It was a long, very long night, filled with panic, running around, arguments, and compromises. Everyone was running, shouting, looking for a solution, and imitating frantic activity. There was especially enough of the latter; not all humans like elves. Though we're talking about the Gilnean corps; for them, anyone who isn't a native of Gilneas is second-rate. In short, it didn't come to blows, though I had to apply pressure a couple of times. The problem of magic poisoning is more important than our squabbles.
Yes, I expected this to happen; I remember that the Sunwell poisoned the elves after Kel'Thuzad's resurrection. Though the fact that I expected it didn't make the reality any more pleasant. This thing is like a high fever—very irritating and causing discomfort. Mana Drain interferes with the process. But to keep the poisoning from progressing, one has to literally pump oneself with magic so that it overflows, overriding the Sunwell's energy. As you might guess, with my magical reserve, achieving this effect is not easy. And there are significantly more than one elf in the fleet.
All the elves felt bad, and all at the same time. Literally everyone in the city, in the country, on the continent. High Elves; Night Elves don't count. The total size of Jaina's expedition—something like twenty thousand souls, of which about ten will survive and be able to found Theramore (finally remembered what it's called) and live there—finally remembered how it was called. About two thousand of them are elves. And everyone started to warp. Especially the Mages, and especially the strong ones. Everyone is trying to survive as best they can. I just gorged myself on magic stones; the Mages got hooked on Mana potions; Dartaola has the Light.
But for the others, it was easier on one hand and harder on the other. The poisoning is weaker, but it's harder to find a cure. After all, the magical sources primarily went to the higher classes and their family members. A class-based society is like that. My mom is Jaina's secretary; she would be entitled to it out of turn, but that's where I stepped in.
Naturally, I gave the stones to my parents personally and first of all, from my own supplies. And when I leave, I'll leave the Mana condensation machine with them too. I'm more than sure no one will say a word against it, because Family is important.
At the same time, taking the opportunity, I made sure my parents went to sleep in their cabin on the ship, and their sleep was enhanced by magic. If they had stayed in the inn where Jaina lives, it would have been harder, but it's not within their title to live with the lords. And for me, it's even more convenient to commit said villainy.
It really hurts me to do this, but I also know they simply wouldn't have let me go to Quel'Thalas. Mom would have just cast Polymorph, leaving the Pepelats in the city so I wouldn't run away from her, since I don't know how to Teleport yet. And I intend to get into Quel'Thalas very soon.
If I were the same age as this body, I would have just put them to sleep and stopped there, just doing what I decided and not thinking about the consequences. But I am much older, I have a conscience, and these are my local parents, to whom I have long and sincerely become attached. And though I chose duty over desire, it's worth trying to explain things at least to Jaina and reach an agreement regarding this problem. Once we deal with the first symptoms of poisoning, of course.
The situation was stabilized only by morning. Well, stabilized—the elves, supported by Mages, stopped literally doubling over from the cheerful feeling of an overdose of necrotic energy in their systems. But that was it; the fever and weakness didn't go anywhere, they just became more controlled, more tolerable, but nothing more. We are all still potentially dying from an overdose of energy alien to the body. In any case, I brought my team, including Dartaola, back to normal and announced:
"As soon as the Pepelats' repairs are finished, we are returning to Quel'Thalas. If things are as bad there as I think, our help won't be superfluous. We need to help whoever we can."
Naturally, both agreed, though I don't think Dartaola understands the essence of the problem and my plans. It's not about sharing Mana with everyone and anyone; there aren't enough resources for that. But the corruption of the Sunwell means there will be Undead and a bunch of civilians who need to be given a chance to survive and escape the claws and fangs of said Undead. If there's an opportunity, I'll share Mana too, but that's on a secondary basis; my own survival is more important.
Likely, Sylvanas is already there, at the walls of Silvermoon, and Kael'thas is rushing home to destroy the Sunwell, so there are people to fight on the front lines; I won't go there. We, on the Pepelats, will work as a rescue squad. And once we finish and save whoever we can, we'll depart toward the future Theramore. I don't want to miss the chance to kick Archimonde in the balls with my strongest attack. And to enjoy Jaina's hospitality, of course. And my parents will be there too.
Plus, potentially, I can set up some permanent production in Theramore. People will be building a city from scratch, and here one enterprising Mage can set up various interesting productions, selling goods to both humans and orcs and trolls. For example? Various household items, simple artifacts, cooling units. Anything, really; I suspect there will be a shortage of literally everything at first. And if I use Earth knowledge and give the population a few amenities of civilization... in short, I shouldn't linger too long. I'll talk my parents and Jaina into it; I think she won't mind. A Mage of her caliber won't bother with such things, and I don't mind, especially if it brings in income.
In short, there are more than enough reasons to be there, rather than in the epicenter of the Demon invasion tearing Lordaeron apart. And we will go west! And we will go west! And we will go weeeest! But for that, I need to reach an agreement so that I'm let go in peace and they wait for my return. It won't be funny at all if Jaina allows my ancestors to return back. Unacceptable!
And Jaina's fleet sets sail today, and if I go to sleep, I might just not have time to discuss all these points. So without wasting time, early in the morning I headed to the tavern that Lady Proudmoore had occupied as her headquarters. Literally occupied. Previously, it was a lovely establishment under the lovely name "The Spewed Goblin," but it had been tidied up, cleaned, and a sign hung:
Expedition Headquarters of Lady Proudmoore. Army of Kul Tiras. For all inquiries, contact the secretary in the neighboring building. Do not disturb their Excellencies without a compelling reason. You have been warned.
"That's where we need to go," reading the sign, I took a step toward the entrance.
The attempt to enter was interrupted by a guard. An ordinary soldier, but with a Kul Tiras chevron. Even broader than ordinary humans. No, really, he's huge, larger than an Orc, more like a half-ogre, though I haven't heard of them having children with humans. No joke, I'm only up to his waist; in this body, there's more than two meters of muscle and fat. His arms are like my torso, a mug so big he could bite my arm off without trying. And there are MANY like him here.
It seems the locals have a competition over who has the broadest face, or I just don't know. As an Orc Brute says: the broader our faces, the tighter our ranks. And this character is truly monumental. A dwarf with human proportions, he could lift me with one hand without even trying, along with all my gear. And then squeeze, also with one hand. What kind of woman gave birth to this titan? And what kind of women do they have there, with such cabinets for men, that it doesn't tear them apart? Though, I'm headed toward just such a woman. No wonder Jaina stands out in dimensions even among the locals. I'll say it again—I understand Arthas and his aspirations. If I were a man, I'd be pining myself.
But jokes aside, I need to get inside. And the owner of this truly broad face, seeing me, blocked the exit, clearly not intending to let me through.
"Where are you from? No entry without permission."
I looked into the simple but confident face of the soldier. Clearly self-assured and not intending to let me pass. Not good. And I have neither a pass nor an invitation; I somehow didn't bother. Last time, Jaina was the one who brought me inside. So what to do?
An idea came to mind suddenly. I'm currently posing as an adult elf. Robe, helmet, gauntlet up to the shoulder. What if I play the opposite? In short, I pulled off my wide-brimmed hat:
"Hold this for a second."
The man took it, clearly not quite understanding what was happening. I'm doing something crazy, that's what's happening. In short, I pulled off my helmet, smiled broadly, and fluttering my eyelashes, said:
"I'm here to see my mom; she works here. Looks like me, only older."
The guy was completely taken aback. Apparently, he expected anything but this. I understand; I also expected anything but this. But after a few seconds of complex thought visible on the guard's face, he brightened up, though a light bulb didn't literally go off over his head.
"Huh? Ah! You're the daughter of Lady Clarinel, Lady Jaina's secretary?"
I nodded. I thought it would be harder. But since I started, I should continue to lean into the age thing.
"Yep. Is Mom in?"
The soldier nodded hesitantly.
"Yeah, she's in. Everyone's scurrying, scurrying before the departure. Go on in, of course. So, you're sailing with us?"
I smiled even wider. Mom wasn't there, I was sure of it. But with Jaina's love for Teleporting around, half the Guard simply didn't know where to look for the brass. Regardless, it suited me just fine.
"I'm in reconnaissance. So I'm ahead of all of you. Always in front, always where the danger is. And don't look at my age; the fact that you found me is only because you're one of ours, and one isn't supposed to hide from their own."
I even puffed out my chest. In short, the soldier was impressed and let me inside. He actually turned out to be a pleasant guy to talk to. We spoke for a bit; he really was from Kul Tiras. They have an indigenous population there, something like Indians. And from them, you get these mighty half-breeds, approaching Ogres in size. Physical parameters to match. Well, he was imposing, no doubt about that. Having satisfied my curiosity, I finally stepped inside the tavern.
Inside, it turned out to be a fully functional headquarters. Human officers with all sorts of chevrons and truly aristocratic, haughty faces. A pair of Dwarves, three Gnomes, and not a single Elf. Everyone was well-dressed and, judging by the emblems, belonged to a whole galaxy of states: Kul Tiras, Lordaeron, Gilneas, Stormwind, Ironforge. Everyone was here.
My presence in a helmet was taken calmly; I had memorized Jaina's office the first time, so I headed straight where I needed to go. The locals apparently decided that if I'd been let through, then that's how it was supposed to be.
Lady Proudmoore's office was open, though for the sake of propriety, I knocked anyway.
"Come in."
And in I went. Man, I never want to be a boss. If such a stupid idea ever visits me, I should beat my head against a wall until cured. By the end of this night, Jaina was even more wrecked than I was, and I had dark circles under my eyes from Necromancy and skin as pale as a vampire's. Red eyes, hands slightly trembling. And Jaina looked worse than me. Once again: I do not want to be a boss; to hell with that kind of "fun."
The desk was covered in stacks of documents, as was the neighboring desk. And another one. The Wizard herself was practically wasting away over the papers, with a desk-top magic crystal in the shape of a lamp, trying not to fall asleep. Even without magic, I could see just how miserable she felt.
"Lady Proudmoore. I have news."
Jaina looked me over and nodded to herself, setting the papers aside. Without even trying to hide her displeasure, she declared:
"You knew, of course. That it would be like this, Prophet. And you said nothing. Just like he did back then."
I only snorted at that. These attempts to attribute omniscience to me and declare me the scapegoat for all sins were starting to get seriously annoying. The nuance was that I just wasn't sure how to react to it all. Like the child I am, or like the adult I try to present myself as. Either way, in this case, I had an answer.
"Before you start accusing, Lady Proudmoore, the infection won't last long. Kael'thas Sunstrider is not only a member of the Council of Six, but also the Prince of our people. He will resolve this issue by destroying the corrupted Sunwell. Nothing would have changed if you had known about it."
Jaina countered:
"We could have prepared. This entire emergency happened because of panic and fear. I feared the Elves had been poisoned. At the very least, you could have dispelled my suspicions."
I shrugged, picking up a cup.
"Afterknowledge, Lady Jaina, not prophecies. And my intervention has already changed history. So all I can do is use approximate information to try and build a sequence."
"You still could have said something."
Well, that was true, actually. I could have.
"Forgive me, Lady Proudmoore. In any case, Sylvanas Windrunner and Kael'thas Sunstrider will be the ones to solve the problem. They are strong, very strong."
"Just Jaina," she almost interrupted me, "you are not my subject, nor a subject of Lordaeron, a member of the Kirin Tor, or my father's. And I don't need a child bowing and scraping before me. But at the same time, it would be nice if that same child warned about problems in advance! Like you did in the case of Kalimdor. Kael, hmph."
Jaina knows Kael'thas personally; the pointy-eared guy had pursued her, but she went to Arthas. And it really did bother me that everything had turned out this way. By going to Quel'Thalas, I truly wanted to try and clear up at least something. The Wizard sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes.
"Kael is strong, yes. And yet... take off your helmet, please. I want to see your face, Prophet. Your honest face."
I shrugged and complied with the request. Lately, everyone seemed intent on catching me in something. No one appreciates poor DaVilinia! What is wrong with people, huh?
"Of course, boss. And once again—I'm not a prophet, it's just afterknowledge. I have no idea how the changed events will unfold; I can only guess. Alas."
Jaina nodded and requested:
"Perhaps so. Now, please, say the words: that you are sure Kael will manage and that you aren't going to go charging in there, but will instead come with us and your parents. You know, reconnaissance in Kalimdor will be useful. As will your knowledge of the continent's history."
Ah. I see. Well, okay.
"Kael'thas should handle the task, and I will catch up with you before you even arrive in Kalimdor. After all, the Pepelats flies, and it does so quickly. All I need is a magical marker. It can be set up in a minute, Lady Jaina. In and out, a few days' adventure."
The Wizard exhaled, resting her head on her hands and not hiding her exhaustion.
"I thought as much. You're lying and you intend to crawl right into that battle with the Undead. Why? What am I supposed to say to my own secretary? That her twenty-year-old daughter can handle things better than thousand-year-old Elf Magisters? Do you even realize how that sounds?"
It's necessary. But actually, I'm surprised how easily you can read me. Arcane genius or some other magic? Probably, it's a damn useful thing. Fine, doesn't matter, I'll have to give a bit more information.
"I'm quite confident in the Prince, Jaina. It's just... how should I put it..."
"As it is, DaVilinia. Tell it as it is," she froze in anticipation.
Don't go cosplaying my mom; she'll give me the same interrogation later with the same intonations. Or is this attitude toward misbehaving children common to all women? I don't feel like I've misbehaved, though. We're working for the good of society.
"I really don't intend to go to the front lines. A battle with an Army of Undead entrenched in our capital is not what I'm good at. But with the Pepelats, I can fly over the territory, finding refugees and covering them from the hordes of Undead. This could save many, truly many. I'm from a village, Jaina, and for many residents, this might be their only chance to survive. And then we'll return, I promise."
The Wizard was silent for a few minutes, apparently looking for arguments other than "you're little." But in the end, she gave in.
"Let me guess," she said ironically, "I won't be able to talk you out of it, and I'm the one who will have to explain to your parents why you stayed behind. Because they won't listen to you. And I'll be the one who has to stop them from trying to save you. Thank you so much, DaVilinia."
Well, who said it would be easy?
"DaVi, since we've moved to informal address, Lady Jaina. First, they will be safe, and that's important. Second, I don't intend to linger too long. Third, Lady Jaina, I really don't intend to linger there too long. And fourth and fifth... besides a war of attrition, there are other dangers, like Demons. Whom I definitely do not want to meet. If we made something like a beacon, I could catch up with you. Perhaps even before the ships reach the shores of Kalimdor. And after that, I'm all yours."
Jaina exhaled and shook her head.
"Not convinced. You're still a child and you said yourself that Kael will manage. You don't need to be there, to see what the Undead will do to your home. No one needs that. In the end, what can one child do against an Army of Undead?"
On one hand, I'm not obligated to convince you. On the other—her words made sense. More than I'd like. But if Kael'thas gets killed because he can't reach the Sunwell, I'll feel guilty. And not necessarily alive. So, taking a sip of the offered tea, I said:
"Not just a child, but a magic technician with a very powerful combat machine and a team of friends. Besides us, my Teacher, the Magister, will be there. And he'll look after me. All together, we aren't a strategic force, but definitely a tactical one."
"I don't agree..."
It was a long, very long negotiation. And Jaina's exhaustion didn't help; she was persistent, even stubborn, in her attempts to talk me out of doing something stupid. Persuasion didn't help. Neither did playing on pity, pleas, polite or impolite arguments. Jaina kept trying to catch me on the fact that I was recklessly heading into the thick of it, even though I shouldn't be there at all. And I simply didn't have the right arguments because I lacked the necessary information to build a solid Defensive Line. But I knew who I could try to find it from. From the Magister, of course. He wouldn't stay on the sidelines.
The Raven, also known as the Magister, didn't answer right away.
"I am at the walls of Silvermoon, the outer ones. And this is not at all what we expected, apprentice. The Undead came from the north, from the sea; they attacked the Sunwell directly, bypassing all our fortifications. Now we are trying to figure out exactly how this happened. They have barricaded themselves in the city, allowing everyone who wanted to leave to do so. After which they corrupted the Sunwell, and now everyone who fled is rushing back toward our own fortifications. Meanwhile, it's not just survivors rushing north, but refugees seeking salvation, and the Undead."
Magister, you aren't making the situation any easier. Especially when Jaina, not convinced at all, looked at me and strictly clarified:
"And what is your plan? You'll get there, and then what?"
I just spread my hands.
"As I said, I'll save who I can. The strongest Magisters and Archmagi will be operating on the front lines; I have nothing to gain there. I won't even go there."
My Teacher supported me:
"And that is a very wise decision, apprentice. The elite of the High Elves have gathered under the city walls, but residents of other settlements are also suffering from magical thirst. Anyone who can control a large area and exterminate the Undead will be useful."
I think I managed to talk her into it after about two hours only because Jaina still had a mountain of work and simply couldn't spend any more time on me before departure. She squeezed a solemn promise out of me not to go to the front lines personally, and if there were absolutely no options, to just leave. Also, to perform repairs on the Pepelats before going into battle. And a full account of what is happening in Quel'Thalas upon my return. As for my parents, she would take them on. On the condition that once I caught up with the fleet, I would explain myself to them, and do so honestly.
Overall, nothing I hadn't expected. I had planned to do repairs anyway, and I needed to stop by Mindflux to restock my ammunition; we'd dropped quite a few missiles on that Undead base. I don't doubt that if they had more time, this issue would have been raised again, by Jaina herself. But there simply was no time. So by noon, I was standing on the tower, silently watching as the ships disappeared on the horizon. They did it; they departed for Kalimdor. All of them, nearly twenty thousand people. Including my parents, sleeping in one of the cabins of Jaina's ship.
I tossed a small crystal with my right hand and caught it with two fingers of my left; the gauntlet gave a quiet metallic clank. It wasn't made by Jaina, but by one of her Dalaran friends who had gone with the fleet. The very beacon by which they could be found. Holding the crystal with two huge clawed fingers, I looked at it and put it in my pocket. Meanwhile, the fleet slowly vanished beyond the horizon, carrying hope to this world.
But not to the local residents, not to those who stayed behind. They would soon discover that the solvent expedition had left, leaving only mercenaries and unwanted refugees. The influx of money had dried up, while the number of people seeking salvation grew more and more. Cultists had previously been hunted by Mages and Paladins, who had also left this city with the expedition. Which meant the path was also open for agents of the Cult of the Damned.
One way or another, it was no longer our problem.
"They'll manage."
I turned around and, among the battlements of the tower where I stood, noticed Venidan. She had sat down, dangling her left leg outside and resting her chin on her right knee. I tried to smile.
"I know. But it doesn't make the situation any easier. I'm sorry it turned out this way."
The Rogue stood up with a jerk and approached. She hugged me, and I didn't argue. Venidan said, looking at the barely visible masts in the distance:
"Yeah, it doesn't. But we'll try to make sure everything is okay for them, right?"
Well, I could agree with that.
"We'll try. And yours?"
Venidan shrugged.
"I didn't live in the capital, though they tried to push me there. If they didn't do anything stupid, they're alive. Or not, I don't know and I don't intend to look for them. Not now, when I have a more real family, Midget. I won't leave you, so don't hope to get rid of me that easily."
I didn't argue or preach. I just stood there a bit longer, and then we left. By the way, a funny fact: the local lord had skipped town with his family to Kalimdor, leaving the Guard and mercenaries in charge. We found this out during the interrogation of four individuals who tried to mug us right within the city limits, in its deserted center. Specifically mug us; they wanted money. They were the ones who reported that with the departure of the expedition, there had been a change in leadership in the city.
For a gold coin on top and the indication that we were also mercenaries, these robbers reported that upon leaving the city, the lord had cleaned out his own mansion, treasury, and warehouses. Including the merchants' warehouses, of course, without warning anyone. I don't know if Jaina is aware, but something tells me she isn't. It's not her city to watch over.
More importantly, we were in a city with no food, no money, and no authority. But with a bunch of Guard, mercenaries, refugees, and cultists. Generally, Hillsbrad isn't that large; it's noticeably smaller than Stratholme. Partly because of that, Thrall and his Horde passed through the city like a hot knife through butter. But now...
Now, attracted by the expedition, a sizeable refugee camp had gathered around the city. Various people had gathered there: those who hoped to set off for a better life, those fleeing the Undead, or those trying to make money off the expedition. And now the shop was closed, and by such a radical method. In the very near future, this boiling pot of crap was going to burst. I hoped to be far away at that moment.
And then... my conscience stirred. Perhaps with the help of the Pepelats, we could help maintain order, save a few lives. Improve the situation. Except...
"We don't have time for that."
Because there really wasn't any. Yes, the sensation of rot on my tongue had dulled, but it was still present in the background. I could stay here, hoping that in the sharply changed situation, Kael'thas would manage. Arthas, after all, had left Quel'Thalas after the resurrection of the Necromancer. Но today the Death Knight is not Arthas. And I have no idea how the situation will change with a new commander. If the Undead intend to guard the Sunwell until the High Elves fully transition to the Dark Side of the Force, the layout could change radically. In short, I need to be there, not here. And for that, I need to finish the repairs on the Pepelats as soon as possible.
To speed up the repairs, I even used "terrain creation":
"Domain Expansion—Bread Stall!"
Terrain Creation is a cheat that allows you to create a space for a specific task, which speeds up its execution quite a bit. In this case—repairing the ship. The bridge had taken a heavy hit again; ice magic in an enclosed space simply rips things from their mountings, smashing them.
This is generally normal when using magic in an enclosed space. Regardless of the element. Probably only illusions allow one to avoid damage, though I'm not sure about that. In short, the bridge had to be repaired almost more than any other room. Fortunately, the Golems don't need to rest; they don't drink or slack off, but work until the job is done.
Outside, in the city, conflicts gradually began to brew. And the mercenaries, realizing they had been cheated out of their money, played no small part in them. And they now had to earn money themselves. I even had to post a guard of Golems. And Venidan stayed on board to keep an eye on particularly brazen individuals.
Jaina is gone; we are no longer welcome here. I must admit, in the twenty-four hours required for repairs, all my philanthropy evaporated. Partly because I was using four scout-birds to survey the city. The final straw was a situation where I tried to destroy a hidden cultist, and the refugees fought him back.
"Well, to hell with you, golden fish. We're flying out. To Dalaran!"
To avoid getting lost, I steered the Pepelats over the road. Overall, the impressions were... ordinary. Yes, the traffic on the roads was somewhat denser than usual. After all, we're talking about the Middle Ages; modern autobahns are about five hundred years away. Rare carts, pedestrians, and riders. More than there might be in spring. Yes, it's spring here. I successfully slept through the winter, heh. In normal conditions, this would be the sowing season, but the conditions are clearly unusual. Even if it's not very noticeable.
During the flight, we made a stop to gather water, once again. In the technical compartment, there's a sizeable tank that in any other situation would send the center of gravity to hell. Но we have magic here, plus the center of gravity is already located in the technical compartment; everything important is located around it.
But even so, as soon as time permits, I will expand the Pepelats. I need more internal space; I have nowhere to shove cargo, compartments, and our team is growing. I need to add new suspensions, probably convert the ship to a horizontal layout. Not the most rewarding pastime, but the internal volume will increase, that's a fact.
I, by the way, found the time and finished the second gauntlet. Impressed by the sensations of the fight with that Dwarf, I decided to up-arm urgently. My left hand was occupied with the Pepelats controls, which meant I urgently needed a right one. There were no problems with assembly; essentially it's a mirror of the left, provided there were materials. There were materials.
The second stage was more difficult—to perform the ritual so that no one would realize immediately and interfere. My magical scout-bird helped with this, discovering an entire Hydra in one of the lakes.
This isn't the creature from Earth mythology that required destroying a hundred heads simultaneously with the strength of "one" Hercules. Local Hydras are simpler, just one of the large species of monsters. Three heads spitting acid for about fifty meters, a magical core feeding the monster with the elemental power of nature. And a heart full of natural magic. Rip it out, preserve it, and we'll have a small but stable Source of Magic for the next couple of weeks. If we don't cast anything else, of course. Plus, we'll be doing a good deed; this creature clearly didn't get this fat on seaweed.
And parallel to the Hydra, I could perform the ritual and bind the second gauntlet to myself, using the same scheme as the first. And I would always have a free hand to treat an opponent to some very strong spellcasting. I think the fact that I couldn't both pilot the ship and kick that Death Knight's frozen ass is something I won't forget for a long time. I've drawn my conclusions, and I won't get caught like that a second time.
The fight with the Hydra itself didn't take much time. We struck from the air with turrets and Golems on the surface. Dartaola, as befits a tank, drew the creature's attention. Venidan used a bow and poisons; I used ice magic to fix the patient in place. And then:
"By the way, the autopsy showed that the patient died from the autopsy. You should have learned to dodge instead of relying on regeneration and the ability to almost bud into two smaller Hydras. Or four even smaller ones, if the main individual's heads aren't destroyed."
In normal conditions, the Hydra would have started reproducing by "budding"—they can do that—but without the magical core, it all ended immediately. However, we didn't fly on for almost twenty-four hours, until the next morning. Why?
"Midget, have you lost it? A Hydra isn't just a magical heart, but also a huge valuable hide, and about five tons of meat. In short, prep the hold; I've found us some cash. And make the cold storage larger; it'll come in handy."
In short, having brought the Pepelats closer, I left Venidan to work, since initiative punishes the initiator.
As for myself, I expanded the territory for another "bread stall" and set about the binding ritual, surrounded by Golems. This time it was much easier, at least because I wasn't in a hurry. And I have experience; the gauntlet is identical to the left one, so an hour later I had two heavy magical projectors on my hands. Left and right, the crown and the funeral. No point in describing the ritual a second time; it's literally the same process as in the tower, one to one.
I set up the altar, which transmuted from the terrain as best as I could. Generally, dark altars don't necessarily have to be beautiful; I found that out firsthand. Lay out the gauntlet nearby, apply magical seals to the floor. And then all that remains is to lie down and begin the merging process. Once again, it felt as if my soul was knocked out of my body; everything lost meaning and color; only the process and magic remained. Create the seals, connect my own soul and mana pool to the gauntlet. Close the process, feeling the addition to my limbs. Admire it, click the claws. Done.
"I'll think of names for you later; Dalaran is waiting."
Venidan had just packed the freed-up storage with meat, along with Dartaola, who, as it turned out, is quite good at skinning monsters.
"I happened to be a squire during monster hunts. And helping with the cooking too. I can teach you a decent recipe using the Hydra's acid gland; with proper processing, it makes the meat quite tender."
Venidan laughed, trying to just chuckle rather than guffaw.
"No wonder in some languages the word for 'priest' sounds similar to the word for 'to eat.' I take it you don't deny yourselves anything."
Unexpectedly for me, Dartaola didn't argue.
"Faith in the Holy is a state of the soul, not sectarian nonsense like a vow of celibacy or food abstinence. Human Paladins, many of them, were previously Knights who knew no refusal in anything. There is no reason to live otherwise. And of course, it is the juniors on campaigns who handle the cooking and other domestic chores. And if anyone says otherwise—it's a lie and propaganda."
Venidan nodded with a smirk.
"That's true; kitchen duty is what it is."
I decided to tease a bit.
"So, does that mean we have someone on the team who knows how to cook?"
"HEY!" Venidan protested, "I know how to cook! Just not particularly complex things."
No, I'm not complaining about her skills; there's just a real lack of variety there.
"Anyway, you'll cook something when you get the chance, but for now, it's time for us to go. Time waits for no one."
Venidan clearly noticed the second gauntlet on my hand, but said nothing. And rightly so; I wasn't going to say anything anyway.
On the approach to Dalaran, clear changes could be noted. New strings forming something like a force dome. Mmm, no, three force domes. There was less transport around, but more riders on Griffons. When we got even closer, we could see construction along the city's perimeter. In some places, strings radiated in waves from the Mages, forming transmutation spells and magic towers. Separately, siege Golems and Goblins were carrying some containers. There were about a dozen giants here. A big construction project; they were digging in.
Just like last time, we were met by Dwarves from the Wildhammer clan, still the same stylish owners of red mohawks with Thor's hammers at the ready. This time I had armed myself with the brochure "Standard Sign Language for Piloting." We communicated a bit with the Patrol using it, and in the end, we were let through to the city, while the Patrol went to catch the mini-airship flying behind us.
Fortunately, when the Pepelats descended onto the platform with a roar of engines, old Zeltzer was already waiting below. The eternally cheerful Goblin looked brisk, fresh, and had a tablet on his belt. The Goblin quickly inspected the ship and turned with a smirk to me as I ran down the ramp. I saluted him right from the Pepelats ramp. For more atmosphere, I perched the mechanical bird on my shoulder. I had to leave the hat, though; it's wide and inconvenient for walking around a big city anyway—the brim would keep catching on things.
"DaVilinia! You're back. On business or what? If you only knew how many people have been looking for you here; if I hadn't seen it myself, I'd never have believed it! A big shot, eh?"
I nodded to the Goblin without removing my helmet, but shook his outstretched hand. I still like this guy, though I wouldn't want to be his boss. I still remember how, during our last visit, Zeltzer fleeced Antonidas for cash without any moral qualms whatsoever. And he fleeced him good, and I'd be surprised if he only pulled that kind of thing on my order.
But excluding that factor, I still like Zeltzer. He never nitpicks about my age; he gets straight to business and doesn't put on airs. You tell him: "I want a weapon," and he asks what kind and for how much, without worrying about anything else. It's simply easier for me to communicate with this Goblin than with my peers.
"Hi, Zeltzer. I know they're looking; it doesn't matter anymore; whoever needed to find me has found me. I'm actually here on business, and you're the one I need, get it?"
The Goblin immediately snatched the tablet from his belt.
"Excellent, I'm taking notes. What does my favorite client want?"
I wonder how many favorite clients he has. Probably everyone who spends big money with him, ha. Well, okay.
"For starters, we need to unload the Hydra parts from the hold. We killed it yesterday; the meat is in the freezer, should be fine. Also the hide and poison glands," the Goblin nodded, showing he'd noted it, "also restock missiles and weapons. A lot of weapons. We're flying north."
The Goblin turned a bit somber. Not much, though; a fraction of a second later he was smirking again, scribbling with a grease pencil on the tablet.
"I've heard what's going on up there. The whole city's buzzing since the Elf Prince snapped and skipped town right in the middle of a Council meeting. Weapons, then? You're in luck; I know where I can get you weapons. I have a absolutely fantastic offer for you here, DaVilinia. Interested?"
I gave a short nod. Zeltzer continued:
"Our guys set up a little branch at the southern gates of Silvermoon. An airship station, a Shop of Wonders with budget trinkets, all that. And they need stock, and fast—the money's burning! But there's no free transport; we've got an emergency here, preparing for a possible siege. In short, everyone's busy. If you don't mind moonlighting as a courier, I'll get you all the guns you need in a day. Even a railgun and a Death Lazor. Well, what do you think?"
Naturally, I agreed. Even if I didn't remember exactly where the camp was, I remembered that Arthas took airships from it to fly over the bridge. Oh, one more thing.
"A little bird whispered some unverified rumors to me. Interested? Very important rumors about what, in theory, in theory, might happen."
The Goblin hummed.
"I could throw in some materials, very high quality, magical. If the information is worth it, of course."
I shrugged.
"They might even kill for this information if they find out. But generally... the Undead in Dalaran need a certain book. Medivh's magic tome on Demonology. And perhaps it makes sense to take a vacation, somewhere south, for a month or so. It'll be a bit difficult to get out of the city once it all starts."
This information gave the Goblin pause, but he said straight out: not today. And Zeltzer kept his word. The ship was up-armed, rooms were packed... well, they were packed with everything; I even had to stop the workshop. Weapon samples, crates of Mana potions, artifacts like crystallized "mana stones." And ten barrels of "Mr. Gobber," a cleaning agent that, as Zeltzer said:
"Nasty stuff. After a couple of components, it turns into a really powerful solvent. Dissolves everything, even the barrel it's in. That's why it's mixed right before spraying, so as not to ruin the siphon."
In short, by the end, the Pepelats was loaded to the brim; crates, barrels, and sacks were simply everywhere. On the other hand, Zeltzer himself hadn't lied, even providing a real Death Lazor. And I can say right now, it's not a laser at all, not even in theory. I'll have to poke around later and figure out what it actually is and how it fires.
I didn't miss the chance to ask the Magister about what was happening in Quel'Thalas. I didn't want to fly in blind, and my Teacher was right in the epicenter. He told me a lot:
Plague! I feel it in the water, the earth, the Elves, and everywhere. Proximity to the Sunwell poisons the land, the animals, the plants, the Elves. Very many residents of Silvermoon died in the very first hours, simply because they didn't understand the nature of the threat. During a sortie into the city, the Magister had to encounter a large number of civilians who bore no wounds at all. These were Elves who simply continued to use magic until the very end. And they tried to relieve the pain with magic, poisoning themselves even further.
Yes, once the Elves got their bearings, it became a bit easier. Many brought in independent magic sources, from Mana potions to artifacts and magic spheres that could be consumed to dull the thirst. But they aren't eternal, which forces the command to take risks.
Breaking through to the Sunwell isn't working; the Undead are receiving reinforcements and digging in deeper. Judging by the number of dead Humans, the Undead are bringing in corpses from the south. In turn, those consumed by hunger and the killed replenish the Army of Undead. Not to mention the squads of corpses swarming the Elven territories while the main forces try to storm their own capital. So far unsuccessfully; the Undead are learning, plugging gaps, using traitors, taking advantage of the fact that many of the fallen were not damaged and look almost alive.
Grim. And that's where we're flying. Having read all this, I sat down over the blueprints, looking for a solution to this undoubtedly difficult task. I don't think storming Silvermoon will help. Anyone. In the end, that's exactly what's expected of us. It's a trap we're being drawn into, deprived of alternatives. And that's exactly why we need to come up with some third solution.
***
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