Terenas chuckled. "No thank you," he said, holding up a hand in mock horror. "I have more than enough to handle here in Lordaeron — I've no desire to double my troubles by taking on a second kingdom!" Muradin knew he had considered the idea, of course, and from some vantages it held merit. But the troubles it would cause, not least of them among his fellow rulers, would far outweigh the benefits, at least to Terenas's mind.
"How about you then. Your Majesty?" Prestor suggested, turning to the Stromgarde king. "Your quick action stopped Perenolde's treachery I well know you lost many men defending those mountain passes from the orcs." A shadow of pain flickered across the young noble's face, and all three of his companions winced slightly, knowing exactly where his thoughts had led him. Maybe that was why he was so meticulous about his person. If he'd been forced to flee a city that had been destroyed by dragonfire, walking for ages in the same filthy clothes, Muradin mused, maybe he'd be a bit of a dandy now too.
Trollbane frowned thoughtfully, but before he could speak, Terenas interjected gently, "Neither Thoras nor I could claim Alterac. It is not simply a matter of one kingdom invading another. We are all part of the Alliance, and must all work together to protect our world and our lands. The Alliance as a whole defeated the Horde and won the war. That means any spoils of war, including Alterac, must fall to the Alliance as well." He shook his head. "If any one of us tried to annex Alterac, the other Alliance rulers would feel slighted, and rightly so."
"Aye," Muradin agreed. "It must be decided by all, or not at all." He grinned. "Though presentin' a fine idea to the rest could ease the matter somewhat."
Prestor nodded and set down his cup. "My apologies if I spoke out of turn," he said, "or if I offended you in any way." He offered them a small smile. "I can see I still have much to learn before I can hope to match your wisdom or diplomacy."
Terenas waved the apology aside. "No harm done, dear boy. I asked for your opinion and you gave it. Part of the reason we three were meeting here was to discuss this very matter, in the hopes of finding some way to satisfy everyone involved and still keep Alterac safe and active." He smiled. "Our friend Muradin is right — if we can present a good plan to the rest of the Alliance, it could save much time and argument."
"Of course. I only hope my small contribution has been in some way helpful." Prestor stood and bowed deeply. "Now if you will excuse me, I will leave you to these weighty deliberations, which I fear are far beyond my own ability." He waited for Terenas's nod of permission, then graced them all with a smile and exited the balcony.
Trollbane watched the young lord go, frowning. "Prestor may be naive," he said, "but he has a point. Maybe Alterac should pay reparations."
"With what?" Muradin scoffed. "They're bled dry, just like all of us. Besides, that sounds too much like blood money, which is the same as saying vengeance."
"Most of our money is going toward rebuilding," Terenas pointed out. "We added Alterac's treasuries to the Alliances once we took control of the kingdom."
"Aye, and the orc internment camps are no cheap either," Muradin added. "With all the money goin' ta those and ta repairs, and ta that fine new fortress by the portal, what's left for reparations?"
Trollbane sighed. "You're right. I just feel they should pay, somehow. Alterac's betrayal cost so many lives.
"Perenolde's betrayal," Terenas corrected gently but firmly. "We must remember that. Very few of Alterac's citizens even knew of their king's treachery — Perenolde simply ordered them away from certain passes and made those trails accessible to the Horde. It was less a question of Alterac helping the Horde than of its king granting the orcs free passage and keeping his own citizens out of the way."
"True enough," Trollbane agreed. "I've known many from Alterac over the years, and most are fine folk, not like their snake of a king." He shook his head, drained his flagon, and wiped his beard and mustache with the back of his hand. "I'll give the matter more thought," he promised.
"As will we all," Muradin assured him, snatching up one last scone as they rose from their seats. "Dinna worry — we'll find a solution yet."
"I'm sure we will," Terenas agreed. "I just hope we can do so before we're forced to set the matter aside for more pressing issues." His two companions knew what he meant. They had received Khadgar's warning only a few days before, and now were waiting on word from Turalyon. If the Horde did attack again, if the portal did reopen, all questions about Alterac would quickly become moot. As long as Perenolde was under house arrest and the kingdom under Alliance control, they could worry about other details later — if they survived.
Muradin thought somberly of young Arthas swinging away at a suit of armor, and hoped that the prince would not get a taste of war just yet.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Clouds hung low over Stormwind, brushing the tips of the city's many towers. A chill wind tugged at the guards' cloaks as they huddled at their posts outside Stormwind Keep, shivering. Inside, their commander Turalyon and his advisers were still awake, poring over maps in one of the armories in the keep, now the Alliance command post. The guards had nodded to the beautiful elf who had accompanied their commander and was currently in the room with the other strategists, though anyone with eyes could see the tension between the two.
They shivered, but paid no real heed to a particularly cold breeze that wafted through the city, danced in through the keep's gate doors, and then drifted up the wide central hallway and veered to the left. Up it swirled, through another corridor and across a small courtyard open to the cloudy night sky.
A pair of guards stood to either side of the entrance to the royal library. They shivered as they felt the breeze brush up against them, and squinted as the shadows around them seemed to deepen.
Suddenly a stronger wind sprang up, whisking the shadows away and revealing several figures in their stead. Four of them seemed to be human, at least in size; they all wore heavy hooded cloaks and strange wrappings around limbs and torso, but their eyes glowed a fiery red. The last figure, however, towered over them, and even in the near-dark his skin gleamed green.
One of the guards inhaled to cry out an alarm as he drew his sword. He never got the chance. The orc stepped forward, already swinging a massive axe. The guard fell in two pieces. His companion was able to raise his shield and block a blow from one of the strange wrapped figures and thrust with his spear. To no avail; another of the intruders caught the spear haft and chopped it in half, then spun and delivered a sweeping blow to the guard's neck just above the shield's edge. The man fell without a sound, his head nearly severed, and the figures stepped over the two twitching corpses, pushed the doors open, and entered the royal library.
"Be quick," Gorefiend instructed. "We must not be discovered." His death knights nodded, as did Pargath Throatsplitter, the orc who had so quickly dispatched the first guard. Gorefiend had wanted a Bleeding Hollow warrior with him, since they knew this world better than any other Horde member, and Pargath had impressed him as one of the smarter and quieter warriors available.
All five of them spread out, combing the library for their prize. After several minutes, Pargath cursed. "It's not here!" he whispered.