could never even hope to attain. He did them a favor by ending their miserable existences.
“Ssssoon,” he whispered in promise to himself. “Ssssoon.”
His carriage took him directly to the palace, where the guards saluted and immediately bid him enter. A
servant met Deathwing inside the front hall, begging his pardon for the king not being there personally to
greet him. Now fully into his role as the young noble who sought only peace between all parties, the
dragon pretended no annoyance, smiling as he asked the human to lead him to where Terenas desired
him to wait. He had expected the king not to be ready for him, especially if Terenas still had to explain to
his young daughter her chosen future.
With all opposition to his ascension swept aside and the throne only days from his grasp, Deathwing had
hit upon what he felt the perfect addition to his plans. How much better to strengthen his hold than to wed
the daughter of one of the most powerful of the kingdoms in the Alliance? Of course, not all of the
reigning monarchs had had viable choices. In fact, at this moment in time, only Terenas and Daelin
Proudmoore had daughters either single or beyond infancy. Jaina Proudmoore, however, was much too
young and, from what the dragon had so far researched, possibly already too difficult to control, or else
he might have waited for her. No, Terenas's daughter would do just fine.
Calia still remained at least two years away from marriage, but two years hardly mattered to the ageless
dragon. By that time not only would the others of his kind be either under his domination or dead, but
Deathwing would have maneuvered himself into a political position in which he could truly begin
undermining the foundation of the Alliance. What the brutish orcs had failed to do from without—he
would do from within.
The servant opened a door. “If you'll wait within, my lord, I'm sure His Majesty will be with you
shortly.”
“Thank you.” Caught up in his reverie, Deathwing did not notice that he had two new companions
awaiting him until just after the door had shut behind him.
The cloaked and hooded figures bowed their shadowed heads slightly in his direction.
“Our greetings, Lord Prestor,” rumbled the bearded one.
Deathwing fought back the frown nearly descending upon his mouth. He had expected to confront the
Kirin Tor, but not in the palace of Terenas. The enmity the dragon had magically built up among the
various rulers toward the wizards of Dalaran should have prevented the latter from daring to visit.
“My greetings to you, sir and madam.”
The second mage, old for a female of the race, returned, “We had hoped to meet you sooner than this,
my lord. Your reputation has spread throughout the kingdoms of the Alliance . . . especially in Dalaran.”
The magic wielded by these wizards kept their features obscured for the most part, and although with
but a single action Deathwing could have pierced their veils, the dragon chose not to do so. He already
knew this pair, albeit not by name. The bearded one had a familiar feel to his aura, as if Deathwing and
the wizard had recently come into contact. The false noble suspected that this mage had been responsible
for at least one of the two major attempts to break through the protective spells around the chateau.
Considering the potency of those spells, it surprised Deathwing a little that the man still lived, much less
confronted him now.
“And the reputation of the Kirin Tor is known to all as well,” he replied.
“And becoming more known with each day . . . but not in the way we wish, I must say.”
She hinted of his handiwork. Deathwing found no threat there. By this time, they suspected him a rogue
wizard—powerful but not nearly the threat he truly presented.
“I had expected to meet His Majesty here alone,” he said, turning the conversation to his advantage.
“Has Dalaran some business with Lordaeron?”
“Dalaran seeks to keep abreast of situations important to all kingdoms of the Alliance,” the woman
replied. “Something a bit more difficult of late, due to our not being notified of major summits between
members.”
Deathwing calmly walked over to the side table, where Terenas always kept a few bottles of his best on
hand for waiting guests. Lordaeron wine represented in his mind the only worthwhile export the kingdom
offered. He poured a small amount in one of the jeweled goblets nearby. “Yes, I spoke with His
Majesty, urging him to request you join in the deliberations over Alterac, but he seemed adamant about
leaving you out of them.”
“We know the outcome, regardless,” huffed the bearded man. “Congratulations are in order for you,
Lord Prestor.”
Not once had they offered their names, nor had he offered his. Yes, they truly kept an eye on him—as
much as Deathwing allowed, that is.
“It came as a surprise to me, I must tell you. All I ever hoped was to help keep the Alliance from falling
apart after Lord Perenolde's unfortunate behavior.”
“Yes, a terrible thing that. One would've never thought it of the man. I knew him when he was younger.
A bit timid, but didn't seem the traitorous type.”
The elder female suddenly spoke up. “Your former homeland is somewhere not too distant from
Alterac, is it not, Lord Prestor?”
For the first time, Deathwing felt a twinge of annoyance. This game no longer pleased him. Did she
know?
Before he could answer, the grandly decorated door on the opposite side of the entrance opened and
King Terenas, his mood clearly not at all pleasant, barged inside. A blond, cherubic boy barely more than
a toddler followed behind, clearly trying to get his father's attention. However, Terenas took one look at
the two shadowy wizards and the frown on his face deepened further.
He turned to the child. “Run along back to your sister, Arthas, and try to calm her. I'll be with you as
soon as I can, I promise.”
Arthas nodded and, with a curious glance at his father's visitors, headed back through the door.
Terenas shut the door behind his son, then instantly whirled on the mages. “I thought I told the
major-domo to inform you that I've no time for you today! If Dalaran has any claims or protests to make
In the other circle, a second, somewhat more delicate, mouth formed. “Perhaps you're still not
recovered enough, Drenden. After all, that shock you suffered—”
“I'm over it! Take more than that to kill me! Besides, I know you were probing him, too! Didyousense
anything?”
A frown formed on the feminine mouth. “No . . . which means he's very, very powerful—possibly almost
as powerful as Medivh.”
“He must be using some powerful talisman! No one's that powerful, not even Krasus!”
Modera's tone changed. “Do we really know how powerful Krasus is? He's older than the rest of us.
That surely means something.”
“It means he's cautious . . . but he is the best of us, even if he isn't master of the council.”
“That was his choice—more than once.”
Deathwing leaned forward, his once mild curiosity now growing stronger.
“What's he doing, anyway? Why's he keeping so secret?”
“He says he wants to try to find out about Prestor's past, but I think there's more. There's always more
with Krasus.”
“Well, I hope he finds out something soon, because this situation is—what is it?”
“I feel a tingling on my neck! I wonder if—”
Up in the palace, the dragon quickly waved his hand across the two glass mouths. The pane instantly
flattened, leaving no trace. Deathwing backed away.
The female had finally sensed his spellwork, but she would not be able to trace it back to him. He did
not fear them, however skilled for humans they were, but Deathwing had no desire at the moment to drag
out his confrontation with the pair. A new element had been added to the game, one that, for the first
time, made the dragon just a little pensive.
He turned back to Terenas. The king still stood where Deathwing had left him, mouth open and hand
out.
The dragon snapped his fingers.
“—and I won't stand for it! I've a mind to cut off all diplomatic relations with them immediately! Who
rules in Lordaeron? Not the Kirin Tor, whatever they might think!”
“Yes, probably a wise move, Your Majesty, but draw it out. Let them lodge their protest, then begin
closing the gates on them. I'm very certain that the other kingdoms will follow suit.”
Terenas gave him a weary smile. “You're a very patient young man, Prestor! Here I've been ranting and
you simply stand there, accepting it all! We're supposed to be discussing a future marriage! True, we've
more than two years before it can take place, but the betrothal will require extensive planning!” He
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