Honor’s Demand - pt. 1
Sunreaver’s Command – Crystalsong, Northrend
Morning broke early over Crystalsong, though the long rays of sunlight streaming over Northrend's snowcapped peaks did little to lessen the crisp chill of the air. This far north, summer was little more than a word used to describe the longer days and fewer blizzards that still rolled down from the Storm Peaks. Xaereth Cloudbreaker tugged his fur-lined cloak tighter around his armored shoulders and gripped the haft of his polearm with stiff fingers as he marched past the row of crimson and gold tents of the Sunreaver's diplomats on his way to the training yard. For three days now, Aethas and his Magisters had been holding talks with the Kirin Tor, vying to regain access to Dalaran. So far as Xaereth could tell, Proudmoore and her council were not budging on the issue. In the privacy of his own mind, he did not believe they would. In fact, were he to be truly honest with himself, he was not entirely sure Proudmoore was wrong to harbor such a grudge against the Sin’dorei. He himself was not one quick to forgive either. He was the first to arrive at the yard, a simple affair with a few wooden training dummies and archer’s targets set in a half circle overlooking the violet hues of the crystalline trees of the vale’s namesake. Dalaran itself hung in the sky high above the valley, the peaks of its tall spires glimmering brightly in the morning sun. Solitude suited the Knight-Master, most of his brethren were still putting away their morning meals at the chow tent, and the Magisters likely dozing in their four poster beds. He shrugged out of his cloak, draping the heavy garment over a post and hefting his weapon as he stepped into the yard. Not every soldier went about the camp armed, but so close to an Alliance bastion, let alone Icecrown itself, Xaereth did not feel the same sense of ease. He suppressed a shiver as the cold pricked at his skin and settled into a fighting stance, working himself through a slow series of graceful Thalassian martial forms. Wing of the Hawkstrider flowed into Beholding the Sun, and that in turn became Pouncing Lynx before continuing on to Willow over the River. Each form stretched a separate group of muscle, and despite the cold and his meticulous pace, warmth began to spread itself through his body as the exercise wore on, sweat gathering on his brow.
The camp gradually came to life behind the knight, the low buzz of servants and soldiers tending to their duties first, followed by the shrill demands of hungover Magisters as they rose to splitting headaches. By the time Xaereth planted the butt of his spear into the frost dusted soil, his morning routine complete, the Sunreaver delegation was making ready for their daily excursion to the Kaldorei ruins strewn beneath Dalaran's shadow. A long procession formed down the length of the camp, a sinuous line of flowing robes and lacquered plate. Aethas himself was conspicuously absent from the flock of Magister's arranging themselves at the forefront, followed by an escort of mounted Blood Knights and colorfully garbed Farstriders. Bringing up the rear were the servants and their wagons, burdened with tents and furnishings for the whole lot. It would take half the morning just to make the journey, and arranging the broad, lavishly appointed diplomatic pavilion would likely eat into the early afternoon. That hardly mattered all said, as the Kirin Tor delegates would likely make their elvish visitors wait until near sundown, simply because they could.
Amongst the pomp and circumstance Xaereth spotted the only two Magisters he knew by sight; The first was his charge, Tel'mornae Evenstar, a severe woman of indeterminable age who accepted nothing less than perfection from herself and those that served her. The day Xaereth had been assigned to escort her, she had admonished him for a knick in the lacquer of his vambrace, and would have sent him back to the camp had the trumpets not signaled the march. Today she’d draped a luxuriant cloak of scarlet lined with ermine over her gold and porcelain pleated riding dress against the morning chill, a perfect complement to the brilliant white hawkstrider she perched atop. Even the creature’s feathers shone, likely her servants had risen even before the Knight-Master himself to achieve such a sheen. He shook his head as he waded through the gathering to find his charger, considering the effort a dreadful waste, only to find that the armor of his own mount had been polished to a mirror finish. He saw himself frown in the reflection, and let out a small sigh as he placed a foot into a stirrup and swung himself up into the saddle. Many would consider the woman a beauty, Xaereth supposed, giving his mount a nudge forward, and the furtive looks cast her way by some of his comrades lent credence to that notion. While unaffected by Evenstar’s wiles himself, it meant one more thing to watch for, another distraction from his true quarry.
Just beyond his charge, Xaereth recognized Magister Havorthan Ravenscar, a well-polished elf of manicured nails and easy smiles chatting amicably amongst some of the other senior delegates. He was well liked amongst the camp’s inhabitants, Xaereth had observed, known for his free purse at the dicing tables with the soldiers and the seemingly unceasing flow of Eversong wine his servants poured for the guests he entertained every night in his lavish tents.
For all of Ravenscar’s outward display of good will, however, Xaereth was unconvinced. Months of painstaking investigation into the elf's background pointed towards his hand moving behind several disappearances, and even a pair of outright killings, though Xaereth could not unearth enough substance to be considered evidence. Even the act that had set the Knight after the Magister was a dead end, any inquiry made by Xaereth stonewalled by paid-for clerks, the paper trail nonexistent. Still, Ravenscar had sent Xaereth’s wife, Valestia, to die on a fool’s errand during the explusion of the Sunreavers from Dalaran, bargaining away her life for those that could advance his position. She’d survived the mission, if only by the skin of her teeth, but she still bore the scars of horrid experience, both within and without. Even if Xaereth could not produce the evidence he needed to strip the man from his position and land him behind bars, the Knight swore to himself as he wove his way through the procession up to Magister Evenstar’s position, there would be retribution.
“My, my, Master Cloudbreaker, it looks as though you’ve swallowed a toad.” Tel’mornae chided as he reined in beside her, his dour mood apparently evident on his stony features. He quickly schooled himself, assuming the stern neutrality he had been taught as an Initiate so many years ago. She sniffed airily as he did so, “Well. Whatever it is that has spoiled your morning, it won’t spoil mine.” She leaned towards him, eyes narrowing, “Or will it?”
Xaereth shook his head once, shoulders squared and posture rigid atop his saddle, “No, Magister Evenstar. All is in order.” She gave him a thin smile in return, settling back to pull on her lynx hide riding gloves. “Very good, Master Cloudbreaker. We must all of us play our part for the Kirin Tor, no?” Whatever response he had for her was drowned out by the triumphant sounding of the trumpets at the head of the line, signaling the start of the day’s march. Tel’mornae clucked her tongue, leaving Xaereth to follow in her wake. Vengeance could wait, he reminded himself, falling into place amongst the line of Sin’dorei, the golden banners of Quel’thelas streaming proudly overhead. For now, duty called.