III - Call of the Council

[Liandrix]

Robert led Liandrix into a large oval chamber that was covered in small gold and purple panes in the shape of a triangle that bore the eye of the Kirin Tor. Liandrix seemed to be the only one present of the Kirin Tor who was not wearing its colours, although he had donned the badge as a sort of compromise.

In the middle of the chamber stood an oval table made of dark wood. It was so huge that it was surrounded by no less than eighty chairs. Not all of the chairs were filled, though Liandrix had never attended an Open Council before where more than a quarter of the chairs had an occupant. He guessed that more than sixty were occupied today.

The Open Council had little to do with the Supreme Council, also called the Six. The Supreme Council and its meetings were closed to anyone but its members, and no one knew who they were, aside from the Grand Magus who stood at its head. The Open Council had no particular members but simply gathered whenever there was a problem to discuss, be it a war or a problem on some farm. Whoever the problem that was discussed concerned was present. This also meant that anyone could call for an Open Council.

Today’s problem seemed to concern everyone. There seemed to be a representative from every corner of Dalaran, including, Liandrix saw, the mayor of Southshore and also the Regent of Stromgarde. Aside from these Liandrix could see some familiar faces he knew such as Aidan Somerset, head of the Battlemages; Meredith Dippel, head of Liaison; Archmage Gilbert, the head of finance; his former master Cohlien Frostweaver, who sat next to Aidan and conversed privately; Loremaster Krasus, a High Elf for whom Liandrix had written his report on Forest Trolls; Archmage Norlan, the chief Artificer; and Korrigan, the librarian in chief of the Archives whom, despite his rather jittery nature, Liandrix liked to work with.

Then there were the more prominent mages that were hard to miss. Among them of course the Grand Magus himself, David Spellsword; on his right sat Archmage Antonidas idly twiddling his thumbs as he looked content at his surroundings. A chair further sat Kel’Thuzad, now head of Research and Cataloguing; and on the Grand magus’ immediate left was none other than Prince Kael’thas, who sat in robes of shockingly dominant red and violet lined with gold. Liandrix guessed that more than half the secret Council of Six — if not all of it – was present. He could probably figure out who was a member, but he rather disliked politics and so chose not to mingle with their kind either.

Liandrix saw Krasus beckon him over and after a nod to Robert who had taken a seat next to his master of Estate and Architecture he moved inconspicuously to his own master.

Liandrix slid his report on the table towards Krasus and to his dismay he indicated that he should sit next to the Loremaster at the table. Liandrix did, and carefully folded his hands in his sleeves as Krasus flipped through the pages, nodding approvingly.

“I don’t understand, I thought this was an issue with magic, why has half the city come?” Liandrix asked as his eyes roamed the chattering crowd. He got the impression that there wasn’t yet any structure in the talk that was going on. Evidently the actual meeting hadn’t even started yet.

“Well it all started out as a magical issue -- and make no mistake, it still is – but a few days after the taskforce Capital City had sent to Holden Hill went missing a letter arrived asking for aid on the matter. Now the city is divided into a group that wants us to interfere with whatever is going on and a group that begs to remain impartial to any foreign matters. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Capital City is accusing us of not taking responsibility for a magical calamity.”

“King Terenas is accusing us of tampering with magic in Holden Hill?”

Krasus frowned indifferently. “Well if I know King Terenas then he’s likely just asking for help in his own way. I’m sure he sees that it is no fault of ours. Although it does create more pressure for us to act.”

“Why don’t we, then?”

Krasus gestured to the Council in general. “That’s why. Apparently word got out on the whole situation and now all the settlements in Lordaeron have gathered and are divided in groups of ambassadors that are either worried for their homes or opposed to let us aid them at all. I’m rather reluctant to add my theory on Troll Magic to the stack, but all the facts point towards it. They’re going to think it’s a new Troll War.”

David Spellsword got to his feet, and, owing to his height, it had the effect that his half of the table immediately fell silent. The Grand Magus struck quite an imposing figure, even next to Prince Kael’thas. It wasn’t as much as his clothing as the way he stood. While he had been Verdwald Slopes he had been ancient looking, stooping and clumsy with his limbs. Now he looked simply powerful, the way his straight back pushed out his chest, and his grey hair, which had been an entanglement as Wald, was now sleek and pulled back into a large grey mane. His staff, the one Liandrix had seen in his study lay before him on the table, glowing slightly.

“I would ask the Council to appoint me as its chairman,” David’s powerful voice boomed through the hall, silencing those few still chattering. “All in favour of my appointment of chairman raise your hand.”

Almost all those present raised their hands instantly, a few straggled, unfamiliar with the proceedings and simply looked at their superiors for guidance. Only a few put their hands on the table as a sign that they voted against the notion. The Grand Magus smiled as he nodded and took his seat again.

“I would ask the Council to state the facts as they stand on the Holden Hill case.”

A reedy man dressed all in black and gold rose from his seat. He held his head high and his arms tightly folded behind his back. He carried an air of importance, and also certain arrogance. He didn’t look to be older than Liandrix.

“The Council recognises Dorian Flint, Chief Ambassador of Stratholme.”

“Thank you,” the man said shortly in a thin voice. Although from Stratholme himself, Liandrix did not recognise the man.

“Twenty-three days past, Capital City received a report that cumulated a series of queer events that had been happening at Holden Hill for a week. The events ranged from disappearings to sightings of ghosts of deceased loved ones. The City Watch was overwhelmed by all the dealings they had to quell. A request was made of Stratholme to send aid and that request was honoured by sending a messenger to Holden Hill in order to seize up the size of the matter in person. Unfortunately nothing was heard from the messenger again. We noted this into a report of our own and sent it along with the other reports to Capital City.”

The Ambassador sat down stiffly and the eyes of the Archmage roamed the table for a moment until a decorated officer Liandrix had not seen before rose to his feet. The man looked almost as old as the Grand Magus, but fitter. His grey hair was short, as was his well-kept beard. He looked like a man who had seen many battles in his lifetime.

“The Council recognises Alistair Mograine, Supreme General of Capital City.”

“I thank you, Archmage,” the voice of the General sounded rasped, as if he had trouble squeezing the words out of his throat. Liandrix thought he could hear a rattle coming from his mouth as he breathed. Apparently the man was a lot older than he looked.

“When we received word that a scout had been sent … and lost to Holden Hill for this matter, and that all communication with Holden Hill had been severed Capital City sent out nine men to investigate the situation. Due to the situations described in earlier reports I demanded we be kept informed daily. The reports I received lead up to the eve before reaching the village. We did not hear anything for two days and instead of sending a messenger of our own or another party we decided to lay down the matter to the Kirin Tor of Dalaran.”

The hall grew quiet and David Spellsword nodded understandably at the General. But the old man did not resume his seat and looked like he wanted to say more. The Archmage leaned towards the General, frowning.

“Anything you would like to add to this matter, General?”

Mograine coughed in his fist before casting a glance around the table. Eventually he looked back at the Grand Magus. “I am too old and weathered to deceive myself in hoping that my men are still alive, Archmage. But I will not stand by and watch their sacrifice be in vain. I urge the Council to recognise the gravity of the situation.”

“Duly noted,” said the Archmage.

The next to rise was Meredith. She had aged a lot in the past years and her hair was now a grey bundle on the back of her head. Nevertheless, she stood rigid as a doorpost when she addressed the Open Council.

“The Council recognises Archmage Meredith Dippel, head of the Liaison office.”

“Thank you, Grand Magus,” Meredith said in a voice as strong and harsh as a whip.

“The office of Liaison has attempted to coordinate a large-scale mapping of the situation by sending messages to all settlements in Holden Hill’s vicinity. Unfortunately by the time this plan was executed the word had spread in the region which resulted in a storm of fearful answers. If the reports we received are accurate, which I doubt, all of Lordaeron is in peril. The only pattern we can discern from our attempt is the number of villages that have remained silent completely. It seems that Holden Hill is not the only place where all its residents have vanished. It is notable that Holden Hill is, however, the eastern most harassed village. Other settlements include Fartail Mill, Silver Creek, Founders Hill and Vindrake Fort.”

Liandrix cursed inwardly. He knew those settlements well from the maps he had been studying not six hours past. He had hoped Krasus was wrong.

“—Otherwise, the extent to which this problem reaches is unknown. Letters to Azeroth were mostly answered in confused writing suggesting that this problem has not yet occurred in the south. Requests have been received not to be involved in our matters.”

Meredith sat down again, looking impassive as if she had read out a weather report. After a moment of silence the Grand Magus made a general gesture.

“The facts stand thus. The Council would now hear—“

“I think we’ve wasted enough time and words on this matter!” a voice boomed through the room. Liandrix looked to his right where he saw a tall officer who had left his seat. He wore broad armour of silver and gold. A huge broadsword hung on his hip.

“The Council has not recognised—“

“Sandor Dathrohan, Knight-Captain of Hearthglen,” the Knight cut in. “The facts are clear Archmage. We should not spend words over the matter, but men. I cannot allow Hearthglen to be threatened so.”

Old Alistair Mograine jumped from his seat. “Capital City will not yield any more lives to this madness. This is a matter for Stratholme. I have yet to see them exercise their resources to help lift this problem!”

At this Chief Ambassador Dorian Flint rose indignantly from his chair. “Stratholme will not mingle itself with matters of foul magic! It is Dalaran who should use their assets to vanquish this forsaken occurrence!”

More people rose to declare either their consent or disapproval of that statement at which point others mingled with their opinion. Out of the corner of his eye Liandrix saw David Spellsword reach for his stave. It emitted a fierce white glow before he slammed the bottom of the stave on the table. The silence was instant an absolute, and judging by the way some of the Council members continued their attempt to throw words at one another Liandrix guessed he had used a spell.

“The Council has heard the facts,” the Archmage’s said gently. “We shall now hear the theories.”

At this he turned to his right and looked at Krasus. The High Elf rose slowly from his seat and seemed hardly perturbed by the previous commotion. There was little that ever disturbed Krasus. Liandrix had never known him to make a fuss over anything; instead he dealt with situations in a calculated and deliberate manner, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Thank you, Grand Magus,” Krasus said with a delicate bow.

“I have taken all the reports into consideration in the past few days, looking for a pattern in the occurrences that could be linked to a specific type of magic. Most reports seem to agree on an array of disappearances, ghost sightings and strange weather patterns. By cross-referencing the reports on singular sites I discovered that there were contradicting events that have taken place. I thereby concluded that most of the incidents seemed to deal with matters of the individual mind.”

“Get to the point,” Mograine growled from across the table.

Krasus observed the general with calm eyes. “There is but one sort of magic that can be related to these incidents: Troll magic.”

There were whispers all across the table, except from the corner were the Kirin Tor sat. Dorian Flint’s small voice piped up a little louder than the rest. “Do you mean to tell us that we are being attacked by Voodoo?”

Krasus regarded the man patiently. “Voodoo is not their magic; it is their religion, of sorts. It is the belief that all beings contain a spirit and that those spirits linger in this world, ready to be used for any purpose. They are the foundation upon which Troll magic is based.”

Dathrohan got to his feet again, but before he spoke he carefully looked at the Grand Magus first.

“The Council recognises Sandor Dathrohan,” David said with a small smile.

Dathrohan turned to Krasus. “How can it be a Troll attack? They haven’t been seen in Lordaeron for thousands of years, I believe.”

Nine hundred years, thought Liandrix

“Nine hundred years, in fact,” Krasus said.

“Their only refuge is in the south, and it’s impossible that they could have sneaked their way through Kaz Modan, all the way to the north!”

“Improbable, not impossible,” Krasus replied.

“Well if this is your only proof than it’s a folly to trust on this theory, I say. Trolls do not fight with magic alone, and certainly not a lot. They fight with spears and knives and swords same as us, though far poorer, I must say,” Dathrohan said in his deep voice, to general agreement from the many officers present. “I would hear other theories.”

Krasus simply looked at the Knight and did not speak. Liandrix fidgeted in his chair. There was much Krasus had not yet mentioned, most of which was in his report. But after a moment of silence Krasus let out a long breath, and resumed his seat. Liandrix stared at him.

“Master …” Liandrix began, trying to find the proper words, “I believe there are some aspects of these occurrences that could strengthen your theory.”

“Perhaps. However, I rather dislike professing words that another has written as my own theory.” He gave Liandrix a significant look. Liandrix tried to see if Krasus was playing some sort of joke on him, but he didn’t crack a smile.

Very well, then. Liandrix grasped the edge of the table, trying to ignore how sweaty his hands had become by then, and stood up from his chair. Suddenly the whole table was staring up at him. All the officers, every single ambassador, all the mages of the Kirin Tor; they all looked up at him silently whereas he had always looked up at them, before. They all looked a lot smaller from this angle.

“The Council recognises Liandrix Emmot of the Kirin Tor.”

Liandrix looked at the Grand Magus. David was staring intently at Liandrix, his hands intertwined and his head resting on the tips of his fingers. He was not smiling.

Liandrix realised that their relationship had grown in the past years. He had grown. He no longer was the scared, inexperienced boy that needed to be rescued from his own creation. He had studied magic and its history dutifully for over a decade, now. This was one of the first times he had a chance to show the Kirin Tor what he had done with their resources.

“There are two main Troll settlements in Lordaeron that were once a threat to our nation. These are Zul'mashar and Mazra'alor. Judging by the reports— or the lack thereof, it was clear that there were five abandoned villages: Fartail Mill, Silver Creek, Founders Hill, Vindrake Fort and Holden Hill. Draw a line between these villages and you will create a perfect circle around the ruins of Mazra’alor.”

Liandrix was surprised how strong his voice sounded as he spoke. The Council remained quiet, tension and curiosity upon their faces.

“There is more. The magic of the Trolls is often dubbed as the magic of nightmares. Their incantations would inflict the mind and alter its perception of reality. A ghost of a passed loved one is something another cannot conjure; it is something you alone can dream. All dreams and nightmares are personal, as are the reports you have read. Also, Troll magic is based on ritual. Not a spell is simply spoken before it is cast. The spirits must be appeased in order to receive their power. Holden Hill was the first village to become prey to their magic. In any other case a calamity with magic would simply spread in all directions. Now, however, the villages were hit in a pattern. A ritual. These attacks were not random; they were deliberate.”

There was a moment of silence in which Liandrix expected someone to object, but no one raised his voice. Not even Sandor Dathrohan, who had resumed his seat during Liandrix’ speech.

“All in favour of accepting this theory as fact,” David Spellsword said suddenly.

Liandrix slowly lowered himself back into his chair and watched in bewilderment as not a single hand remained on the table.