s as if nothing about this ship makes sense. Inside the cabin it was mostly dark, with a single lantern hanging to illuminate the large desk within, and a little of the rest of it. The cabin was largely bare, aside from the vast swathes of paper. At the desk sat a man, meticulously marking out lines on another huge piece of paper.
“You have to know this thing will sink if it goes out into the open water,” Jaina observed, her voice cutting through the silence. “You’re many things, Edwin VanCleef, but you’re no fool.”
One of the shadows moved, but the man sitting at the desk waved them off. “I have no fear of the Lady Proudmoore. She’s no agent of Stormwind.”
“Not as such,” Jaina agreed. “And I only intend to ask questions and offer advice.”
“I’ve heard you can sometimes even do those things well,” Edwin replied, and gestured for her to sit. “Do you smoke?”
“Occasionally, and sometimes I’m not even on fire at the time.” Jaina smiled at the muffled giggle that came from the shadows. “Thank you, I get my sense of humour from my father’s side.”
“Fetch us the cigarellos from Kezan, Vanessa,” he called, and the shadows shifted and grew empty. “Did Mathias send you?”
Jaina moved a half-finished design for a ballista and sat. “In a sense. I came for my own reasons, and the questions he wants answered align with my own.”
“Both an interesting and very cautious answer,” he observed. “You’re not scandalized by the implication I’ve been importing goblin goods.”
“A goblin told me that you have important connections to the cartels,” Jaina replied. “And my own family’s history is not unknown.”
“Yes, Proudmoores and their Kezan connection,” Edwin said, looking her over. “I’ve even heard that story about Derek.”
“...it’s an old story,” Jaina said quietly. “A story that is important to my family, or should be.”
“What story?” Now that the girl was in the light, Jaina could see she looked little older than ten. Bright, green eyes twinkled in the dim light as she offered the box to Edwin, who kissed her forehead and shooed her to a spare crate. Lithely, the girl climbed up and folded herself into a comfortable position.
“My daughter, Vanessa,” Edwin interjected, by way of introduction, and Jaina raise an eyebrow.
When did he have the time for a daughter? Jaina wondered. Unless Mathias doesn’t know Edwin as well as he thinks he does.
“I want to hear it,” Vanessa insisted. Jaina nodded and began:
“My family have ruled Kul Tiras since its founding, some three thousand years ago. Our founder was an ex-pirate, and sought to unite all of the seafarers under one banner. After she succeeded, her children created three institutions, the merchant fleet, the Tiran Navy... and the Blackwater Raiders. Because they were willing to fight and trade by sea, the people of Kul Tiras had frequent run-ins with the goblins of Kezan... and because of how fiercely loyal my family was, any confrontation that involved one of their family members was met with violence that disrupted trade and required a lot of negotiations to get it going again.”
“They sound brave,” Vanessa said. “And sometimes foolish.”
“And stubborn,” Jaina agreed. “About three hundred years ago, the Grand Admiral in charge sat down with the Trade Princes from the Steamwheedle Cartel and negotiated with them. Both parties recognized that constant, disruptive warfare wasn’t good for trade, or even piracy. The goblins agreed to keep piracy out of Tiran waters, and the Tirans agreed that their jurisdiction would never fall outside specific parts of the Great Sea. In return, the goblins would mark members of the Proudmoore family so that if they were ever captured in raids they would be returned immediately. I have one, though it’s on my back, and it was given to me when I visited Undermine at the age of eight. I was also given a special, customized handgun that I was taught to use and care for. All Proudmoores have one, and they can’t be replicated because they use a rare substance only found on Kezan, and controlled carefully by the Trade Princes themselves.”
“Wow,” Vanessa said, staring at her in awe and admiration. “So you can shoot? Are you a pirate too?”
“Oh, I wanted to be when I was young, but my goals changed when I learned I had magic.” Jaina smiled. “My story isn’t quite done yet... I’m the youngest of four of my father’s children, I have a sister and two brothers, but one of my brothers is deceased. He... died during the war. Derek was captured by slavers once when he was younger than I am now and just learning his place on a ship. His crew was treated badly, and it would have gotten even worse if it weren’t for the fact that he was marked, just as I was. They intended to let him go, though not the rest of his crew.”
“So, what happened?” This question was from Edwin, intensely asked. “Did he take his deal and leave?”
“No,” Jaina replied, meeting his gaze. “Derek came right back, and killed the guards around the slave pits, and freed not only his crew, but every slave he could find, giving them stolen weapons, until he had an army. He wiped all the slavers out and brought the survivors to Kul Tiras, where they were given citizenship and welcomed as family.”
“He broke your agreement with the goblins,” Edwin pointed out. “He could have started a war.”
“He could have,” Jaina agreed, “but my father told him, told all of us, that sometimes you have to break laws when it comes to standing up for what you believe in. You must do what’s right, even when it’s not easy, even when it hurts, even when you must risk everything you have. You have to take a stand.”
“I see why he sent you,” Edwin muttered. “Vanessa--”
Vanessa’s bright, green eyes were shining in admiration. “Can I be you when I grow up?”
Jaina laughed and ruffled her black curls. “I think you should be you when you grow up. With your own stories and great speeches.”
“‘Nessa,” Edwin broke in, before Vanessa could say anything more. “Could you take this list and check it against the cargo manifests, please?”
Vanessa swivelled on the crate and stared at him. Edwin shifted, and Jaina stifled a laugh. “If you want me to go away so you can talk to Lady Proudmoore, just say that. I’m not a kid.”
“Of course not,” Jaina said. “Please.”
“Okay.” Vanessa hopped off the crate, kissed her father’s cheek, and plucked the list from his hand, slipping off into the shadows.
“I was wrong,” Jaina said after a moment. “I should have never doubted that she was your daughter.”
“What, you didn’t think I had the hips for it?” Edwin asked, gesturing past his waistline. “She’s adopted, I found her wandering around after her parents were killed during the riot. My riot.”
“She’s going to be a terror when she gets older,” Jaina said. “You promised me a smoke?”
“I did,” he agreed, and handed her a cigarello. Jaina lit it, and inhaled. “So...”
“As I said before, this ship will sink the moment it gets out of this cavern, faster than you can say ‘hey, you guys’. So, why?”
“Do Tirans understand ‘make work projects’?”
“This Tiran does, at least,” Jaina said. “There are stories from Lordaeron about their monarchs commissioning things like thousands of linen handkerchiefs or plain chairs so they could get money out of their treasuries and into the hands of the working poor. Calia once told me there’s an entire cellar devoted to holding those handkerchiefs. Or, there was, at the very least. Someone may be using them to weep for all the dead there.”
“My people don’t make handkerchiefs, or chairs. They build things. They engineer, they tinker. The Defiant’s raison-d’être is because they won’t take charity and this is what they’re good at. If building a machine for war and revenge keeps them focused...”
“And the raiding parties?”
“Varian somehow found it in his shallow coffers to pay soldiers but not architects. I have no regrets.”
“What about the farmers, then?”
Edwin paused, staring at the burning edge of his cigarello. “I never ordered that. I never wanted that. Westfall’s people have suffered more than enough.”
“What about those people of yours burning for revenge? Couldn’t they have done it?”
“They could, but they wouldn’t. They’re sworn to me.”
“Then, wouldn’t the logical continuation of that thought be that there are people claiming to be Defias but aren’t?” Jaina pressed. “That someone is using--”
“Actually, the most logical conclusion is that I’m a liar instead of an idealist pushed too far, or that my people aren’t all that loyal to me. You came to that conclusion because you know something that I don’t, and now you’re going to tell me.”
“I definitely see where Vanessa gets it,” Jaina replied, without rancour. “I was called to Stormwind initially to deal with a Stockade riot. Their mages were making sure the Vault was secure, and Bolvar and I are friends. When I was there, I encountered an unusual prisoner who convinced me to look into why he was apprehended. While I was doing that, I noticed that a number of the so-called Defias prisoners didn’t know their own leaders. When Shaw and I discussed it, he said they’d arrested people who claimed to be Defias but lacked your tell.”
“...so, he noticed that, did he?” Edwin murmured, and drew smoke into his mouth while he thought. As he exhaled, he asked, “So, what did he think?”
“He agreed it was suspicious, and wanted to know about your motivation behind the initial Stormwind Riot, because apparently neither you nor Varian will tell him why it started. He doesn’t want to believe that you’re an evil man. It’s just that the events of the past few years have led him to believe otherwise.”
Edwin ran his free hand through his hair and sighed. “The Riot happened because Varian was murdering my people, and slowly, not quickly. You have to know how much it costs to build a city... or rebuild it.”
“Of course I do, the loans that both Thrall and I had to take out from the Undermine banks were ruinous, but we’re well on our way to paying them back,” Jaina replied, frowning. “I was lucky, I had enough capital from my family to nudge Theramore along. It’s been harder for Thrall, but he also has a great many more people working and bringing in trade for the Horde.”
“And did it ever occur to either of you to simply not pay your people for their work?”
“No, of course not,” Jaina replied sharply. “People do work and they are compensated for it. Even charity work, and this was not. Especially in Thrall’s case, this was a chance to show his people just how much independence they’d earned, to build a city with their own hands, to take pride in their accomplishments.”
“That’s why you’re not Varian Wrynn.” Jaina settled back, smoking the cigarello slowly, enjoying the rich, dark flavour. It seemed to suit the situation well. “I knew that Azeroth was dirt poor after the Wars. We all did. There were some places the orcs hadn’t reached or burned, and they’d hardly done any resource exploitation in their hurry to push on. So, given time, workers, and the right resources, we could make Stormwind great again. That was the plan.” Edwin sighed out smoke. “I believed in that plan. Did Mathias tell you I was a trained member of SI:7?”
“He did,” Jaina said. “He said his grandmother was eager to recruit you because of your technical skills.”
“I miss Pathonia,” Edwin said, shaking his head. “She was a hard woman, but a good one. I’m lucky she retired or she’d have knifed me years ago.” He knocked ash into a cut-glass dish. “I had the chance to work with Varian and Bolvar personally, along with another person who shouldn’t be left out. Lianne Von Indi. Later known as Lianne Wrynn.”
“Varian’s dead queen.”
“The same,” Edwin agreed. “Lianne fit in well. Her family had sheltered in Lordaeron, they were from one of the noble families. Her cousin, Sirra, leads their family now. I think his father married Tiran, by his look.”
“Probably. I’m unusual in that I’m so pale, it’s my mother’s heritage,” Jaina said. “How did she fit in?”
“She came back when the rest of her family hid in Lordaeron because it was safer,” Edwin replied, and inhaled deeply. “She unlocked her family’s hidden vaults and gave the crown everything they had, including her dowry. In return, we bought materials with it. Cleaning aids, tools, uniforms... it wasn’t enough for everything by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a start. She took those cleaning aids and helped scrub down the walls of the Keep so they could be renovated and lived in again. She worked like a common servant from dawn until dusk, though she had her sights set high... well, putting it like that it seems like she was doing it only for selfish reasons.”
“So, why was she doing it?”
“She wanted to help make Stormwind great again. She wanted its people to live with pride, to be more than a people torn by war. She also had done some math in her head. Varian was twenty-one, she was nineteen. Kings need queens. She hoped that over the course of the rebuilding project, Varian would come to see, if nothing else, that she was a noblewoman who wasn’t afraid to work hard and get down in the dirt with the rest of us, that she’d used her wealth not to make herself look better, but to make Stormwind look better.”
“It clearly worked if she became his Queen,” Jaina pointed out, and leaned forward to tap out her own ash. “And the mother of his child.”
“It did,” Edwin agreed. “Varian did love her, very much. Too much. She did a great deal of the budgeting and negotiation with the Stonemasons, both because she was good at it and because Varian wanted to see how she’d handle it. She, like you and your orc friend, negotiated with the goblins. She let me and my people do the purchasing we needed because, as she put it, we knew how to build a city and she didn’t.”
“That sounds fairly ideal.”
“It was incredibly ideal at the time.” Edwin inhaled again, and closed his eyes. “I remember their wedding.”
“What was it like?”
“Quiet. Small. The paint in the cathedral was practically still wet. I could smell the masonry while I was in there. They didn’t wear fancy clothes, her hands were still red and chapped from the day’s work, Varian had a damned smudge on his nose. Bolvar kept trying to wipe it off and Varian wouldn’t have any of it. The man they had marry them was local, and he was having seasonal allergies so sneezed through the whole thing... but they were so happy. We all were. It felt like the world was changing for the better instead of for the worse, finally. Then...” He stopped, falling silent.
“Then?” Jaina asked gently.
“I didn’t think Varian could be any happier than the day he married, but the day he found out that Lianne was pregnant, he was ecstatic. I remember... he said that his grandfather had given out gifts on Llane’s birth-day, and that it became a holiday. Varian intended to do the same, though we were so poor it wasn’t practical. As soon as it was possible, he said. We’d celebrate everything. Something happened to Lianne. I don’t recall any doctor ever saying she was sick or weak, but Anduin’s birth was extremely hard on her. Varian spent every day at her side, Bolvar tried to heal her... and three weeks after Anduin was born, she died.”
Jaina was silent for a time. “Then what happened?”
“Varian absolutely lost his shit.” The words, harsh and crude, were uncompromising. Edwin’s eyes gleamed with anger. “He blamed just about everyone for her death. He spent half his time raging, and the other half locked away and depressed. The council of nobles, people who had mostly been absent from Stormwind during the rebuilding process, took over, with Bolvar leading them, trying to keep things together. The council of nobles voted to default on their debts to the goblins, citing that we’d overcharged and gone greatly over-budget. The Von Indi contribution should have been enough.”
“That’s insane.”
“It’s doubly insane when you consider all of the people who worked on that project were expecting to be paid. Instead of farming, they were building. Instead of fishing, they were building. Instead of doing anything else, they were building. They took out loans of their own, they scrimped, they saved... all because they were going to be paid by the crown someday... and then the council robbed them of that. Of that pride of accomplishment. I did what I could, I paid people back in part, going into debt myself. I also petitioned the council repeatedly. Bolvar sympathized... of course he did, we’d known each other for years. The Von Indis actually sympathized as well... but there were far too many people who wanted that money for themselves, for their own projects, for the old estates I’d ignored because I wanted to build a city. I tried to petition Varian directly.”
“And that went poorly.”
“You’d think you were there,” Edwin muttered. “It went very poorly. I was a ghoul, I was selfish... I waited years. I had to, I understood that losing Lianne was like losing a piece of his soul for him, but people were starving. I sympathized right until he told me that all I cared about was myself and then I simply... lost it. I went back to my people, told them the only way Varian was giving us what we deserved was if we took it and we started the riot. I started the riot. People died. Soldiers, workers, innocents. Vanessa’s parents, whoever they were. I’m not proud of that. I know I have blood on my hands, but damnit, so does Varian. I would have accepted it if he’d prosecuted me, but he just threw us out. All of us. Out of the city we built, the one we sweated over, bled over. The city Lianne helped build. I was so angry, we all were... we swore revenge. Now it defines us.”
“Now someone is using you,” Jaina pointed out. “Revenge doesn’t have to define you.”
“And what’s our other choice?”
“Come to Kalimdor,” Jaina said, setting the cigarello down in the tray so she could sit forward and look to him earnestly. “Whoever is doing this is using the Defias... so take the Defias away from them. Get your people to lay low... I promise you, you’ll get more than enough work in Kalimdor. I have extensive building projects and land expansion I want to get done. If your people can stand working for orcs -- or even goblins -- then Thrall will have work for you too.”
“You’re telling us to walk away from this.”
“I’m telling you to give up on a course of action that will see you all dead or imprisoned. If you’re really doing this because you wanted to help your people and it went wrong, you’ll pick an option that’s good for them, not just for revenge. I believe you’re better than a petty thug. I think Mathias does too.”
Edwin closed his eyes. “Mathias... very well. It will take time to pack my people up, and there will still be bandits and thugs here.”
“Then the army can deal with them,” Jaina replied. “It’s what they were doing before.”
“Why, that sounds almost cold of you, Lady Proudmoore,” Edwin said, chuckling briefly. “What of my people in jail?”
“I can take care of that,” Jaina replied. “There’s enough chaos in Stormwind that I can have them filtered out of the system. Just make sure that they know that their lives will be different in Kalimdor, and that criminal activity won’t be tolerated.”
“You run a tight ship?” Edwin guessed, and smiled a little. He stubbed out his cigarello and stood. “I’ll have to pack.”
“That was a terrible pun, and yes.” Jaina stood. “I should go, unless you can think of anything else.”
“No, I don’t think-- wait. There is one thing. It slipped my mind, I’m not even sure that it’s relevant.”
“Anything could be. Please.”
“Well,” Edwin began slowly, as if dredging something very old from his memory. “Not long before we officially completed the city’s reconstruction, a woman arrived. Tall, pale, dark hair and eyes. She claimed to be a noble from one of the areas first destroyed by the orcs, and wanted to be let onto the council. I want to say she helped donate funds to the crown but I couldn’t say. She didn’t like Lianne, I don’t think. I can’t imagine why not.”
“It’s possible she had her sights set on Varian,” Jaina pointed out, frowning. “Do you know more about her than that? The land she was from, anything?”
“No, she was very private, and Varian never asked for more details. Lianne was curious, but... you know.”
“I do know,” Jaina said, sighing. “Is she still on the council?”
“As far as I know, she is. Her name is Katrana Prestor.”
“Prestor...” Jaina murmured. “That name sounds familiar, but I can’t think why. I’ll look into it, it’s not totally uncommon for nobles to hire criminals to keep their hands clean, that could be all it is. I’m just not sure why in this case. I need more information. I’ll talk to Varian about it.”
“Best of luck, Swamp Queen,” Edwin said with a little bow. Jaina grinned at him.
“That’s Marsh Queen.”
“Same difference.”
“You’re going to need to know the difference if you’re expected to turn parts of it into farmable land.”
Edwin cursed, and Jaina slipped out. Almost immediately, she was accosted by Vanessa, full of questions. Jaina urged her to speak to her father, and continued out, walking across the ship towards the gangplank on the other side of the ship, leading out to the shorter tunnel that led to the sea.
Defias blinked in confusion, seeing someone leave a ship that they had not seen enter it, and Jaina waved jauntily, striding down the gangplank. She scanned the passageway, finding only gloom and mine dust, and walked into it. Several short hops later, she was gazing out at the section of Westfall creatively named Longshore.
Hopefully, I can explain to Varian, and his investigators can take care of the rest. Scanning the horizon, she smiled. And then, Stormwind can begin to h--
A hand clamped over her mouth, and another grabbed her wrists. “That’s it, snoop, you’re coming with me.” Jaina twisted, trying to see the man who had her, and she saw nothing but a pair of cold eyes and a red mask.
Defias! Jaina thought urgently. Did Edwin betray me... no... no, this is it! Her elbow snapped out unthinkingly, striking the man in the nose and he swore. The next step would be to polymorph him and mock his poor choices in attacking an Archmage, but something clicked. Vaelan had allowed himself to be captured to gain greater insight.
I can do the same. Someone was moving behind her, trying to catch her off guard. She pulled her magic in tight, and flailed out with her fist. Another voice, female this time, swore, and Jaina shifted. Come on, hit me. Let’s get this over--
A fist hit the back of her head and she blacked out.
Chapter 4
Title: Unity: Defiance
Part: 3 of 5 + Epilogue
Word Count: 5447 (of this part)
Includes: Violence, drama, cunning use of plot, ninja-pirate-assassin-architects, alcohol and tobacco use (mild), angst, mentioned (semi-original) character death.
Pairings: Thrall/Jaina, mentioned Mathias/Edwin and Varian/Lianne
Summary: Jaina travels to Moonbrook to get some answers.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Sidestory: Linguistics
13 14 15 16 17 18
Sidestory: Defiance - 1 2
Empathy can only take one so far, Jaina thought grimly as she gazed across the town of Moonbrook. The town had been prosperous before the orcs had invaded: located close to a large, prosperous mine and an equally prosperous port, Moonbrook had linked southern Stranglethorn to Azeroth. Even now, the abandoned lighthouse was still visible from the town’s centre, marked by a once proud, and now dilapidated, fountain.
The orcs had changed Moonbrook’s fortune for the worse. A band of ogres that had come through the Dark Portal had made their way to Moonbrook, seizing control of the mine with contemptible ease. Their filth had given rise to horrible slime creatures that had attacked every mining party still trapped inside them. Orcs -- some said only two, others said dozens -- had followed, killing many. Finally, an ancient, sacred tome had been stolen and brought there, and while Anduin Lothar himself had come to retrieve it, he’d needed a second force to get back out again.
Friendly or hostile, an army hurts, Jaina thought. Their port had been destroyed, their town overrun, their fields polluted. Many had been killed, and they had fled north when they could, or cowered in the northern mines when they could not. None of this would have been, as such, preventative towards making Moonbrook prosper once more, except...
Except that they never got the help they needed, and now it’s all gotten worse.
It had taken a huge number of resources to rebuild Stormwind, and Lakeshire had been one of the townships directly in the path of the Horde. Goldshire, the main community outside of Stormwind, had been similarly battered, and others had not made it through the war, being absorbed into other communities. Even Darkshire, as close as it had been to Deadwind Pass and the ominous tower of Karazhan had been given more priority than Westfall. Westfall was on the other side of Elwynn Forest. It was known for being rather large, very flat, and utterly disinteresting. With more emphasis being put on rebuilding Stormwind’s port, Moonbrook’s had fallen by the wayside. The interest in Longshore was non-existent. The usefulness of the distant Jasperlode mine was limited, and what could be removed from the quarries was claimed immediately for Stormwind’s massive rebuilding project. Many of Westfall’s inhabitants had signed on to the project, believing that poverty was about to be at an end any day.
Theoretically, all Westfall had to do was wait. So they waited. They scraped by on what could be spared from Stormwind and its slowly growing army, the determination never to be caught off guard again. In reality, their help would never come. Once Stormwind was partially rebuilt, it was attacked again. Once it was completed, as coffers strained to compensate, things went by the wayside. Projects were cancelled. The entirety of the Stonemason’s Guild was informed that they would not be paid.
Some had committed suicide then, not waiting to see if it would ever get better. They had staked everything on the crown’s ability to repay their debts and for that their faith had been cast aside, dashed on the rocks. Others had grown angry, and none so angry as Edwin VanCleef. The disaffected had followed him into Stormwind, followed him onto its newly built streets for the riot, and followed him into exile and a life of crime. The people of Westfall had largely looked the other way, and it had become a haven for the Defias Brotherhood.
Moonbrook had never been rebuilt, never recovered, and everyone who lived there had become a little harder, a little colder, and a little more paranoid.
One thing they weren’t paranoid about were arcane wards, Jaina thought to herself, fighting down her anger and disgust at the situation. Seeing Moonbrook was hard. She’d heard of the situation. She’d read the reports. It was one thing to read about it and another entirely to witness the criminal neglect of the once-proud town. Not even Dustwallow’s development sites are in this bad of a shape. What was Varian thinking?!
Jaina moved quietly. No one could see her, shrouded as she was in an invisibility spell. She had practiced this for a long time, before she had been given her Archmage’s staff at the age of twenty-three. She had spied on countless meetings of the Council of the Six, offering Antonidas, their leader, her personal opinion. She had used it to see Medivh’s exchange with Arthas, as well as using it to protect herself during that miserable, exhausting flight from Hearthglen to Uther’s front step. Now, she used it to sneak through a dying town that simply shouldn’t be dying.
She approached the barn, slipping in after a stocky man opened the doors, and she could tell that she was on the right path: he smelled of dust and of sweat, the scent ingrained into his clothes. It was a sign of hard work, without the earthy scents usually associated with those who worked with animals or in fields. She followed him in, though she turned left instead of right. This was the mouth of the mine. Taking a deep breath, she nearly gave herself away and stifled a sneeze. Inside the mine the air was filled with dust, explaining the masks worn by many of the miners.
Lanterns hung from the braced ceilings, filling the mineshaft with soft, glowing light. While safer lighting conditions meant fewer accidents, those lanterns would not reveal Jaina as she walked, though excessive noise would. Moving slowly and carefully, she stepped past the miners. As the labourers worked, they talked back and forth, timing their words between loud strikes. Each time they struck the rock, Jaina moved, using the sound to give her extra cover. She continued. The mine was long and winding, and with each corner, Jaina stopped to consult the map Revilgaz had given her.
There are so many dead ends in this place... it makes me wonder if this was done deliberately or if it’s the natural consequence of mining. Thank Sea and Sky that I have a map. The map led her around the labyrinthine, complex tunnels until she heard a sound, something very like saws.
Peeking inside, she could see dozens of goblins, directing hobgoblin and ogre labourers to pick up great lengths of wood, many uncut, so that they could be properly shaped. Jaina smiled. There we are... no ‘mine’ should have need of this.
Countless cords of wood were stacked up, waiting to be shaped into planks. Jaina nearly sighed with envy; the wood from Dustwallow tended to be very twisted and difficult to work with, causing her shipwrights no end of frustration.
There’s nicer wood in Ashenvale, but between the Kaldorei and the orcs, we’re better to make due from our own supplies... and a little hard work never hurt anyone. Particularly when the wood is nearly as strong as steel once it’s the right shape.
Jaina skirted the edges of the sawmill, making note of the goblin in charge of it. She heard the name Sneed uttered and nodded to herself. As she moved on, she heard a call to the ‘mast room’. She frowned. Wait, all of this is for the mast? What kind of monster ship would need all of this?
Moving on, the dust of the mast room all but melted away in the face of the massive heat coming from the forge. How do they ventilate this? This is insane... Jaina wondered, creeping down the long, sloping spiral that led to the primary work area. Goblin smelters worked tirelessly as hobgoblins carried their work from one end of the massive room to another. Another goblin, Gilnid as his workers cursed him, oversaw them. Jaina felt her skin prickle through her wards, and she hurried on. The pathways were more straightforward now, larger and straighter, all the better to ship the smelted metal and shaped wood.
Jaina inhaled, and her eyes widened. We must be right next to the sea... I can smell it from here. Fascinating. She slipped through after the Defias labourers, and Jaina eyed them with curiosity. They did not wear the masks of their higher-ranking counterparts, but each bore the gear and hammer tattoo of the Stonemason’s Guild. At least that’s something, it lends credence to what we believe to be true. There’s only one way to find out.
Once they went through the last set of doors, the labourers headed along a small dock, and up a gangplank to one of the largest ships Jaina had ever seen. Not even her father’s flagship, the Azure Shards, was this big, or rather, it was in an entirely different way. There was something utterly wrong about the great ship that lay before her, floating in shallow water though sheer force of will. This ship bristled with cannon emplacements, and there were heavy, endless piles of cannonballs visible through the ports. A goblin captain and his tauren first mate were arguing loudly near the gangplank as they disagreed about where to send the labourers, and Jaina shimmied up the docking ropes, silently using magic to prevent the rope from doing much more than gently sagging from her weight. She hauled herself up onto the deck and moved inside the main cabin.
This isn’t even a logical idea, why would you put a cabin on the deck when you could put it safely inside? Jaina wondered. It’s as if nothing about this ship makes sense. Inside the cabin it was mostly dark, with a single lantern hanging to illuminate the large desk within, and a little of the rest of it. The cabin was largely bare, aside from the vast swathes of paper. At the desk sat a man, meticulously marking out lines on another huge piece of paper.
“You have to know this thing will sink if it goes out into the open water,” Jaina observed, her voice cutting through the silence. “You’re many things, Edwin VanCleef, but you’re no fool.”
One of the shadows moved, but the man sitting at the desk waved them off. “I have no fear of the Lady Proudmoore. She’s no agent of Stormwind.”
“Not as such,” Jaina agreed. “And I only intend to ask questions and offer advice.”
“I’ve heard you can sometimes even do those things well,” Edwin replied, and gestured for her to sit. “Do you smoke?”
“Occasionally, and sometimes I’m not even on fire at the time.” Jaina smiled at the muffled giggle that came from the shadows. “Thank you, I get my sense of humour from my father’s side.”
“Fetch us the cigarellos from Kezan, Vanessa,” he called, and the shadows shifted and grew empty. “Did Mathias send you?”
Jaina moved a half-finished design for a ballista and sat. “In a sense. I came for my own reasons, and the questions he wants answered align with my own.”
“Both an interesting and very cautious answer,” he observed. “You’re not scandalized by the implication I’ve been importing goblin goods.”
“A goblin told me that you have important connections to the cartels,” Jaina replied. “And my own family’s history is not unknown.”
“Yes, Proudmoores and their Kezan connection,” Edwin said, looking her over. “I’ve even heard that story about Derek.”
“...it’s an old story,” Jaina said quietly. “A story that is important to my family, or should be.”
“What story?” Now that the girl was in the light, Jaina could see she looked little older than ten. Bright, green eyes twinkled in the dim light as she offered the box to Edwin, who kissed her forehead and shooed her to a spare crate. Lithely, the girl climbed up and folded herself into a comfortable position.
“My daughter, Vanessa,” Edwin interjected, by way of introduction, and Jaina raise an eyebrow.
When did he have the time for a daughter? Jaina wondered. Unless Mathias doesn’t know Edwin as well as he thinks he does.
“I want to hear it,” Vanessa insisted. Jaina nodded and began:
“My family have ruled Kul Tiras since its founding, some three thousand years ago. Our founder was an ex-pirate, and sought to unite all of the seafarers under one banner. After she succeeded, her children created three institutions, the merchant fleet, the Tiran Navy... and the Blackwater Raiders. Because they were willing to fight and trade by sea, the people of Kul Tiras had frequent run-ins with the goblins of Kezan... and because of how fiercely loyal my family was, any confrontation that involved one of their family members was met with violence that disrupted trade and required a lot of negotiations to get it going again.”
“They sound brave,” Vanessa said. “And sometimes foolish.”
“And stubborn,” Jaina agreed. “About three hundred years ago, the Grand Admiral in charge sat down with the Trade Princes from the Steamwheedle Cartel and negotiated with them. Both parties recognized that constant, disruptive warfare wasn’t good for trade, or even piracy. The goblins agreed to keep piracy out of Tiran waters, and the Tirans agreed that their jurisdiction would never fall outside specific parts of the Great Sea. In return, the goblins would mark members of the Proudmoore family so that if they were ever captured in raids they would be returned immediately. I have one, though it’s on my back, and it was given to me when I visited Undermine at the age of eight. I was also given a special, customized handgun that I was taught to use and care for. All Proudmoores have one, and they can’t be replicated because they use a rare substance only found on Kezan, and controlled carefully by the Trade Princes themselves.”
“Wow,” Vanessa said, staring at her in awe and admiration. “So you can shoot? Are you a pirate too?”
“Oh, I wanted to be when I was young, but my goals changed when I learned I had magic.” Jaina smiled. “My story isn’t quite done yet... I’m the youngest of four of my father’s children, I have a sister and two brothers, but one of my brothers is deceased. He... died during the war. Derek was captured by slavers once when he was younger than I am now and just learning his place on a ship. His crew was treated badly, and it would have gotten even worse if it weren’t for the fact that he was marked, just as I was. They intended to let him go, though not the rest of his crew.”
“So, what happened?” This question was from Edwin, intensely asked. “Did he take his deal and leave?”
“No,” Jaina replied, meeting his gaze. “Derek came right back, and killed the guards around the slave pits, and freed not only his crew, but every slave he could find, giving them stolen weapons, until he had an army. He wiped all the slavers out and brought the survivors to Kul Tiras, where they were given citizenship and welcomed as family.”
“He broke your agreement with the goblins,” Edwin pointed out. “He could have started a war.”
“He could have,” Jaina agreed, “but my father told him, told all of us, that sometimes you have to break laws when it comes to standing up for what you believe in. You must do what’s right, even when it’s not easy, even when it hurts, even when you must risk everything you have. You have to take a stand.”
“I see why he sent you,” Edwin muttered. “Vanessa--”
Vanessa’s bright, green eyes were shining in admiration. “Can I be you when I grow up?”
Jaina laughed and ruffled her black curls. “I think you should be you when you grow up. With your own stories and great speeches.”
“‘Nessa,” Edwin broke in, before Vanessa could say anything more. “Could you take this list and check it against the cargo manifests, please?”
Vanessa swivelled on the crate and stared at him. Edwin shifted, and Jaina stifled a laugh. “If you want me to go away so you can talk to Lady Proudmoore, just say that. I’m not a kid.”
“Of course not,” Jaina said. “Please.”
“Okay.” Vanessa hopped off the crate, kissed her father’s cheek, and plucked the list from his hand, slipping off into the shadows.
“I was wrong,” Jaina said after a moment. “I should have never doubted that she was your daughter.”
“What, you didn’t think I had the hips for it?” Edwin asked, gesturing past his waistline. “She’s adopted, I found her wandering around after her parents were killed during the riot. My riot.”
“She’s going to be a terror when she gets older,” Jaina said. “You promised me a smoke?”
“I did,” he agreed, and handed her a cigarello. Jaina lit it, and inhaled. “So...”
“As I said before, this ship will sink the moment it gets out of this cavern, faster than you can say ‘hey, you guys’. So, why?”
“Do Tirans understand ‘make work projects’?”
“This Tiran does, at least,” Jaina said. “There are stories from Lordaeron about their monarchs commissioning things like thousands of linen handkerchiefs or plain chairs so they could get money out of their treasuries and into the hands of the working poor. Calia once told me there’s an entire cellar devoted to holding those handkerchiefs. Or, there was, at the very least. Someone may be using them to weep for all the dead there.”
“My people don’t make handkerchiefs, or chairs. They build things. They engineer, they tinker. The Defiant’s raison-d’être is because they won’t take charity and this is what they’re good at. If building a machine for war and revenge keeps them focused...”
“And the raiding parties?”
“Varian somehow found it in his shallow coffers to pay soldiers but not architects. I have no regrets.”
“What about the farmers, then?”
Edwin paused, staring at the burning edge of his cigarello. “I never ordered that. I never wanted that. Westfall’s people have suffered more than enough.”
“What about those people of yours burning for revenge? Couldn’t they have done it?”
“They could, but they wouldn’t. They’re sworn to me.”
“Then, wouldn’t the logical continuation of that thought be that there are people claiming to be Defias but aren’t?” Jaina pressed. “That someone is using--”
“Actually, the most logical conclusion is that I’m a liar instead of an idealist pushed too far, or that my people aren’t all that loyal to me. You came to that conclusion because you know something that I don’t, and now you’re going to tell me.”
“I definitely see where Vanessa gets it,” Jaina replied, without rancour. “I was called to Stormwind initially to deal with a Stockade riot. Their mages were making sure the Vault was secure, and Bolvar and I are friends. When I was there, I encountered an unusual prisoner who convinced me to look into why he was apprehended. While I was doing that, I noticed that a number of the so-called Defias prisoners didn’t know their own leaders. When Shaw and I discussed it, he said they’d arrested people who claimed to be Defias but lacked your tell.”
“...so, he noticed that, did he?” Edwin murmured, and drew smoke into his mouth while he thought. As he exhaled, he asked, “So, what did he think?”
“He agreed it was suspicious, and wanted to know about your motivation behind the initial Stormwind Riot, because apparently neither you nor Varian will tell him why it started. He doesn’t want to believe that you’re an evil man. It’s just that the events of the past few years have led him to believe otherwise.”
Edwin ran his free hand through his hair and sighed. “The Riot happened because Varian was murdering my people, and slowly, not quickly. You have to know how much it costs to build a city... or rebuild it.”
“Of course I do, the loans that both Thrall and I had to take out from the Undermine banks were ruinous, but we’re well on our way to paying them back,” Jaina replied, frowning. “I was lucky, I had enough capital from my family to nudge Theramore along. It’s been harder for Thrall, but he also has a great many more people working and bringing in trade for the Horde.”
“And did it ever occur to either of you to simply not pay your people for their work?”
“No, of course not,” Jaina replied sharply. “People do work and they are compensated for it. Even charity work, and this was not. Especially in Thrall’s case, this was a chance to show his people just how much independence they’d earned, to build a city with their own hands, to take pride in their accomplishments.”
“That’s why you’re not Varian Wrynn.” Jaina settled back, smoking the cigarello slowly, enjoying the rich, dark flavour. It seemed to suit the situation well. “I knew that Azeroth was dirt poor after the Wars. We all did. There were some places the orcs hadn’t reached or burned, and they’d hardly done any resource exploitation in their hurry to push on. So, given time, workers, and the right resources, we could make Stormwind great again. That was the plan.” Edwin sighed out smoke. “I believed in that plan. Did Mathias tell you I was a trained member of SI:7?”
“He did,” Jaina said. “He said his grandmother was eager to recruit you because of your technical skills.”
“I miss Pathonia,” Edwin said, shaking his head. “She was a hard woman, but a good one. I’m lucky she retired or she’d have knifed me years ago.” He knocked ash into a cut-glass dish. “I had the chance to work with Varian and Bolvar personally, along with another person who shouldn’t be left out. Lianne Von Indi. Later known as Lianne Wrynn.”
“Varian’s dead queen.”
“The same,” Edwin agreed. “Lianne fit in well. Her family had sheltered in Lordaeron, they were from one of the noble families. Her cousin, Sirra, leads their family now. I think his father married Tiran, by his look.”
“Probably. I’m unusual in that I’m so pale, it’s my mother’s heritage,” Jaina said. “How did she fit in?”
“She came back when the rest of her family hid in Lordaeron because it was safer,” Edwin replied, and inhaled deeply. “She unlocked her family’s hidden vaults and gave the crown everything they had, including her dowry. In return, we bought materials with it. Cleaning aids, tools, uniforms... it wasn’t enough for everything by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a start. She took those cleaning aids and helped scrub down the walls of the Keep so they could be renovated and lived in again. She worked like a common servant from dawn until dusk, though she had her sights set high... well, putting it like that it seems like she was doing it only for selfish reasons.”
“So, why was she doing it?”
“She wanted to help make Stormwind great again. She wanted its people to live with pride, to be more than a people torn by war. She also had done some math in her head. Varian was twenty-one, she was nineteen. Kings need queens. She hoped that over the course of the rebuilding project, Varian would come to see, if nothing else, that she was a noblewoman who wasn’t afraid to work hard and get down in the dirt with the rest of us, that she’d used her wealth not to make herself look better, but to make Stormwind look better.”
“It clearly worked if she became his Queen,” Jaina pointed out, and leaned forward to tap out her own ash. “And the mother of his child.”
“It did,” Edwin agreed. “Varian did love her, very much. Too much. She did a great deal of the budgeting and negotiation with the Stonemasons, both because she was good at it and because Varian wanted to see how she’d handle it. She, like you and your orc friend, negotiated with the goblins. She let me and my people do the purchasing we needed because, as she put it, we knew how to build a city and she didn’t.”
“That sounds fairly ideal.”
“It was incredibly ideal at the time.” Edwin inhaled again, and closed his eyes. “I remember their wedding.”
“What was it like?”
“Quiet. Small. The paint in the cathedral was practically still wet. I could smell the masonry while I was in there. They didn’t wear fancy clothes, her hands were still red and chapped from the day’s work, Varian had a damned smudge on his nose. Bolvar kept trying to wipe it off and Varian wouldn’t have any of it. The man they had marry them was local, and he was having seasonal allergies so sneezed through the whole thing... but they were so happy. We all were. It felt like the world was changing for the better instead of for the worse, finally. Then...” He stopped, falling silent.
“Then?” Jaina asked gently.
“I didn’t think Varian could be any happier than the day he married, but the day he found out that Lianne was pregnant, he was ecstatic. I remember... he said that his grandfather had given out gifts on Llane’s birth-day, and that it became a holiday. Varian intended to do the same, though we were so poor it wasn’t practical. As soon as it was possible, he said. We’d celebrate everything. Something happened to Lianne. I don’t recall any doctor ever saying she was sick or weak, but Anduin’s birth was extremely hard on her. Varian spent every day at her side, Bolvar tried to heal her... and three weeks after Anduin was born, she died.”
Jaina was silent for a time. “Then what happened?”
“Varian absolutely lost his shit.” The words, harsh and crude, were uncompromising. Edwin’s eyes gleamed with anger. “He blamed just about everyone for her death. He spent half his time raging, and the other half locked away and depressed. The council of nobles, people who had mostly been absent from Stormwind during the rebuilding process, took over, with Bolvar leading them, trying to keep things together. The council of nobles voted to default on their debts to the goblins, citing that we’d overcharged and gone greatly over-budget. The Von Indi contribution should have been enough.”
“That’s insane.”
“It’s doubly insane when you consider all of the people who worked on that project were expecting to be paid. Instead of farming, they were building. Instead of fishing, they were building. Instead of doing anything else, they were building. They took out loans of their own, they scrimped, they saved... all because they were going to be paid by the crown someday... and then the council robbed them of that. Of that pride of accomplishment. I did what I could, I paid people back in part, going into debt myself. I also petitioned the council repeatedly. Bolvar sympathized... of course he did, we’d known each other for years. The Von Indis actually sympathized as well... but there were far too many people who wanted that money for themselves, for their own projects, for the old estates I’d ignored because I wanted to build a city. I tried to petition Varian directly.”
“And that went poorly.”
“You’d think you were there,” Edwin muttered. “It went very poorly. I was a ghoul, I was selfish... I waited years. I had to, I understood that losing Lianne was like losing a piece of his soul for him, but people were starving. I sympathized right until he told me that all I cared about was myself and then I simply... lost it. I went back to my people, told them the only way Varian was giving us what we deserved was if we took it and we started the riot. I started the riot. People died. Soldiers, workers, innocents. Vanessa’s parents, whoever they were. I’m not proud of that. I know I have blood on my hands, but damnit, so does Varian. I would have accepted it if he’d prosecuted me, but he just threw us out. All of us. Out of the city we built, the one we sweated over, bled over. The city Lianne helped build. I was so angry, we all were... we swore revenge. Now it defines us.”
“Now someone is using you,” Jaina pointed out. “Revenge doesn’t have to define you.”
“And what’s our other choice?”
“Come to Kalimdor,” Jaina said, setting the cigarello down in the tray so she could sit forward and look to him earnestly. “Whoever is doing this is using the Defias... so take the Defias away from them. Get your people to lay low... I promise you, you’ll get more than enough work in Kalimdor. I have extensive building projects and land expansion I want to get done. If your people can stand working for orcs -- or even goblins -- then Thrall will have work for you too.”
“You’re telling us to walk away from this.”
“I’m telling you to give up on a course of action that will see you all dead or imprisoned. If you’re really doing this because you wanted to help your people and it went wrong, you’ll pick an option that’s good for them, not just for revenge. I believe you’re better than a petty thug. I think Mathias does too.”
Edwin closed his eyes. “Mathias... very well. It will take time to pack my people up, and there will still be bandits and thugs here.”
“Then the army can deal with them,” Jaina replied. “It’s what they were doing before.”
“Why, that sounds almost cold of you, Lady Proudmoore,” Edwin said, chuckling briefly. “What of my people in jail?”
“I can take care of that,” Jaina replied. “There’s enough chaos in Stormwind that I can have them filtered out of the system. Just make sure that they know that their lives will be different in Kalimdor, and that criminal activity won’t be tolerated.”
“You run a tight ship?” Edwin guessed, and smiled a little. He stubbed out his cigarello and stood. “I’ll have to pack.”
“That was a terrible pun, and yes.” Jaina stood. “I should go, unless you can think of anything else.”
“No, I don’t think-- wait. There is one thing. It slipped my mind, I’m not even sure that it’s relevant.”
“Anything could be. Please.”
“Well,” Edwin began slowly, as if dredging something very old from his memory. “Not long before we officially completed the city’s reconstruction, a woman arrived. Tall, pale, dark hair and eyes. She claimed to be a noble from one of the areas first destroyed by the orcs, and wanted to be let onto the council. I want to say she helped donate funds to the crown but I couldn’t say. She didn’t like Lianne, I don’t think. I can’t imagine why not.”
“It’s possible she had her sights set on Varian,” Jaina pointed out, frowning. “Do you know more about her than that? The land she was from, anything?”
“No, she was very private, and Varian never asked for more details. Lianne was curious, but... you know.”
“I do know,” Jaina said, sighing. “Is she still on the council?”
“As far as I know, she is. Her name is Katrana Prestor.”
“Prestor...” Jaina murmured. “That name sounds familiar, but I can’t think why. I’ll look into it, it’s not totally uncommon for nobles to hire criminals to keep their hands clean, that could be all it is. I’m just not sure why in this case. I need more information. I’ll talk to Varian about it.”
“Best of luck, Swamp Queen,” Edwin said with a little bow. Jaina grinned at him.
“That’s Marsh Queen.”
“Same difference.”
“You’re going to need to know the difference if you’re expected to turn parts of it into farmable land.”
Edwin cursed, and Jaina slipped out. Almost immediately, she was accosted by Vanessa, full of questions. Jaina urged her to speak to her father, and continued out, walking across the ship towards the gangplank on the other side of the ship, leading out to the shorter tunnel that led to the sea.
Defias blinked in confusion, seeing someone leave a ship that they had not seen enter it, and Jaina waved jauntily, striding down the gangplank. She scanned the passageway, finding only gloom and mine dust, and walked into it. Several short hops later, she was gazing out at the section of Westfall creatively named Longshore.
Hopefully, I can explain to Varian, and his investigators can take care of the rest. Scanning the horizon, she smiled. And then, Stormwind can begin to h--
A hand clamped over her mouth, and another grabbed her wrists. “That’s it, snoop, you’re coming with me.” Jaina twisted, trying to see the man who had her, and she saw nothing but a pair of cold eyes and a red mask.
Defias! Jaina thought urgently. Did Edwin betray me... no... no, this is it! Her elbow snapped out unthinkingly, striking the man in the nose and he swore. The next step would be to polymorph him and mock his poor choices in attacking an Archmage, but something clicked. Vaelan had allowed himself to be captured to gain greater insight.
I can do the same. Someone was moving behind her, trying to catch her off guard. She pulled her magic in tight, and flailed out with her fist. Another voice, female this time, swore, and Jaina shifted. Come on, hit me. Let’s get this over--
A fist hit the back of her head and she blacked out.
Chapter 4