So where is he? I've little time to waste pacing around in these decadent halls!”
For what seemed the thousandth time, King Terenas silently counted to ten before responding to Genn
Greymane's latest outburst. “Lord Prestor will be here before long, Genn. You know he wants to bring
us all together on this matter.”
“I don't know anything of the sort,” the huge man in black and gray armor grumbled. Genn Greymane
reminded the king of nothing less than a bear who had learned to clothe himself, albeit somewhat crudely.
He seemed fairly ready to burst through his armor, and if the ruler of Gilneas downed one more flagon of
good ale or devoured one more of the thick Lordaeron pastries Terenas's chefs had prepared, surely that
would happen.
Despite Greymane's ursine appearance and his arrogant, outspoken manner, the king did not
underestimate the warrior from the south. Greymane's political manipulations had been legendary, this
latest no less so. How he had managed to give Gilneas a voice in a situation that should not have even
concerned the faraway kingdom still amazed Terenas.
“You might as well tell the wind to stop howling,” came a more cultured voice from the opposite end of
the great hall. “You'll have more success there than getting that creature to quiet even for a moment!”
They had all agreed to meet in the imperial hall, a place where, in times past, the most significant treaties
in all Lordaeron had been agreed to and signed. With its rich history and ancient but stately decor, the
hall cast an aura of tremendous significance upon any discussion taking place here . . . and certainly the
matter of Alterac was of significance to the continued life of the Alliance.
“If you don't like the sound of my voice, Lord Admiral,” Greymane snarled, “good steel can always
make certain you never hear it—or anything else—again
Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore rose to his feet in one smooth, practiced sweep. The slim, weathered
seaman reached for the sword generally hanging at the side of his green naval uniform, but the sheath
there rattled empty. So, too, did the sheath of Genn Greymane. The one thing reluctantly agreed upon
from the first had been that none of the heads of state could carry arms into the discussions. They had
even agreed—evenGenn Greymane—to having themselves searched by selected sentries from the
Knights of the Silver Hand, the only military unit they all trusted despite its outward allegiance to Terenas.
Prestor, of course, was the reason that this incredible summit had managed to reach even this point.
Rarely did the monarchs of the major realms come together. Generally, they spoke through couriers and
diplomats, with the occasional state visit thrown in as well. Only the amazing Prestor could have
convinced Terenas's uneasy allies to abandon their staffs and personal guard outside and join together to
discuss matters face-to-face.
Now, if only the young noble would himself arrive. . . .
“My lords! Gentlemen!” Desperate for assistance, the king looked to a stern figure standing near the
window, a figure clad in leather and fur despite the relative warmth of the region. A fierce beard and
jagged nose were all Terenas could make out of Thoras Trollbane's gruff visage, but he knew that,
despite Thoras's intense interest in whatever view lay outside, the lord of Stromgarde had digested every
word and tone of his counterparts. That he did nothing to aid Terenas in this present crisis only served to
remind the latter of the gulf that had opened up between them since the start of this maddening situation.
Damn Lord Perenolde!the king of Lordaeron thought.If only he had not forced us into all of this!
Although knights from the holy order stood by in case any of the monarchs came to actual blows,
Terenas did not fear physical violence so much as he did the shattering of any hope of keeping the human
kingdoms allied. Not for a moment did he feel that the orc menace had been forever eradicated. The
humans had to remain allied at this crucial moment. He wished Anduin Lothar, regent lord of the refugees
from the lost kingdom of Azeroth, could have been here, but that was not possible, and without Lothar,
that left only—
“My lords! Come, come! Surely this isn't seemly behavior for any of us!”
“Prestor!” Terenas gasped. “Praise be!”
The others turned as the tall, immaculate figure entered the great hall.Amazing the effect the man had on
his elders,so the king thought.He walks into a room and quarrels cease! Bitter rivals lay down their
weapons and talk of peace!
Yes, definitely the choice to replace Perenolde.
Terenas watched as his friend went about the chamber, greeting each monarch in turn and treating all as
if they were his best friends. Perhaps they were, for Prestor seemed not to have an arrogant bone in his
body. Whether dealing with the rough-edged Thoras or the conniving Greymane, Prestor seemed to
know how best to speak with each of them. The only ones who had never seemed to fully appreciate him
had been the wizards from Dalaran, but then, they were wizards.
“Forgive my belated arrival,” the young aristocrat began. “I'd ridden out into the countryside this morning
and not realized just how long it would take me to get back.” No need for apologies,” Thoras Trollbane kindly returned.
Yet another example of Prestor's almost magical manner. While a friend and respected ally, Thoras
Trollbane never spoke kindly to anyone without much effort. He tended to speak in short, precise
sentences, then lapse into silence. The silences were not intended as insults, as Terenas had gradually
learned. Instead, the truth was that Thoras simply did not feel comfortable with long conversations. A
native of cold, mountainous Stromgarde, he much preferred action over talk.
Which made the king of Lordaeron even more pleased that Prestor had finally arrived.
Prestor surveyed the room, meeting each gaze for a moment before saying, “How good it is to see all of
you again! I hope that this time we can resolve our differences so that our future meetings will be as good
friends and sword-mates. . . .”
Greymane nodded almost enthusiastically. Proudmoore wore a satisfied expression, as if the noble's
coming had been the answer to his prayers. Terenas said nothing, allowing his talented friend to take
control of the meeting. The more the others saw of Prestor, the easier it would be for the king to present
his proposal.
They gathered around the elaborately decorated ivory table that Terenas's grandfather had received as a
gift from his northern vassals, after his successful negotiations with the elves of Quel'Thalas over the
borders there. As he always did, the king planted both hands firmly on the tabletop, seeking to draw
guidance from his predecessor. Across the table, Prestor's eyes met his for a moment. Looking into those
strong, ebony orbs, the robed monarch relaxed. Prestor would handle any matters of dispute.
And so the talks began, first with stiff opening words, then more heated, blunt ones. Yet, under the
guidance of Prestor, never did any threat of violence arise. More than once he had to take one or another
of the participants in hand and engage in private conversation with them, but each time those intimate
dialogues ended with a smile on Prestor's hawklike visage and great advancement toward the mending of
Alliance ties.
As the summit tapered to a close, Terenas himself held such an exchange. While Greymane, Thoras, and
Lord Admiral Proudmoore drank from the finest of the king's brandy, Prestor and the monarch huddled
near the window overlooking the city. Terenas had always enjoyed this view, for from it he could see the
health of his people. Even now, even with the summit going on, his subjects went about their duties,
pushed on with their lives. Their faith in him bolstered his weary mind, and he knew that they would
understand the decision he would make this day.
“I don't know how you did it, my boy,” he whispered to his companion. “You've made the others see
the truth, the need! They're actually sitting in this chamber, acting civilly with not only each other, but me!
I thought Genn and Thoras would demand my hide at one point!”
“I merely did what I could to assuage them, my lord, but thank you for your kind words.”
Terenas shook his head. “Kind words? Hardly! Prestor, my lad, you've single-handedly kept the
Alliance from crumbling to bits! What did you tell them all?”
A conspiratorial look crossed his companion's handsome features. He leaned close to the monarch, eyes
fixed on Terenas's. “A little of this, a little of that. Promises to the admiral about his continued sovereignty
of the seas, even if it meant sending in a force to take control of Gilneas; to Greymane about future naval
colonies near the coastal edge of Alterac; and Thoras Trollbane thinks that he'll be ceded the eastern half
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