Unity: Defiance - Chapter 4
And we're back with Part 4! Enjoy!
Title: Unity: Defiance
Part: 4 of 5 + Epilogue
Word Count: 4459 (of this part)
Includes: Violence, drama, dragons, angst. Some bad language.
Pairings: Thrall/Jaina, mentioned Mathias/Edwin and Varian/Lianne
Summary: Jaina is willingly kidnapped, and taken to the heart of the matter.
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 3
Consciousness found her trussed up, her wand and gun seized, and lying in the back of a wagon in darkness. Carefully, Jaina let magic flow through her, easing her headache. No concussion and permanent brain damage for me, thank you. Now then... Little enhancements, like improving her hearing, came quickly, and she smiled, even as straw prickled her skin. No mage collar... idiots. Of course, most mages would need their hands and mouths to cast... I don’t.
Her captors were talking about a spire. Logically, such could apply to any number of places, but the conversation with Vaelan pricked at her mind. Blackrock Spire. We’re going to Blackrock Spire. Vaelan wasn’t wrong, then.
She shifted against the straw slightly, and closed her eyes. Meditation was not a common habit of mages, often left to those of a more religious nature. Mages, or so they believed, controlled their minds through rigid practice, not ritual.
Mages, Jaina thought as she slowed her breathing, are often the stupidest smart person one knows. Thrall had taught her this specific technique, to let her mind empty and the spirits flow through her. She had no ability to speak to the spirits, but that mattered little. Slowly, the dozens of running thoughts through her mind slowed their pace, sat down, and began to meditate too, easing more of the strain on her busy intellect. In concert, her mind focused on one thing, and she saw outside the wagon.
Invisible to others, an arcane eye opened, peering down at her captors. They moved down the coast, aiming to shelter in one of the many coves in Westfall. With a detached air, she watched, rather than heard, the fake-Defias argue amongst themselves. As they avoided illumination by the Longshore Lighthouse’s great lamp, something flickered briefly.
Odd, Jaina thought, but let the thought go. Her mind was quiet and open, to magic if not to the spirits. She was not-thinking, not-analyzing. Not-planning. Definitely not concerned. There was only the power of the arcane. Within an hour of her waking, they stopped. They were in Stranglethorn now, the wagon having jounced and jolted over a narrow path. Dark-skinned humans met with her kidnappers, exchanging information, a packet of money, and some mild threats. At the end of it, a dark-robed man stepped forward and began to weave a spell, waving and muttering.
Poor form, bad diction if his mouth movements are any judge, at least two proscribed short-cuts... Jaina thought, and the wagon shuddered a little. On the other hand, teleporting objects can be tricky--
Jaina did not like to be teleported by others. It made her skin crawl and her stomach lurched. She never felt this discomfort when she teleported herself, and some others, some precious others, like Antonidas and Kael’thas, had a delicate touch with teleportation spells. Their spells did not disturb her either.
It’s a reminder of how others feel, a time to remind me of empathy, Jaina thought once the spell cleared. Immediately, the smell of choking ash filled her nostrils, and she had to adjust a comfort spell to push back the feeling of heat. Now the wagon began to move again, and she opened her arcane eye again.
She had never seen Blackrock Mountain in person. She had heard stories from others, but this... seeing it was another thing entirely. It seems to touch the sky, an upthrust fist with a single digit extended in disdain. Jaina’s fingers curled to return the favour. The wagon rattled up the winding path into the mountain. The arcane eye and Jaina’s gaze swept over exposed pools of lava, and even through her enchantments, the inside of the theoretically dormant volcano was intolerably hot. Her captors felt no less discomforted, which pleased her.
There was a certain grim austerity to the home of the Dark Iron Dwarves and the old Horde. Never easy neighbours, Jaina’s eye saw where the lines had been drawn: the Molten Span. The dwarves had the size and the ingenuity to create narrow chain-paths that would take one deeper inside the mountain and their domain. The orcs had elected to claim the upper parts, carving out and then reinforcing them with dark iron, obsidian. Up was where they were going. Up, and up, and further up. The lower half of Blackrock Spire was a mess, from the glimpse her arcane eye gave her, and she saw trolls and ogres as well as orcs, though these had dusky skin rather than the bright, vibrant green she held so dear.
At least some of that must be the conditions they live in, Jaina mused. I wonder how many live here because they never heard Thrall’s call. Perhaps... She was jolted out of her thoughts as the wagon stopped.
Rough voices called out in warning, stating humans must go no further. Jaina closed off her arcane eye and lay still. The low cover of the wagon was ripped back, and heat washed over Jaina.
“Wake up,” growled an orc, reaching over to shake her. With studied care, she hesitated for three seconds, just long enough to annoy him, and opened her eyes.
“What?” she asked, keeping her voice muzzy. He grabbed for the bindings on her ankles, pulling them off. She winced, and, oddly, he became more gentle, unwinding the ropes.
“What’s taking so damned long, Ariok?” demanded the second warrior, and the first -- Ariok -- growled back. “The Warchief demands it.”
“His master demands it,” muttered Ariok, and lifted Jaina up by the elbow, setting her on her feet. “Move along, now.”
That name sounds familiar, Jaina thought, remembering the scent of different fire, different accents. I wonder...
Between them, the orcs led Jaina through the city, to the upper part of the spire. There were fewer orcs here, and the first of the dragonkin. As tall and broad as orcs, but twice the mass, they bore heavy, two-bladed pikes, and armour and scales blended together seamlessly, one ending where the other began. Their scales were black, edged with gold, and their bellies red when she could see them. Lighter, slightly thinner dragonkin with different markings patrolled between them, and Jaina could smell and sense their magic, of fire, of brimstone, of the deep earth.
People stopped to watch Jaina and her escort as they took her past work chambers and meditation cells. Some lips curled with disdain, others growled in anger, and still others let flickers of fear move over their features before feigning disinterest. Jaina made a note of it.
Of her captors, Ariok seemed the older, but his grip was gentler; firm, but not painful. The other, unnamed orc was bruising her, a pitiful show of force against a prisoner that was -- as far as he knew -- helpless, trapped with nowhere to run.
Asshole, Jaina thought venomously. Past the workrooms was an elemental, and Jaina squinted her eyes against the bright flame cutting through the gloomy darkness. “What is this?” she added with a deliberate quaver.
“Ambassador Flamelash,” grunted Ariok. “From Ragnaros. Not for you to worry about.”
“Aren’t the Dark Iron your enemies, and their elemental allies too?” Jaina asked, a prickle of unease moving through her. Stormwind’s greatest asset is how much the orcs and the Dark Iron hate each other. Should they become allies...
“They are, with their foul sorcery and their coal eyes,” Ariok agreed, “but the Warchief--”
“Shut up,” snarled the other orc, gripping Jaina’s arm, and her noise of pain was unfeigned. “Don’t tell a human all of our secrets.”
“She’s going to Lord Nefarius,” Ariok said, growling back. “Who is she going to tell?”
That has to be a fake name, Jaina thought. Like ‘Fel’dan’ or ‘Kel’thuzad’.
“That doesn’t matter, the point is you’re flapping your jaws and keeping him waiting.”
“I’m keeping him waiting, but you’re breaking his prisoner’s arm,” Ariok pointed out. “Look at her.”
His companion snarled at him, but loosened his grip. “Hurry up.”
Jaina, with Ariok’s firm hand on her arm, hurried. Her mind raced as feeling flooded back into her other arm. “Thank you,” she murmured to Ariok, who grunted back.
The remainder of the journey was a blur of grim, poorly lit corridors, occupied by orcs, or dragonkin, or both. There was a sense of tug-of-war between Ariok and the other orc who never divulged his name. Jaina’s nostrils flared as they approached a grand archway, carved with runes Jaina didn’t recognize, though they made her skin crawl to look at them.
“Ah, and here we have our spy. Leave us.”
Ariok saluted, and a moment later, the other orc saluted too, retreating out of the room. Jaina eyed the man -- dragon -- with distaste. In his human form, the man was dark-skinned, like one from southern Stranglethorn, or one of Kul Tiras’ isles, and he had shoulder length black hair. His eyes, the colour of amber, were hard and cold as they observed her, as though she were an ant crawling across the dark flagstones. His clothes were also black, trimmed with gold, an elegant shirt and pants suit. His fingernails, she observed before he reached out to touch her cheek, were long.
“And here we have the holder of leashes,” Jaina replied, jerking her head away. “You certainly make an impression on people.”
“I have been known to, when people survive meeting me,” Nefarius admitted, and smiled. “So defiant. Do you know where you are?”
Jaina made a show of looking around. “I am in a dark, smelly pit, with a pretentious asshole.” She looked directly into his eyes, bracing herself against his first attack. “Am I close?”
Looking into his eyes might have been a mistake: within his amber orbs -- because his eyes had grown large, solid-coloured, and threatened to overwhelm his face -- was an endless abyss, the canyons beneath the earth. They held no riches, promised no wealth or mystery, simply the endless, gaping void that consumed. There was a name there, a real one... Nefarian, son of Deathwing. Jaina’s breath caught in her throat, and she focused on a single image, a point of light, hope, and defiance. She held that image in her mind, and after a moment, Nefarius broke his gaze and frowned.
“Your insolence will be your death one day, human.”
“Just as your propensity for acting like a giant, erect phallus will guarantee yours,” Jaina replied, slightly breathless, and let the image go.
“Come,” Nefarius commanded, and then winced at his own wording. “Follow.”
Jaina followed. Moving further into the room, she felt a chill move down her spine. Hidden in the shadows were what at first seemed like heaps of raw meat. Red muscle and yellow-white bone gleamed in the dim light. As she moved closer, she could see damaged, discoloured scales. Blue and white, green and yellow, red, bronze... sickeningly, even black.
“What... what is this?” Jaina managed.
“My lab,” Nefarius said, waving towards the bodies. “I am a geneticist, a scientist, if you prefer.”
“I don’t prefer,” Jaina said, shaken. “That’s not how science works.”
“It is when you only require results, not spotless methodology. Oh, you must be one of those terribly prosaic Dalaran mages, the sticklers for proper procedure and morality. That netted you Kel’thuzad, that must make you so proud.”
“Nicolai Kelthus and his ilk were a handful of disasters in six thousand years of history. It’s hardly what I call precedent,” Jaina said, rallying. “What could you possibly hope to gain from this... disgusting display?”
“My dear -- I’m sure you dislike being called my dear, but it’s my privilege to be patronizing, as you are doomed -- you may not be aware, but we dragons are Titan constructs. A seed race, among seed races. As such, we have never completely understood how it is that we do what we do, how we have survived despite... setbacks... and what our relationship is with the natural world. Most do not care, and are simply content with the fact that we have one, and that we do continue to exist.”
He led her into another room where assistants -- mostly goblins -- worked on adding chemicals to a dark red liquid. As one of the experiments yielded a sharp, coppery tang, Jaina realized it was dragon blood.
“Not you, though,” Jaina hazarded. “You want to know more, to learn all of the secrets of this world.” She swallowed. “Regardless of cost.”
“Oh, very good,” Nefarius said, clapping his hands together, the sharp sound causing the goblins to jump. “You’re not as small minded as I thought.”
“It would be hard for me to be as stupid as you think I am,” Jaina noted. “So, what? You capture dragons that stray too close, and... slaughter them?”
“Oh, no no no,” Nefarius said, turning to look at her. Jaina looked at him, but avoided his gaze. “I capture dragons that stray too close -- or are failures for other reasons -- torture them, experiment on them, and then slaughter them. There’s far too much valuable information that the living can yield to simply kill them out of hand.”
“You are absolutely, flagrantly, and flamboyantly evil, aren’t you?” Jaina said. “You’re like a caricature of a madman.”
Nefarius’ good humour vanished, and he grabbed her by the robes and flung her across the laboratory, sending her crashing into a pile of old, rusted cages. Jaina cried out in pain and shock, even as she used a small amount of magic to protect her.
“I do not usually deal with human subjects, but you will find my methodology to be thorough, if not to your taste,” he hissed, smoke flooding from his nostrils as his grip on his human form became less certain. He snarled at two of the nearby goblins, who dropped what they were doing and hurried over to Jaina. “Take her to the sanctum.”
Jaina glared at the goblins, but her anger was nothing before the insane dragon, and they forced her to stand, prodding her towards yet another room. This one was cool and dark, and had a strangely sterile feeling to it, as if all of the horror was saved for the first few rooms of the lab. They had her sit, and barred the door from the far side.
Well, Jaina thought wearily. That was bracing. She pulled up her sleeves, examining the bruising on her arms ruefully. So let’s see what might be in here. She tugged her sleeves back down, and surveyed the room. The floors here were made of marble, and all of the furniture of shining metal, including the tables meant for operations, and the various tools laying on them. It reminded Jaina of the old labs in Dalaran, save for the fact the tools were littered with devices of excruciation. Cabinets lined one of the far walls, and Jaina hurried to them, finding them filled with notes and arcane crystals.
She skimmed some of the notes, finding all of it horrible, but potentially illuminating. It’s not as though he can kill me more than once when he finds out, she reasoned, and emptied out each of the cabinets, putting the notes in a pile on the floor. Closing her eyes, she let magic spill from her hands as she designed a complex, interlocking series of shapes, and enclosed them in a circle. With a slight pop, the notes disappeared, to reappear in Jaina’s own labs.
Now, let’s get out of--
Crying. The sound was familiar and heartbreaking, and it came from one of the smaller, adjoining rooms. Jaina moved towards the sound hurriedly, looking over her shoulder before ducking into the room. Within was a slumped figure, and a spark of light -- which invoked another sob -- illuminated a small, blue dragon. There was scarring along his flanks, turning azure scales to the duller blue of the gnomish air corps. The dragon lay at the base of a cage on top of a thin layer of dirty straw.
“It’s alright,” Jaina murmured. “I’m going to help you. Please don’t cry.”
“I’m so hungry...” the little dragon whispered, the voice youthful and male. “He doesn’t feed me the right things.”
Jaina’s mind raced. “Magic. You need magic, hang on.” She knelt by the dragon’s head, and held out her hand, palm up. The dragon’s snout twitched, questing for her touch, and finally, he let his muzzle rest against her fingers. Carefully, Jaina summoned arcane magic into her hand, raw and unformed. It was an old exercise, to build power and test endurance, but Jaina remembered it, and felt her whole body tingle from the sensation. Without opening his mouth, the dragon drew the magic from her hand, inhaling it, drawing into himself slowly at first, and then quickly, as a starving man gulps down food.
And on that note... Jaina regulated his magical draw carefully, keeping him from gorging. The dragon opened his eyes, giving Jaina a reproachful, amethyst-eyed look. “I don’t want you to overfeed,” Jaina said, rubbing her free hand just above his ear slit. “It will hurt both of us.”
He sighed, and slowly moved his wings. “I’m still hungry.”
“I know,” Jaina said gently. “I know. I’m going to get you out of here, though.” After letting him take a little more, she pulled her hand back. She grasped the bars of his cage, letting magic spark and crackle along the metal bars before pulling back sharply, taking the bars of the cage with her. She removed each bar on one side, and helped the little dragon move. His body, from nose to rump, was only the size of a six year old, and while his wings and tail made him larger, he still seemed so small. “What’s your name?”
“Awbegos... Awbee,” the dragon replied. “I can’t fly.” His eyes were wide with sorrow and shame. “I don’t know how.”
“You don’t need to fly, I’ll carry you,” Jaina said, and helped him into her arms. He curled his tail around one of her wrists as she held him. She levered herself up. You’re so light... is this how all dragons are, or is it because you were starving? “How did you come to be here?”
“I was egg-napped,” Awbee murmured, rubbing his head against the back of her neck. “I hatched here, in the rookery, with the others.” He shuddered. “They didn’t like me at all.”
“I like you,” Jaina assured him. “Where is this rookery?”
“There’s a pathway from the lab, I remember they took me that way, before... before the experiments.” Awbee shuddered again in fear.
“Never again,” Jaina whispered. Anger and disgust flooded her. There is nothing to be done for the dead, but the living will know freedom. “We’re going to go there, and if there are any other stolen eggs left, we’re going to rescue them. I promise.”
Awbee rubbed against her neck again, and lay still. Jaina rubbed her fingers along his neck, and hurried. While vague, Jaina’s instincts brought her down a wide, dark passage that led towards a heat source. It was slightly moister here as well, adding humidity to the warmth and dim light.
Like a womb, Jaina considered. Or the bowels of the earth. She peered around a corner carefully. The rookery was lit by braziers, reflecting over a number of what Jaina had to assume were dragon eggs: the size of a human woman’s pregnant stomach, they were oval in shape but spiked in a number of places as though clawed against danger. The shells were black and gleamed in the dim light. Here and there, female dragonkin wandered through the rows, turning them slightly, making sure all sides were warmed evenly.
“So many...” Jaina murmured. “I didn’t think there were that many dragons.”
“There aren’t, not really,” Awbee murmured back. “Broodmothers lay many eggs. A lot have nothing in them, they’re thrown away, sometimes, or they’re kept so hatchlings can break them open and eat what’s inside. Others aren’t born into dragons at all, they’re born into dragonspawn, and they grow into dragonkin. If you have five eggs, one or two might be empty, and two or three might have dragonkin in them. Dragonkin don’t lay eggs at all, they’re infertile. There are only more of them because Broodmothers lay them.”
“So, one in five dragon eggs become more dragons?” Jaina asked, curious even as she moved from shadow to shadow.
“If the hatching is good,” Awbee replied. “Eggs stay eggs for some time, sometimes years, because you’re growing inside. People talk to you inside the egg too, they teach you. When we’re ready, we hatch... and that’s hard too, because hatchlings don’t always survive. Sometimes they aren’t strong enough... or sometimes, hatching is the really hard part.” He shivered. “Blue hatchlings don’t have control of their magic, so they... destabilize.”
“...baby blue dragons explode?” Jaina murmured in sheer disbelief.
“Yes,” Awbee said. “I don’t know about the others, but black dragon hatchlings fight each other. It’s a... frenzy. The ones that survive grow up.”
“I will never again complain about humanity’s early phases of eat-sleep-poop-cry,” Jaina said, hugging him. “But... what happens after that?”
“We eat and we grow,” Awbee replied, nuzzling her. “Lots and lots of both. We don’t stop... the biggest dragons are also the oldest, the most powerful, or both. My Mama told me, when I was still an egg, that I would feed on the magic of the world, and when I got older, I’d keep it steady. I would monitor the ley lines, keep them clear and stable. I’d make sure the nodes weren’t sick or damaged. I might even get to pretend to be a mortal and spend time in one of their cities.”
“Where slightly deranged magic students would take bets as to which flight you were from,” Jaina said. She felt Awbee shift out of curiosity. “It’s a long story, I’ll tell it later... wait, I think I see something.”
Clustered amongst the black dragon eggs were other colours. A ruby that made Jaina think of the Horde’s colours, shimmering and proud, and a green the colour of deep forests, along with two yellow-gold eggs that felt as though they couldn’t decide if they were there or not. They were being tended to by an orc, clad in robes and wearing a red hood.
Odd, I’ve never seen that manner of dress before, but I can’t know every orc tradition, especially not here. Jaina hugged Awbee again. “I see some of the egg-napped. I’m going to need to use magic to get rid of that orc, so you mustn’t try to eat it. Alright?”
“Alright,” Awbee replied, settling in. Jaina moved swiftly, and used the hand that wasn’t holding Awbee up to summon more arcane magic.
Jaina drew back her hand. Smile, you son of a--
The orc turned, and Jaina met a green-eyed gaze, and held his hand up to catch hers. Jaina realized she knew those eyes, even as he brought a finger to his lips.
“Vaelan!” Jaina hissed, drawing her magic back.
“Now can I eat it?” Awbee murmured.
“Yes,” Jaina said absently, and let Awbee draw more magic from her. She turned her attention back to Vaelan. “What are you doing here?!”
“I told you I was watching the Spire,” he replied. “How did you think I was doing it?”
“I don’t know, the way all sensible people would: with magic, from a safe distance, and with your finger on the igniter for a cannon,” she retorted sharply. “Did you know about this?” She indicated Awbee.
“I did, and there have been more victims,” Vaelan said, his expression grave. Jaina regretted her anger instantly. “Brothers and sisters, my cousins from other flights. Here are the most tragic victims. Eggs are infants when they are first laid... these ones will know no other life unless they are taken home. This little one has lived a hard life for one so young.”
“...so we’re taking them and getting out of here,” Jaina said. “Good.”
“We are,” Vaelan agreed. “Your help would be appreciated.”
“Of course,” Jaina replied. She looked down at the cluster of eggs, and frowned. “You have a black egg here.”
“I want to see,” Awbee said, and Jaina turned a little, missing Vaelan’s expression. Awbee hissed, like a cat.
“I do, yes,” Vaelan said evenly. “There is more to this than you know.”
“I happen to love secrets, so telling me about them would be helpful, especially if you want me to help you,” Jaina pointed out.
“This isn’t the time--”
“The more you delay and fuss about time, the longer the whole process takes. The ideal solution is to summarize without excessive levels of kodo dung, so I can formulate a plan,” Jaina said tartly, turning to face him. “Tick, tock.”
“I know this dragon egg to contain a true black dragon,” Vaelan said, reluctant. “It is freshly laid, so it has not been indoctrinated in the ways of violence or corruption by the black dragonflight. This egg has potential.”
“For what?” Jaina asked, then considered. “To not be evil?”
“Correct,” Vaelan agreed, placing a hand on it. “Dragons are no more born evil than humans or elves or even orcs are. The problem is that dragons are taught particularly early of the ways of their dragonflight, for both good and ill. A red dragon is taught to love life, to preserve it... to fight for it when we can. Imagine if we were raised from birth to believe that other races were only a blight on the world, to be cleansed with claw, tooth, tail, and fire. What would we be then? The black dragons are corrupt because Deathwing taught them to be so. He instilled values in them that turn them into monsters. My Queen, the mother of my flight, she believes that we can reverse this. She has met with opposition. Some fear her loyalties may be... compromised, but I... I believe it.”
“I do too,” Jaina agreed. “So you’re egg-napping this little one in the hopes that he can be taught to be more like a red dragon?”
“No,” Vaelan said. “My Queen will teach this little one how to be a true black dragon, a guardian of the earth and the protector of the depths. For far too long have their charges been abandoned. He or she will be taught to do Neltharion’s duty, not Deathwing’s.”
“Then let’s get him somewhere he can learn that,” Jaina said. “I can teleport you all to Theramore--”
“No,” Vaelan said, again. “It is not that I don’t trust you, but these eggs must be returned to my flight. I would want them to be taken directly to the home of the red dragonflight...” He paused. “The Ruby Sanctum in Northrend.”
“...it strikes me that the seat of power of the Lich King is not the best place to bring anyone, much less vulnerable baby dragons,” Jaina pointed out, unease prickling across her skin.
“Icecrown is some distance from the Dragonblight, and we must defend our dead and our living alike. Surrendering our sacred home is not an option.”
“You’d find it remarkable what options become available when you’re faced with an army of your own dead,” Jaina pointed out. “In fact--”
“This is no time to be a smart ass,” Vaelan hissed.
“It’s always time to be a smart--”
“What’s going on here?”
Part 5
Title: Unity: Defiance
Part: 4 of 5 + Epilogue
Word Count: 4459 (of this part)
Includes: Violence, drama, dragons, angst. Some bad language.
Pairings: Thrall/Jaina, mentioned Mathias/Edwin and Varian/Lianne
Summary: Jaina is willingly kidnapped, and taken to the heart of the matter.
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 3
Consciousness found her trussed up, her wand and gun seized, and lying in the back of a wagon in darkness. Carefully, Jaina let magic flow through her, easing her headache. No concussion and permanent brain damage for me, thank you. Now then... Little enhancements, like improving her hearing, came quickly, and she smiled, even as straw prickled her skin. No mage collar... idiots. Of course, most mages would need their hands and mouths to cast... I don’t.
Her captors were talking about a spire. Logically, such could apply to any number of places, but the conversation with Vaelan pricked at her mind. Blackrock Spire. We’re going to Blackrock Spire. Vaelan wasn’t wrong, then.
She shifted against the straw slightly, and closed her eyes. Meditation was not a common habit of mages, often left to those of a more religious nature. Mages, or so they believed, controlled their minds through rigid practice, not ritual.
Mages, Jaina thought as she slowed her breathing, are often the stupidest smart person one knows. Thrall had taught her this specific technique, to let her mind empty and the spirits flow through her. She had no ability to speak to the spirits, but that mattered little. Slowly, the dozens of running thoughts through her mind slowed their pace, sat down, and began to meditate too, easing more of the strain on her busy intellect. In concert, her mind focused on one thing, and she saw outside the wagon.
Invisible to others, an arcane eye opened, peering down at her captors. They moved down the coast, aiming to shelter in one of the many coves in Westfall. With a detached air, she watched, rather than heard, the fake-Defias argue amongst themselves. As they avoided illumination by the Longshore Lighthouse’s great lamp, something flickered briefly.
Odd, Jaina thought, but let the thought go. Her mind was quiet and open, to magic if not to the spirits. She was not-thinking, not-analyzing. Not-planning. Definitely not concerned. There was only the power of the arcane. Within an hour of her waking, they stopped. They were in Stranglethorn now, the wagon having jounced and jolted over a narrow path. Dark-skinned humans met with her kidnappers, exchanging information, a packet of money, and some mild threats. At the end of it, a dark-robed man stepped forward and began to weave a spell, waving and muttering.
Poor form, bad diction if his mouth movements are any judge, at least two proscribed short-cuts... Jaina thought, and the wagon shuddered a little. On the other hand, teleporting objects can be tricky--
Jaina did not like to be teleported by others. It made her skin crawl and her stomach lurched. She never felt this discomfort when she teleported herself, and some others, some precious others, like Antonidas and Kael’thas, had a delicate touch with teleportation spells. Their spells did not disturb her either.
It’s a reminder of how others feel, a time to remind me of empathy, Jaina thought once the spell cleared. Immediately, the smell of choking ash filled her nostrils, and she had to adjust a comfort spell to push back the feeling of heat. Now the wagon began to move again, and she opened her arcane eye again.
She had never seen Blackrock Mountain in person. She had heard stories from others, but this... seeing it was another thing entirely. It seems to touch the sky, an upthrust fist with a single digit extended in disdain. Jaina’s fingers curled to return the favour. The wagon rattled up the winding path into the mountain. The arcane eye and Jaina’s gaze swept over exposed pools of lava, and even through her enchantments, the inside of the theoretically dormant volcano was intolerably hot. Her captors felt no less discomforted, which pleased her.
There was a certain grim austerity to the home of the Dark Iron Dwarves and the old Horde. Never easy neighbours, Jaina’s eye saw where the lines had been drawn: the Molten Span. The dwarves had the size and the ingenuity to create narrow chain-paths that would take one deeper inside the mountain and their domain. The orcs had elected to claim the upper parts, carving out and then reinforcing them with dark iron, obsidian. Up was where they were going. Up, and up, and further up. The lower half of Blackrock Spire was a mess, from the glimpse her arcane eye gave her, and she saw trolls and ogres as well as orcs, though these had dusky skin rather than the bright, vibrant green she held so dear.
At least some of that must be the conditions they live in, Jaina mused. I wonder how many live here because they never heard Thrall’s call. Perhaps... She was jolted out of her thoughts as the wagon stopped.
Rough voices called out in warning, stating humans must go no further. Jaina closed off her arcane eye and lay still. The low cover of the wagon was ripped back, and heat washed over Jaina.
“Wake up,” growled an orc, reaching over to shake her. With studied care, she hesitated for three seconds, just long enough to annoy him, and opened her eyes.
“What?” she asked, keeping her voice muzzy. He grabbed for the bindings on her ankles, pulling them off. She winced, and, oddly, he became more gentle, unwinding the ropes.
“What’s taking so damned long, Ariok?” demanded the second warrior, and the first -- Ariok -- growled back. “The Warchief demands it.”
“His master demands it,” muttered Ariok, and lifted Jaina up by the elbow, setting her on her feet. “Move along, now.”
That name sounds familiar, Jaina thought, remembering the scent of different fire, different accents. I wonder...
Between them, the orcs led Jaina through the city, to the upper part of the spire. There were fewer orcs here, and the first of the dragonkin. As tall and broad as orcs, but twice the mass, they bore heavy, two-bladed pikes, and armour and scales blended together seamlessly, one ending where the other began. Their scales were black, edged with gold, and their bellies red when she could see them. Lighter, slightly thinner dragonkin with different markings patrolled between them, and Jaina could smell and sense their magic, of fire, of brimstone, of the deep earth.
People stopped to watch Jaina and her escort as they took her past work chambers and meditation cells. Some lips curled with disdain, others growled in anger, and still others let flickers of fear move over their features before feigning disinterest. Jaina made a note of it.
Of her captors, Ariok seemed the older, but his grip was gentler; firm, but not painful. The other, unnamed orc was bruising her, a pitiful show of force against a prisoner that was -- as far as he knew -- helpless, trapped with nowhere to run.
Asshole, Jaina thought venomously. Past the workrooms was an elemental, and Jaina squinted her eyes against the bright flame cutting through the gloomy darkness. “What is this?” she added with a deliberate quaver.
“Ambassador Flamelash,” grunted Ariok. “From Ragnaros. Not for you to worry about.”
“Aren’t the Dark Iron your enemies, and their elemental allies too?” Jaina asked, a prickle of unease moving through her. Stormwind’s greatest asset is how much the orcs and the Dark Iron hate each other. Should they become allies...
“They are, with their foul sorcery and their coal eyes,” Ariok agreed, “but the Warchief--”
“Shut up,” snarled the other orc, gripping Jaina’s arm, and her noise of pain was unfeigned. “Don’t tell a human all of our secrets.”
“She’s going to Lord Nefarius,” Ariok said, growling back. “Who is she going to tell?”
That has to be a fake name, Jaina thought. Like ‘Fel’dan’ or ‘Kel’thuzad’.
“That doesn’t matter, the point is you’re flapping your jaws and keeping him waiting.”
“I’m keeping him waiting, but you’re breaking his prisoner’s arm,” Ariok pointed out. “Look at her.”
His companion snarled at him, but loosened his grip. “Hurry up.”
Jaina, with Ariok’s firm hand on her arm, hurried. Her mind raced as feeling flooded back into her other arm. “Thank you,” she murmured to Ariok, who grunted back.
The remainder of the journey was a blur of grim, poorly lit corridors, occupied by orcs, or dragonkin, or both. There was a sense of tug-of-war between Ariok and the other orc who never divulged his name. Jaina’s nostrils flared as they approached a grand archway, carved with runes Jaina didn’t recognize, though they made her skin crawl to look at them.
“Ah, and here we have our spy. Leave us.”
Ariok saluted, and a moment later, the other orc saluted too, retreating out of the room. Jaina eyed the man -- dragon -- with distaste. In his human form, the man was dark-skinned, like one from southern Stranglethorn, or one of Kul Tiras’ isles, and he had shoulder length black hair. His eyes, the colour of amber, were hard and cold as they observed her, as though she were an ant crawling across the dark flagstones. His clothes were also black, trimmed with gold, an elegant shirt and pants suit. His fingernails, she observed before he reached out to touch her cheek, were long.
“And here we have the holder of leashes,” Jaina replied, jerking her head away. “You certainly make an impression on people.”
“I have been known to, when people survive meeting me,” Nefarius admitted, and smiled. “So defiant. Do you know where you are?”
Jaina made a show of looking around. “I am in a dark, smelly pit, with a pretentious asshole.” She looked directly into his eyes, bracing herself against his first attack. “Am I close?”
Looking into his eyes might have been a mistake: within his amber orbs -- because his eyes had grown large, solid-coloured, and threatened to overwhelm his face -- was an endless abyss, the canyons beneath the earth. They held no riches, promised no wealth or mystery, simply the endless, gaping void that consumed. There was a name there, a real one... Nefarian, son of Deathwing. Jaina’s breath caught in her throat, and she focused on a single image, a point of light, hope, and defiance. She held that image in her mind, and after a moment, Nefarius broke his gaze and frowned.
“Your insolence will be your death one day, human.”
“Just as your propensity for acting like a giant, erect phallus will guarantee yours,” Jaina replied, slightly breathless, and let the image go.
“Come,” Nefarius commanded, and then winced at his own wording. “Follow.”
Jaina followed. Moving further into the room, she felt a chill move down her spine. Hidden in the shadows were what at first seemed like heaps of raw meat. Red muscle and yellow-white bone gleamed in the dim light. As she moved closer, she could see damaged, discoloured scales. Blue and white, green and yellow, red, bronze... sickeningly, even black.
“What... what is this?” Jaina managed.
“My lab,” Nefarius said, waving towards the bodies. “I am a geneticist, a scientist, if you prefer.”
“I don’t prefer,” Jaina said, shaken. “That’s not how science works.”
“It is when you only require results, not spotless methodology. Oh, you must be one of those terribly prosaic Dalaran mages, the sticklers for proper procedure and morality. That netted you Kel’thuzad, that must make you so proud.”
“Nicolai Kelthus and his ilk were a handful of disasters in six thousand years of history. It’s hardly what I call precedent,” Jaina said, rallying. “What could you possibly hope to gain from this... disgusting display?”
“My dear -- I’m sure you dislike being called my dear, but it’s my privilege to be patronizing, as you are doomed -- you may not be aware, but we dragons are Titan constructs. A seed race, among seed races. As such, we have never completely understood how it is that we do what we do, how we have survived despite... setbacks... and what our relationship is with the natural world. Most do not care, and are simply content with the fact that we have one, and that we do continue to exist.”
He led her into another room where assistants -- mostly goblins -- worked on adding chemicals to a dark red liquid. As one of the experiments yielded a sharp, coppery tang, Jaina realized it was dragon blood.
“Not you, though,” Jaina hazarded. “You want to know more, to learn all of the secrets of this world.” She swallowed. “Regardless of cost.”
“Oh, very good,” Nefarius said, clapping his hands together, the sharp sound causing the goblins to jump. “You’re not as small minded as I thought.”
“It would be hard for me to be as stupid as you think I am,” Jaina noted. “So, what? You capture dragons that stray too close, and... slaughter them?”
“Oh, no no no,” Nefarius said, turning to look at her. Jaina looked at him, but avoided his gaze. “I capture dragons that stray too close -- or are failures for other reasons -- torture them, experiment on them, and then slaughter them. There’s far too much valuable information that the living can yield to simply kill them out of hand.”
“You are absolutely, flagrantly, and flamboyantly evil, aren’t you?” Jaina said. “You’re like a caricature of a madman.”
Nefarius’ good humour vanished, and he grabbed her by the robes and flung her across the laboratory, sending her crashing into a pile of old, rusted cages. Jaina cried out in pain and shock, even as she used a small amount of magic to protect her.
“I do not usually deal with human subjects, but you will find my methodology to be thorough, if not to your taste,” he hissed, smoke flooding from his nostrils as his grip on his human form became less certain. He snarled at two of the nearby goblins, who dropped what they were doing and hurried over to Jaina. “Take her to the sanctum.”
Jaina glared at the goblins, but her anger was nothing before the insane dragon, and they forced her to stand, prodding her towards yet another room. This one was cool and dark, and had a strangely sterile feeling to it, as if all of the horror was saved for the first few rooms of the lab. They had her sit, and barred the door from the far side.
Well, Jaina thought wearily. That was bracing. She pulled up her sleeves, examining the bruising on her arms ruefully. So let’s see what might be in here. She tugged her sleeves back down, and surveyed the room. The floors here were made of marble, and all of the furniture of shining metal, including the tables meant for operations, and the various tools laying on them. It reminded Jaina of the old labs in Dalaran, save for the fact the tools were littered with devices of excruciation. Cabinets lined one of the far walls, and Jaina hurried to them, finding them filled with notes and arcane crystals.
She skimmed some of the notes, finding all of it horrible, but potentially illuminating. It’s not as though he can kill me more than once when he finds out, she reasoned, and emptied out each of the cabinets, putting the notes in a pile on the floor. Closing her eyes, she let magic spill from her hands as she designed a complex, interlocking series of shapes, and enclosed them in a circle. With a slight pop, the notes disappeared, to reappear in Jaina’s own labs.
Now, let’s get out of--
Crying. The sound was familiar and heartbreaking, and it came from one of the smaller, adjoining rooms. Jaina moved towards the sound hurriedly, looking over her shoulder before ducking into the room. Within was a slumped figure, and a spark of light -- which invoked another sob -- illuminated a small, blue dragon. There was scarring along his flanks, turning azure scales to the duller blue of the gnomish air corps. The dragon lay at the base of a cage on top of a thin layer of dirty straw.
“It’s alright,” Jaina murmured. “I’m going to help you. Please don’t cry.”
“I’m so hungry...” the little dragon whispered, the voice youthful and male. “He doesn’t feed me the right things.”
Jaina’s mind raced. “Magic. You need magic, hang on.” She knelt by the dragon’s head, and held out her hand, palm up. The dragon’s snout twitched, questing for her touch, and finally, he let his muzzle rest against her fingers. Carefully, Jaina summoned arcane magic into her hand, raw and unformed. It was an old exercise, to build power and test endurance, but Jaina remembered it, and felt her whole body tingle from the sensation. Without opening his mouth, the dragon drew the magic from her hand, inhaling it, drawing into himself slowly at first, and then quickly, as a starving man gulps down food.
And on that note... Jaina regulated his magical draw carefully, keeping him from gorging. The dragon opened his eyes, giving Jaina a reproachful, amethyst-eyed look. “I don’t want you to overfeed,” Jaina said, rubbing her free hand just above his ear slit. “It will hurt both of us.”
He sighed, and slowly moved his wings. “I’m still hungry.”
“I know,” Jaina said gently. “I know. I’m going to get you out of here, though.” After letting him take a little more, she pulled her hand back. She grasped the bars of his cage, letting magic spark and crackle along the metal bars before pulling back sharply, taking the bars of the cage with her. She removed each bar on one side, and helped the little dragon move. His body, from nose to rump, was only the size of a six year old, and while his wings and tail made him larger, he still seemed so small. “What’s your name?”
“Awbegos... Awbee,” the dragon replied. “I can’t fly.” His eyes were wide with sorrow and shame. “I don’t know how.”
“You don’t need to fly, I’ll carry you,” Jaina said, and helped him into her arms. He curled his tail around one of her wrists as she held him. She levered herself up. You’re so light... is this how all dragons are, or is it because you were starving? “How did you come to be here?”
“I was egg-napped,” Awbee murmured, rubbing his head against the back of her neck. “I hatched here, in the rookery, with the others.” He shuddered. “They didn’t like me at all.”
“I like you,” Jaina assured him. “Where is this rookery?”
“There’s a pathway from the lab, I remember they took me that way, before... before the experiments.” Awbee shuddered again in fear.
“Never again,” Jaina whispered. Anger and disgust flooded her. There is nothing to be done for the dead, but the living will know freedom. “We’re going to go there, and if there are any other stolen eggs left, we’re going to rescue them. I promise.”
Awbee rubbed against her neck again, and lay still. Jaina rubbed her fingers along his neck, and hurried. While vague, Jaina’s instincts brought her down a wide, dark passage that led towards a heat source. It was slightly moister here as well, adding humidity to the warmth and dim light.
Like a womb, Jaina considered. Or the bowels of the earth. She peered around a corner carefully. The rookery was lit by braziers, reflecting over a number of what Jaina had to assume were dragon eggs: the size of a human woman’s pregnant stomach, they were oval in shape but spiked in a number of places as though clawed against danger. The shells were black and gleamed in the dim light. Here and there, female dragonkin wandered through the rows, turning them slightly, making sure all sides were warmed evenly.
“So many...” Jaina murmured. “I didn’t think there were that many dragons.”
“There aren’t, not really,” Awbee murmured back. “Broodmothers lay many eggs. A lot have nothing in them, they’re thrown away, sometimes, or they’re kept so hatchlings can break them open and eat what’s inside. Others aren’t born into dragons at all, they’re born into dragonspawn, and they grow into dragonkin. If you have five eggs, one or two might be empty, and two or three might have dragonkin in them. Dragonkin don’t lay eggs at all, they’re infertile. There are only more of them because Broodmothers lay them.”
“So, one in five dragon eggs become more dragons?” Jaina asked, curious even as she moved from shadow to shadow.
“If the hatching is good,” Awbee replied. “Eggs stay eggs for some time, sometimes years, because you’re growing inside. People talk to you inside the egg too, they teach you. When we’re ready, we hatch... and that’s hard too, because hatchlings don’t always survive. Sometimes they aren’t strong enough... or sometimes, hatching is the really hard part.” He shivered. “Blue hatchlings don’t have control of their magic, so they... destabilize.”
“...baby blue dragons explode?” Jaina murmured in sheer disbelief.
“Yes,” Awbee said. “I don’t know about the others, but black dragon hatchlings fight each other. It’s a... frenzy. The ones that survive grow up.”
“I will never again complain about humanity’s early phases of eat-sleep-poop-cry,” Jaina said, hugging him. “But... what happens after that?”
“We eat and we grow,” Awbee replied, nuzzling her. “Lots and lots of both. We don’t stop... the biggest dragons are also the oldest, the most powerful, or both. My Mama told me, when I was still an egg, that I would feed on the magic of the world, and when I got older, I’d keep it steady. I would monitor the ley lines, keep them clear and stable. I’d make sure the nodes weren’t sick or damaged. I might even get to pretend to be a mortal and spend time in one of their cities.”
“Where slightly deranged magic students would take bets as to which flight you were from,” Jaina said. She felt Awbee shift out of curiosity. “It’s a long story, I’ll tell it later... wait, I think I see something.”
Clustered amongst the black dragon eggs were other colours. A ruby that made Jaina think of the Horde’s colours, shimmering and proud, and a green the colour of deep forests, along with two yellow-gold eggs that felt as though they couldn’t decide if they were there or not. They were being tended to by an orc, clad in robes and wearing a red hood.
Odd, I’ve never seen that manner of dress before, but I can’t know every orc tradition, especially not here. Jaina hugged Awbee again. “I see some of the egg-napped. I’m going to need to use magic to get rid of that orc, so you mustn’t try to eat it. Alright?”
“Alright,” Awbee replied, settling in. Jaina moved swiftly, and used the hand that wasn’t holding Awbee up to summon more arcane magic.
Jaina drew back her hand. Smile, you son of a--
The orc turned, and Jaina met a green-eyed gaze, and held his hand up to catch hers. Jaina realized she knew those eyes, even as he brought a finger to his lips.
“Vaelan!” Jaina hissed, drawing her magic back.
“Now can I eat it?” Awbee murmured.
“Yes,” Jaina said absently, and let Awbee draw more magic from her. She turned her attention back to Vaelan. “What are you doing here?!”
“I told you I was watching the Spire,” he replied. “How did you think I was doing it?”
“I don’t know, the way all sensible people would: with magic, from a safe distance, and with your finger on the igniter for a cannon,” she retorted sharply. “Did you know about this?” She indicated Awbee.
“I did, and there have been more victims,” Vaelan said, his expression grave. Jaina regretted her anger instantly. “Brothers and sisters, my cousins from other flights. Here are the most tragic victims. Eggs are infants when they are first laid... these ones will know no other life unless they are taken home. This little one has lived a hard life for one so young.”
“...so we’re taking them and getting out of here,” Jaina said. “Good.”
“We are,” Vaelan agreed. “Your help would be appreciated.”
“Of course,” Jaina replied. She looked down at the cluster of eggs, and frowned. “You have a black egg here.”
“I want to see,” Awbee said, and Jaina turned a little, missing Vaelan’s expression. Awbee hissed, like a cat.
“I do, yes,” Vaelan said evenly. “There is more to this than you know.”
“I happen to love secrets, so telling me about them would be helpful, especially if you want me to help you,” Jaina pointed out.
“This isn’t the time--”
“The more you delay and fuss about time, the longer the whole process takes. The ideal solution is to summarize without excessive levels of kodo dung, so I can formulate a plan,” Jaina said tartly, turning to face him. “Tick, tock.”
“I know this dragon egg to contain a true black dragon,” Vaelan said, reluctant. “It is freshly laid, so it has not been indoctrinated in the ways of violence or corruption by the black dragonflight. This egg has potential.”
“For what?” Jaina asked, then considered. “To not be evil?”
“Correct,” Vaelan agreed, placing a hand on it. “Dragons are no more born evil than humans or elves or even orcs are. The problem is that dragons are taught particularly early of the ways of their dragonflight, for both good and ill. A red dragon is taught to love life, to preserve it... to fight for it when we can. Imagine if we were raised from birth to believe that other races were only a blight on the world, to be cleansed with claw, tooth, tail, and fire. What would we be then? The black dragons are corrupt because Deathwing taught them to be so. He instilled values in them that turn them into monsters. My Queen, the mother of my flight, she believes that we can reverse this. She has met with opposition. Some fear her loyalties may be... compromised, but I... I believe it.”
“I do too,” Jaina agreed. “So you’re egg-napping this little one in the hopes that he can be taught to be more like a red dragon?”
“No,” Vaelan said. “My Queen will teach this little one how to be a true black dragon, a guardian of the earth and the protector of the depths. For far too long have their charges been abandoned. He or she will be taught to do Neltharion’s duty, not Deathwing’s.”
“Then let’s get him somewhere he can learn that,” Jaina said. “I can teleport you all to Theramore--”
“No,” Vaelan said, again. “It is not that I don’t trust you, but these eggs must be returned to my flight. I would want them to be taken directly to the home of the red dragonflight...” He paused. “The Ruby Sanctum in Northrend.”
“...it strikes me that the seat of power of the Lich King is not the best place to bring anyone, much less vulnerable baby dragons,” Jaina pointed out, unease prickling across her skin.
“Icecrown is some distance from the Dragonblight, and we must defend our dead and our living alike. Surrendering our sacred home is not an option.”
“You’d find it remarkable what options become available when you’re faced with an army of your own dead,” Jaina pointed out. “In fact--”
“This is no time to be a smart ass,” Vaelan hissed.
“It’s always time to be a smart--”
“What’s going on here?”
Part 5