EIGHT
A Perfect Circle
Sunlight cascaded down through the open skylight in the cathedral’s vaulted ceiling. Twenty-year-old
Taelan Fordring stood upon an ornately carved dais and basked in the warmth and splendor of the holy
Light. Large silver plates of armor adorned his broad shoulders. Beneath the plates, a carefully
embroidered dark blue stole hung from his neck and streamed down his chest. He held a mighty,
two-handed silver warhammer in his hands which, he was told, had once belonged to his father.
Taelan was a strong, handsome young man. Bathed in the Light as he was, he seemed almost
transcendent. An aged Archbishop stood before Taelan holding a large, leather-bound tome. The old
man had the light of joy in his eyes as he addressed Taelan.
“Do you, Taelan Fordring, vow to uphold the honor and codes of the Order of the Silver Hand?” he
asked.
“I do,” Taelan replied sincerely.
“Do you vow to walk in the grace of the Light and spread its wisdom to your fellow man?”
“I do,” Taelan said shakily. He was overcome with a thousand different emotions at once and had to
fight to get a grip on himself. This was the moment he had waited for as long as he could remember. He
glanced around quickly and saw his mother standing proudly in attendance.
Though years of hardship and loneliness had streaked her soft, golden hair with silver strands, Karandra
was as beautiful and radiant as she had ever been. She marveled at seeing Taelan being anointed as a
Paladin. She wished that Tirion could have been present to see his son follow in his footsteps.
“Do you vow to vanquish evil wherever it be found, and protect the weak and innocent with your very
life?” the Archbishop asked Taelan in a ritualistic tone.
Taelan swallowed hard and nodded while saying, “By my honor, I do.”
The Archbishop continued to speak to the assembly but, overcome as he was, Taelan could not hear his
words. Oblivious to the ceremony proceeding around him, he reached into the pocket of his ceremonial
cassock and took hold of the rolled, tattered parchment that he always carried with him. It was the note
his father had left him before he was exiled from the kingdom. Taelan couldn’t count how many times he
had read the tattered letter over the years, but he had memorized every line, every subtle stroke of the
quill. He recalled one of the last passages in his mind.
My dear Taelan,
By the time you’re old enough to read this, I will have been gone a long time. I can’t adequately
express how painful it is to have to leave you and your mother behind, but I suppose that
sometimes life forces you to make difficult decisions. I fear that you’ll no doubt hear many bad
things about me as you grow older—that people will look upon my actions and condemn them as
evil. I fear that others will look down upon you for the decisions I have made.
I won’t try to explain everything that’s happened in this note, but I need you to know that what I
did, I did for honor’s sake. Honor is an important part of what makes us men, Taelan. Our words
and our deeds must count for something in this world. I know it’s asking a great deal, but I hope
that you will understand that someday.
I want you to know that I love you dearly and that I’ll always carry you close to my heart.
Your life and your deeds will be my redemption, son. You are my pride and my hope. Be a good
man. Be a hero.
Goodbye.
Taelan came out of his reverie just in time to hear the Archbishop say:
“Then arise, Taelan Fordring—Paladin defender of Lordaeron. Welcome to the Order of the Silver
Hand.”
Just as it had in his boyhood dreams, the entire assembly erupted in cheers. The joyous din echoed
throughout the vast cathedral, drowning out every other noise. His friends and comrades clapped and
hollered in congratulations. Almost everyone gathered in the cathedral was on their feet joining in the
revelry.
Beaming with pride, Taelan turned and smiled warmly at his mother and his old friend, Arden, who
stood a few paces behind her. The aged guardsman, who had watched over and protected Taelan for
nearly fifteen years, smiled back proudly. Arden marveled at how much Taelan resembled his father. He
knew that Tirion would have been proud.
The crowd surged up to congratulate Taelan and welcome him to the Order.
Arden had turned to make his way toward the exit, when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar
figure moving through the crowd. The tall, nondescript figure wore a green, hooded travel-cloak and
weather-stained leathers. But Arden would have recognized the gray haired man’s piercing green eyes
anywhere. For a brief second, he locked eyes with the aged stranger.
“Tirion,” Arden whispered under his breath.
The stranger smiled knowingly at Arden and raised a stiff hand to his brow in salute. He then pulled his
hood low over his face and promptly slipped out the back of the cathedral.
Looking back at Taelan, Arden said, “Like father, like son.”
About the Author
Chris Metzen is the Creative Director for Blizzard Entertainment and has worked as both a writer and
designer for the company over the past seven years. Chris has led the development of Blizzard’s game
worlds and storylines, including those of theWarcraft, Diablo, andStarCraft series. Chris co-wrote the
StarCraft short story “Revelations” with fellow author Sam Moore for the Spring 1999 issue ofAmazing
Stories magazine.Warcraft: Of Blood and Honor is Chris’s first solo foray into the world of
fantasy-fiction.
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