It was the next day’s dawn when I summoned Antonidas and Richard back.
“I am not diverting from my mission,” I told them straight up, sat behind the table in the same new tent. There was a table and the rest of the basic amenities, Anduin had come very thoroughly prepared for surprises. I didn’t invite either man to sit. “It’s too important. Yes, more important than Alterac having a proper ruler again. I am not going to redouble any efforts, and I will not move with any more haste on this account. But since things are unfolding this way despite all sense, do go ahead: tell me what I can use to keep the situation stable in the meanwhile.”
“Our power base is quite stable already,” Richard dutifully reported. “No doubt there are still some minor nobles plotting schemes, but your handling of the Blackmoore matter did much to assuage fears of a purge. The snake Ravenholdt has been cooperative as well, using his men as spies and the sort.”
“Are you using the soulgaze on him?”
“Regularly, and some of his underlings too. It is quite unpleasant, but has been paying off.”
“The Assassins aren’t taking contracts like they used to?”
“So far. How long this lasts I cannot say.”
I didn’t doubt Ravenholdt’s loyalty, but the idea of a ‘benevolent’ league of assassins was an oxymoron. There were ways to use even hiltless weapons, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to figure out how to do that from here. “I suppose we can only wait and hope the situation lasts long enough for me to finish here. What else?”
“Your guild has been leading the charge on disseminating the various methods and means described in your book of civilization. Many were already known to the relevant people in concept, but knowing you vouched for the tools and methods therein was the truly important thing. We’ve also built a number of water wheels, the destruction of the mountaintop has unearthed a number of springs that we can tap for the capital. The first lightbulbs went into use at the Provisional Government’s headquarters some two weeks ago. Some of the rebels introduced the idea to riverine towns during the revolt as well.”
Revolt, right.
“However, more concerted efforts of industrialization have been stymied by lack of royal authority. Also, funds are becoming… a serious issue. The crown was not in debt to any of the noble houses, which is fortunate, but the treasury was destroyed with the castle. My peers and I have pooled what gold we could spare, and the guilds have been providing their share – your guildmates led the charge there as well, and no one fancies you coming back to judge everyone else for being cheapskates or swindlers. But again, how long this lasts is up in the air.”
Lovely, the kingdom was not only decapitated and crippled, it was also broke. If only Rheastrasza hadn’t kept Emerentius so busy, he might have been able to use geomancy to displace the gold to somewhere safe before I blew everything up. If either of us even thought about it in the moment. “Okay, you’ll have to establish as many new enterprises as possible, and sell business permits for a share of said businesses. But that will only pay off long-term and you need money now, I assume, to pay the soldiers.”
“You see the problem then.”
“It sounds like you’re going on a roundabout way to tell me that you want to take out a loan,” I rubbed my brow. “Alright, I’ll ask the dwarves. Maybe Lothar will be amenable as well, but – how long will your current funds last?”
“We’re operating on a skeleton staff, but the army can’t do the same. I’d say another month or two and we’ll run out.”
Which meant that actually waging war was out of the question.
“That’s more time than I thought.” Thinking for a moment, I blended my mind with my nine – eight spirits, and contacted a certain dragon.
So don’t put all my eggs in just that one basket.
The inventions I gave the Wildhammer dwarves had earned me all their goodwill, but also a healthy share of the profits in perpetuity because neither the dwarves nor I was an idiot. I’ll have to talk to them to establish a regular handoff to Alterac, but Strom was between them and us, so they’d probably be impounded unless gryphon riders handled all the delivery. More immediately relevant, the dividends from that would take a lot more time to pile up than Alterac had.
Using my spirits to relay my voice up in Morgan’s Vigil, I contacted Aedelas and sent him to the Aerie Peak and Ironforge camps to convey a request to meet about foreign relations, as soon as they could find the time for me. Falstad was out on patrol, but Kurdran dropped everything to come over to me immediately, and Brann got his brother Magni to do the same. It was quite gratifying, especially after the bad taste left by the utter failure of the first Council meeting.
When all six of us were gathered, plus the gnome Gelbin Mekkatorque whom Magni decided to bring along at the last minute, I weathered their good-natured backslapping over my sudden fortune – there were quite a few – then bluntly explained to them my current predicament.
“Well, this is a right bind,” Kurdran said uncomfortably. “We’re not exactly broke ourselves, but pretty much all the gold we could give out’s already been portioned out for the muster, you’ve had us mobilize pretty fast and it’s not been cheap.” Kurdran looked over at the Ironforge dwarves. “We can be the guarantors?”
Magni frowned. “How much do you need?”
Richard gave a lowballed figure, and then I tripled the number of tons I wanted just to see what I was working with.
Magni winced, but didn’t immediately say no. “That’s quite a bit on such short notice. I don’t doubt you’ll pay us back, but it’s a lot of gold to move around. Plus, we’d be using the same land route to get it over to yours anyway.”
“Unless we do it by ship,” Richard offered. “I do have a couple of harbors in my territory.”
“… Guess that’s an option too, though you’ll have to figure out how to get to and back from shore yourselves.”
“Brann told me you get Kul Tiras traders sometimes,” I recalled. “I assumed that meant you have a port or three somewhere, is that not the case?”
Magni grimaced. “We’ve been avoiding it.” He didn’t explain, but I got the idea. Khaz Modan had all they needed and wanted already, and they preferred to keep to themselves. When the seas were controlled entirely by elves and humans, with just the occasional goblin vessel causing mischief, refusing to build a port was a very clear statement. I could only be grateful that the Kul Tirans who tossed anchor now and then on the Khaz Modan coastline hadn’t been the bad sort, generally.
The dwarves never came out of their isolationism until the second war, in the future I’d averted, and the gnomes didn’t do it even then. They only changed their tune when their technology started needing oil, which they only found off-shore.
Seems my dreams of a joint Wildhammer – Stormwind – Ironforge navy weren’t as plausible as I hoped.
“Guarantees needn’t be in coin,” Mekkatorque threw in from where he sat on the edge of the table. “Actually, does it have to be a loan at all? We could just trade. Word is you gave the Wildhammers quite the boons while you were there. I, for one, am more than willing to negotiate a fair price for intellectual property.”
He sounded earnest enough to make me smile, but I saw through it. “Nice try, good gnome, but the long-term value of Alterac’s intellectual property exceeds the combined value of Ironforge and Gnomeragan several times over. You’ll have to negotiate trade and investment portfolios like everyone else.”
The gnome’s face fell, but he quickly turned back to normal and shrugged as if he’d expected that answer. “Well, it was worth a try. But… that still means joint ventures are not out of the question, right?”
I nodded. “That they are not. We can discuss some options right now, if you like?”
“Do I ever!”
Earlier I’d told Kurdran that I was going to give the Bronzebeards revolvers, sniper rifles, gun magazines, and magnetic railways. I did that now, and even had proof of concept for all of them thanks to my time in Uldaman, which we went together to demonstrate up in the training yard in Morgan’s Vigil, where the Dark Irons wouldn’t see what we were doing. Or hear us, thanks to the spirits.
To say the gnome and dwarves were interested in the inventions was like saying lava was a little warm. I was able to negotiate ownership of a healthy share of any enterprises that would be based off of them in Khaz Modan or Gnomeragan, paid in gross return on investment. Since I was king of Alterac all of a sudden, I also gave both them and the Wildhammers the secret to electricity which I’d meant for the country to sell independent of me, for similar conditions of remuneration.
It was all in my personal name, but the contracts did stipulate that my share of the profits in all three realms would go to the Ironforge treasury until the debt was paid in full.
“Fair warning, I don’t intend to sleep on this,” I told my new business partners before we signed the final contract. “I have a dragon with geomantic magical powers which I’ll send off to magic up precious gems and metals starting tomorrow. If you’re planning to use this arrangement to get long-term leverage over us, it won’t pay off.”
“As if! Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“A dragon is the ultimate weapon of intimidation,” I said. “It would’ve tainted the negotiations.”
“You sure about that?” Magni snorted, then took the pen and signed his name, before adding his wax seal to the scroll. “Muradin goes on dragon hunts for sport you know!”
“Not dragons like these,” I signed the scroll as well and was briefly stumped when I got to the seal part. Shrugging, I dipped my thumb in the inkwell and stamped my fingerprint on it instead. I was signing this contract as myself in the end, not as the King of Alterac.
What should my royal seal even look like?
“That’s not something I’ve ever seen before,” Brann bent down to peer at the pattern, and then between it and his own fingerprints. “What an interesting pattern! Don’t tell me - is it unique for everyone?”
“Yes, even twins don’t have the same ones.” I rubbed my thumb clean on a cloth. “Actually, if you all might add yours, I’d be very appreciative.”
Magni exchanged a look with Bran, by which time Kurdran had already done as I asked in the guarantor’s spot, in addition to his seal and signature. The King of Ironforge shrugged then, and did the same. “No skin off my nose.”
“Fingerprints are left on anything people touch, you can reveal them by lightly dusting objects with flour or chalk powder. You can use gloves so you don’t add your own, but I imagine a lot of thieves could still be found this way, and any number of other mysteries solved.”
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“That’s a thought,” Magni said grimly, and I didn’t need the Light to know he had just thought of his people that had ended up slaves in the Searing Gorge with no trail for him and his to follow before now. “I’ll pass this on to the guards back home and see how it turns out.”
“I’ve gotten so many ideas today!” Gelbin Mekkatorque fell flat on his back on the table with a groan. “Please, stop adding more on top, I can’t take it!”
I snorted. “Liar.”
“Slander!”
It wasn’t. but the levity was appreciated. I’d done my best to keep my focus on the task at hand, but everyone noticed that I was deeply upset over something.
Finally, we dispersed, and I was alone with Antonidas and Richard again.
“I want very much to send you both back home before you wear out your welcome,” I said without looking at either.
“It needn’t be immediately, my retinue knows to-“
“Richard,” I turned to him and glared. “If you ever go behind my back on any matters that concern me again, I’ll consider that treason.”
Richard shut up.
“Stay for the next day or three, I’ll need your help with something soon. But don’t mistake this for meaning that I am not absolutely furious with the both of you.”
I didn’t know if I was more vindicated or angry that neither man replied to that.
“Get out of my sight before I can’t control myself.”
“… As you will, your majesty.” With a deep bow, Richard did as I said.
I glared at Antonidas too, then. “He’ll need wards on his encampment, and I know teleportation like you did needs time to set up as well. Please, don’t let me stop you.”
“I understand,” the mage said. I wished I didn’t have to take such perverse satisfaction at seeing him finally skittish around me for once. “But I do have something to say before I leave, that I think you will want to hear. I should’ve said it before but things went too quickly-“
“Spit it out before I change my mind.”
“I’ve completed your steam engine.”
I opened my mouth. I closed it. I stared at him in disbelief, the trade negotiations that I’d just concluded whirling back and forth in my mind, now looking gap-ridden and incomplete. I dropped my head and pinched my nose. “Would it kill either of you,” I hissed between grit teeth, “to ever give me good news in a way that doesn’t completely piss me off?”
“In the future I will attempt to-“
“Leave,” I snapped. “I’ll send for you when I’m ready to deal with you again, do not come looking for me.”
Antonidas made to say something else, stopped at my look of utter murder, bowed briefly, and left to catch up with Richard.
Why the hell had he even waited so long? All this time – I’ve been at his bedside daily to ensure his recovery – it was like Granodior all over again except – what kind of friends do I even have that they make me resent receiving the best news of my life?!
I stormed down the mountain in a fury. No one stood in my way. The runners stationed to keep watch for my return fled to let their masters know, but none came out to cross my path. The Wildhammers and Bronzebeards stayed in their camps, save for Falstad who was with the gryphon riders. Even he only led his wing in a sweep over me once and didn’t test his luck again.
For better or worse, High Justice Harrold Grimstone of the Dark Iron dwarves was outside his tent when I got there, so I didn’t need to barge in and drag him out into the open for my demonstration.
“If it isn’t the so-called Prophet,” the dwarf ‘jovially’ greeted me. “I’m afraid I’ve been commanded not to-“
“Think fast.”
I threw a bag at him.
It burst open the moment he caught it, exploding in a cloud of chalk-like dust that my spirits made sure to force inward, clogging every pore and hair of the dwarf such that he looked like a walking flour cloud.
“Wha – COUGH – in Ragnaros – COUGH – beard do you think you’re-!”
Fire blast.
“AUGH!”
Fire blast, fire blast, fire blast turned flamethrower because I could heal the Arcane as fast as I damaged it which meant that I could turn any one-off spell that was small enough into a continuous stream if I constantly healed specific parts of the weave just so, flames forever-
“AYE-AGH-NO-AAAAAaaah-ah-what-wait-I’m not-“
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!?”
Dagran Thaurissan’s scream of rage backdrafted a clash of spellcraft that he won against me, wrenching the weave of fire away from my control and twisting it through the air like a snake, surrounding me in my own flames.
Too little too late.
“I’m not burning?” came the voice of Grimstone, full of disbelief. He was frazzled and wide-eyed, beating what he thought was flour dust out of his rumpled beard, but was also, indeed, not burning at all. “I’m not burning! I – I didn’t feel that at all, what is this? Was it an illusion?” Ever the pretender, the old dwarf theatrically coughed through my spell’s smoke and glared at me, face white from the dust. “Is that what Prophets are after all, just conmen scaring people into compliance?!”
“Can you not see the ground around you is smoking?” I dismissed him and addressed Dagran Thaurissan instead. “Do you know why the Empire of Arathor closed all its public forums?”
“Human, I am this close to declaring war on you.”
“Be my guest, then I won’t feel bad about not teaching you how to make this.” Pulling a small, see-through slate from another bag on my chest belt, I crushed it in my grip and used a cantrip to spread it over my hand and arm in a uniform layer. “Go ahead.” I held my hand away from my body. “Blast it with your strongest flames.”
“What’s this? King for a day and it's already gone to your head?”
“Oh I'm sorry, are we not competing over who can convey the most insufferable contempt? I can take it because I can dish it out. Can you?”
Dagran Thaurissan obliged me and then some, blasting all of me with a wave of flames so hot they were almost white.
I used a visible forcefield to protect everything but the hand I’d offered and just stood there.
Dagran Thaurissan’s spell had barely lapsed before he was weaving another, the flames around him coiling and sizzling like ravenous serpents that began to snap their teeth at me. They were solid and sharp, it was a masterful display of shape manipulation, but I didn’t do more than flex my hand every time they bit.
When Thaurissan didn’t stop blasting me, I unleased another flamethrower at a loud balking Grimstone, then again, and then a continuous funnel again like Dagran was using against me, until Grimstone collapsed because our combined flames left him no oxygen to breathe.
Finally, Thaurissan gave up with a sound of frustration. The Dark Iron Emperor was gearing up to use an earth spell instead, maybe cause an earthquake or just throw a real boulder at my face.
“The reason Arathor closed all its public forums,” I said steadily, meeting Dagran’s gaze just to see if he held it. He didn’t, pretending he was suddenly concerned by Grimstone’s nearly suffocated but still non-burned state. “Is because all the scholars and intellectuals who held lectures there in good faith were outnumbered a hundred to one by imbeciles like this one.”
“Now see here-!”
I blasted Grimstone with the most merciless Soulgaze I ever unleashed.
“AAAAUGH!”
The High Justice of Shadowforge City fell to his knees, and this time the horror in his scream was entirely real. If he gained anything from it, though, I’ll be frankly amazed. It never occurred to the old fool to back off or run away when he could’ve, during all of this, instead of standing there to be blasted until he ran out of air.
It was the first time I did that to someone without feeling the slightest sting in return. He was a narcissist alright, but he didn’t have the excuse of psychopathy, and he was nowhere near smart enough to qualify as machiavellian either. “Those imbeciles,” I growled, “were under the delusion that knowing a little bit about something made them an expert in that something. The only ones worse than them were those who knew they were full of nonsense. These two sorts shouted over the sane voices who actually knew something, braying like donkeys and cows until nothing could be heard but their bellowing and the ones with things useful to say all gave up in disgust.”
“Like you have?” Dagran asked snidely.
“Yes.”
That finally punctured Dagran’s mood. He hadn’t expected me to admit it. He hadn’t expected me to give up.
He hadn’t expected me to give up on them.
I reached into my bag and tossed a second chip of that see-through material at his feet, almost as light as air. “That’s called aerogel. If you crush it, it becomes a dust that can be applied to any surface, from ore to the skin, acting like a perfect insulator against all water, cold and heat.”
Dagran managed to control his reaction, but none of the other Dark Iron dwarves did, and practically all of them were here now. As were some of my men, and some of the Stormwind men with Anduin just arrived, and Falstad who’d landed his gryphon on the lookout point over yonder.
“It’s the ultimate insulator.” By virtue of being made entirely of countless, tiny air bubbles. “Dust someone with it and they became untouchable to water, and completely impervious to heat from red, yellow, white, and yes, even blue flames. Which, unless I’m mistaken, is heat beyond what even Ragnaros the Firelord has ever displayed.”
The change that came over every dwarf with blue skin was like the most wonderful dream and worst nightmare they could have all in one.
Until yesterday, I might have sympathized. If the Dark Irons ever learned how to make this, they could win their freedom from Ragnaros all on their own.
Such a shame these ones had not a single speck of good faith anywhere in their bodies.
“I came down to this land with the intention of teaching you how to make it,” I revealed completely truthfully. “But the display you put on at the council yesterday was enough to change my mind. I do thank you for coming, but the presence of the Dark Iron dwarves will not be required on the expedition after all. As the only two among you to exhibit any good faith at all, the late elders Forgewright and Ironband will be sufficient witnesses on your behalf. It will be up to them what they tell you, if anything, of the secret means that Modgud used to inflict her sacrilege.”
I turned around and left. Everyone not a dark iron dwarf had their faces full of stress and questions, but I shook my head and they didn’t impose on me now. Dagran didn’t call after me, but Grimstone had a lot to lambast, and the Priestess ran after me and earnestly tried to get me to stop and talk to her.
“If you really want to help, then tell your Emperor that next time he should just talk to me himself, instead of subjecting me and everyone else to fools with delusions of intellect who’ve never had an independent thought in their lives.”
“Prophet, please, be reasonable! You cannot expect him to want to talk to you at all after this.”
“No indeed. Fine then. Tell him I also know how to make your dark iron, and have already shared that secret with the Wildhammer dwarves.” The priestess’ jaw slackened in horror. “And there’s no one he can murder to put that demon back in the nether. I did it months ago, all the craftsman in Aerie Peak will know the method by now. I know all about your steam engines and mole machines too, unless you haven’t made those yet? Either way, any dreams about completing his grandfather’s war? He can chase it all he likes but it won’t end how he hopes.”
I hadn’t meant to do things this way, but I didn’t come here to coddle anyone either. Especially not the only people on this continent besides the goblins that were more rotten than Alterac used to be.
When the Priestess didn’t stop following me and seemed determined to follow me all the way up to Morgan’s Vigil where my tent was placed, I told the spirits to kick up an impassable wall of steam and dust behind me. Finally, she got the message and spared me of her further presence.
I stomped over to my tent. I went in. I glared at the one reason why I didn’t hold any of the matters of state meetings here. Or any meetings at all.
Apocalypse. The sword with the most pretentious name in the universe. The sword that wasn’t a sword but evil in the shape of a sword. Evil that was sickening, willful and sapient.
I went to the firepit. I grabbed the floating weapon by the hilt. It had been burning in holy fire for days, but when I passed my hand over the flat the blade, it was still cool and the edges still sharp. The disgusting thing spilled ill will and illness into the world exactly as fast as the fire burned it, even though this hadn’t been the case at the start. Like the manner in which it overcame the containment of the Dalaran mages, this spoke of continuous, precise and deliberate adaptation.
With the Light thrumming through me and my aura like the waves of a planetary magnetic field, I pressed my palm against the edge of the evil sword and let it cut.
Immediately I felt the sword begin to eat my spiritual strength. Eat, and give back its own, sickening magic in an attempt to replace and displace it. My spirit. My power. My will.
My sight was overlaid by a film of self-referential non-nullity. I saw the Twisting Nether. In it, I beheld the winged figure of a dreadlord, tall and looming, three meters tall with curled horns on top of that, and great bat-like wings framing his outline. His eyes glowed with malice, his goatlike legs bent backwards and ended in cloven hooves, and his fingers each had long, bladelike claws for nails. The grey-skinned creature saw me see it, and leered back at me with a fanged, triumphant grin.
Kathra'natir. The nathrezim used this monstrosity of a weapon during the Burning Legion's invasion of a planet known as Navane, home to a handful of intelligent races. Though they shared a history of enmity, they put aside their differences to form a tenuous alliance against the Legion. So Kathra'natir disguised himself as one of their soldiers, walked among Navane's resistance forces, and whispered rumors of betrayal in every ear while Apocalypse clouded the defenders' ability to reason.
Old hatreds and rivalries resurfaced, and the defenders began to fear each other as much as the Legion. In one night of wanton bloodshed, Navane's army went to war with itself as Kathra'natir admired his handiwork from a distance. By sunrise, not a single soldier remained to oppose the Legion's conquest of the planet.
I liked to think I’d insulated the blade well enough during my time here, but with what I felt it doing to me now, I was glad that I’d stashed it so far away from the place where the Council actually took place. There was no telling how much worse the Dark Irons would have behaved otherwise, never mind everyone else. The nathrezim loved to fan the flames of righteous misgivings until they destroyed everything that righteous wrath once burned in service of. I couldn’t be sure it hadn’t exerted some influence regardless, even from way up here. It was a miracle nobody had tried to steal it yet.
“I see you,” I said.
“And I see you,” it told me from beyond the impenetrable veil between planes, fanged grin widening even further. “Shall we see who loses sight of the other first?”
I tried to initiate a Soulgaze but it didn’t connect. I looked away, but Kathra'natir’s leering grin remained at the corner of my eye no matter where I turned. I called the Light and it came as easy as ever, but the cut on my hand didn’t heal.
I left my tent with the sword in hand, holy fire burning all around it, blade, pommel and hilt alike. Wherever my blood dripped, the earth grew sick before the Light suffusing it purged the corruption along with everything in that patch of dirt that might have lived. All who saw me double-took at my appearance, many not even paying Apocalypse any mind. For the first time since the year turned, I walked the earth at my full height.
I was going to battle against void spawn of planetary scale and all their evil minions, I couldn’t afford to have this loose end trailing behind me.
I’d been building suspicions about what this thing was and how it really worked. Now, I was just about livid enough to muster the holy wrath it would take to test them.
The Burning Legion were the ultimate foe, but they were no less na?ve than they accused us of being. It never occurred to them that honor excluded neither pre-emptive action nor revenge. Honor wasn’t mercy, and it wasn’t transparency either. Turnabout was honorable, and only less so than self-defense. You don't waste honor on the honorless, you yourself deserve consideration too.
At some point vengeance becomes justice no matter how you get it, and pre-emptive strikes themselves become the moral option when the enemy has shed all trappings of honor and civilization. It all comes down to pattern recognition and common fucking sense.
“Aedelas!” I called when I spotted my squire staring with the same slack jaw as the rest. “Go to the Knight-Commander and tell him to muster our men, all one hundred of them. And get Richard too. We’re going on a side quest.”
How like a demon to think he can use the same trick over and over without repercussions. How like a dreadlord to believe the good equals the fool.
How like the nathrezim to think they can do better against Azeroth than Sargeras himself.
here.