Into the Light

18 | THE BET

Khadgar leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. It had been a long day, and from the look of today's postal delivery, his work was going to drag on far into the night. He eyed the neatly piled stacks of petitions, demands and complaints covering his desk. Too many needed the aid of the Kirin Tor, each believing their cause the most important and worthiest against the Legion.

The last missive--a note from the Knights of the Silver Hand, the faction of holy paladins--had taken more of his time. He had read, uneasy, of their claim their Highlord Tirion Fordring had survived the demon Krosus's attack during the Battle of the Broken Shore. While seeking their lord's sword, the Ashbringer, they sensed Tirion's presence trapped near the Tomb of Sargeras. Four men had died before a fifth brought back the intelligence they needed. His prison was at a location called Hope's End, and guarded by a demon called Zerus. They urgently needed teleports, before it was too late.

Khadgar pinched the bridge of his nose, as familiar feelings of frustration ate at him. The Kirin Tor could do many things, but a portal to the Broken Shore was still an impossibility. The Battle had not lasted long enough for any of the mages to fix a location, furthermore, the island was seething with demons. Even if he could provide a teleport, the knights would be slaughtered as soon as they stepped through.

He shook his head, thinking of Tirion. All had believed him dead after the Battle, hundreds had seen him burned by the fel. But what if it was true and Tirion somehow still lived? Khadgar sighed, troubled. Tirion was the Champion of the Light. To learn after all these months Tirion still lived and suffered, alone and forgotten at the hands of the demons . . . Khadgar quaffed the last of his wine and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. No. The Silver Hand Knights had to be wrong. It was unthinkable. Khadgar pushed his empty wine cup to the side. One of the apprentice mages approached, trembling with nerves, and refilled it.

He glanced at her, she looked familiar. Ah, yes, the one who kept dropping books. He remembered what it was like to be new to the arcane arts, how intimidating the accomplished mages were, Medivh had certainly terrified him. He lifted his brow as she finished pouring.

"Idira, isn't it?"

She ducked her head and nodded, her cheeks turning bright red. Clutching the silver wine pitcher against her chest, she backed away from his desk, keeping her head lowered, her long blonde hair obscuring her features. Khadgar picked up his cup and walked over to his balcony, overlooking the colonnades and turrets of Dalaran's residential district. He turned and caught her looking around his office, curious. He motioned for her to join him. Hesitant, she followed after him and met him at the railing.

He sipped his wine, watching as the gryphons took off from Krasus's Landing, one after another. He pointed at one which had just left.

"I will bet you one Dalaran copper that bird is going to Highmountain."

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "It's going to Azsuna."

Sure enough, the gryphon wheeled hard to the right and dropped beneath the floating platform of the city. He fished in the pocket of his tunic and found a copper coin. He held it out to her.

Her lips quirked into a half-smile. "It's alright, you don't have to pay up."

"Oh? Well, that's very kind of you." With a flourish the coin became a little songbird. It sat on his finger. It ruffled its blue feathers at him, indignant. Idira's expression softened. She reached out and stroked the bird's breast. It tolerated her attention for a moment before flying off and descending into the treetops of Khadgar's gardens. Idira watched it flit into the trees, her lips parting into a soft smile filled with longing. As her fearful demeanour melted away, the transition in her appearance was astonishing, like watching a rose bloom. Khadgar found he couldn't take his eyes from her. He cleared his throat. It wasn't appropriate, he was the Leader of the Council of Six. He forced himself to look back out over the city.

"And where does your family live?"

She didn't answer. He thought she had not heard him and was just about to repeat the question when he caught her brushing a tear from her eye. He turned in time to see another tear slip free. She hurried to push it away with the back of her hand. He searched his pockets, flustered, trying to find a clean handkerchief. He held out his best one to her.

She took it and dabbed at her tears, which continued to escape, silent. He bit back a curse. Stupid, careless, why hadn't he taken a moment just to think his question through before speaking? Thousands of innocents had died during the Legion's invasions across Azeroth. And now, he had brought back a terrible memory and made her cry. Filled with remorse, he held out his wine cup, awkward.

"Please. Take a little, it will help."

She nodded, obedient. Her fingers touched his, sending a deep thrum of arcane energy cascading through him. His brow lifted. He hadn't expected that. He watched her while she sipped, her head down, withdrawing into herself once more, making herself so small he sensed she wished to vanish. He took her elbow and led her to a cushioned bench. She sat, twisting her fingers around the stem of the wine cup. Not knowing how else to intrude on her thoughts, he cleared his throat.

"Forgive me, I should not have pried into your life."

She lifted her head and met his eyes. He took a step back, incredulous. Her pupils were an astonishing colour of pure violet. He had never seen such a--She bit her lower lip at his reaction, shy once more. He tried, and failed to get a hold of himself. She blinked, oblivious to his internal conflict. One of the tears clinging to her long, dark lashes slipped free.

She stopped biting her lower lip, and he could see the ghost of a smile that used to live on the curve of her lips, almost gone. His heart lurched, his protective instinct fully aroused. He couldn't help himself, he wanted to know more about her. And--he reminded himself--she did seem to be a conduit for an immense amount of raw power. It was his duty to keep track of these things, after all. She brushed the tear away and shook her head.

"Most of my life I lived in northern Westfall, on the coast." She drew a shuddering breath and looked up at the sky, her gaze turning inwards as she relived her memory. "Then, one night, the Legion's ships arrived. I went back to help my faher, but there was no time. The demons came down from their ships, materialising everywhere, even in the house." She blinked and several more tears tracked their way down her face. "I might have saved myself, but I lost the only one who ever really loved me." She looked away. The tears fell onto her lap, staining the faded material of her threadbare blue dress.

Khadgar conjured a chair, and took a seat opposite her. She continued to look past the balcony's railing in the direction of the Broken Shore, her expression withdrawn, distant, angry. He could sense arcane power boiling within her. Her emotions seemed to be connected to whatever gift she possessed. Interesting. And worrying.