Not a threat

[moonshadows]

 

Tessa watches as the stormcrow circles the tower, lands, shimmers, and becomes Malfurion Stormrage.  He opens his mouth, but she already knows what he’s going to say.

“He’s on his way.” It sounds like an insult, the way she says it, and her eyes bore holes into his soul.

He flinches and sighs. “You still haven’t forgiven me.”

She holds the glare a moment longer, then covers it with the adoration brought about by her Kal’shan’s presence, and Illidan’s hooves can be heard clicking up the last few steps. She watches Malfurion’s thoughts as his brother comes into sight, sees the swirls of anger and resentment underneath the affection, relief and…hope?

“Brother…it’s good to see you again.” Illidan has no such undercurrents as he clasps his twin’s forearm in greeting.

“It’s good to see you, too…brother.” He returns the armcpasp with genuine warmth, then releases it and sighs. “Illidan…I need your help.” 

The former Lord of Outland cringes in remembered pain. “The last time I was asked to help, this-“ he spreads his wings slightly- “happened, and then I was banished.”

Tessa is proud that there is no resentment left in her Kal’shan’s mind…only the pain of well-earned scars. She is equally pleased to note that the words bring a maelstrom of self-loathing to Malfurion’s mind.

“Someone is killing druids in Ashenvale,” the archdruid says, not attempting to refute the facts that were not, actually, an accusation. “When the Sentinels investigated, all signs pointed to the Horde. There are mutterings of war; the Horde deny any responsibility, and Tyrande has her hands full trying to prevent retaliatory strikes.” He has Illidan’s full attention now. “She’s arranged a joint investigation. The Warchief is sending some of his finest minds – trackers and mages, mostly – and Tyrande is assembling an equal team. Her best Sentinels, some of my best druids – but the only Kal’dorei mages are here. Your students.”

Illidan is silent, digesting this news, but Tessa is tensely alert. Your students, she flicks at his mind, accompanying the words with a memory of blindfolded night elves training with enormous, curved blades on a terrace of dark stone.

All dead, comes the reply, draped in an echo of mourning.

All? A rapid-fire slideshow of long-buried faces.

If any survive, I do not know where. He turns his full attention to the subject. Legion?

She shrugs. It usually works.

“Tessa, find Rainbird and Hith’ssiss and get them on their way. My first, and finest, two students,” he clarifies to a confused Malfurion. “And brother…tell Tyrande that I am on my way, as well.”

The worry drains from the druid’s face, replaced by relief and gratitude. “The investigation parties are meeting in a glade north of the Dor’danll Barrow Den  in eight days’ time. Our delegation is being assembled in Astranaar, while the Horde members are meeting their naga contingent by the Southfury bridge in Azshara.” He breaks off and glowers into the distance. “Why did they choose that name?”

“There were Highborne,” Illidan says mildly. “According to Hith’ssiss, they used her name to remember both what they were, and what they are now.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that. Still…”

One taloned hand grips Malfurion’s shoulder reassuringly. “I know, brother.”

“Yes, I suppose you would  know better than I. Illidan…” He takes a deep breath, millennia of denial warring with reality, while Tessa watches in narrow-eyed satisfaction. “…thank you for doing this. I know our people have not been kind to you-“

He waves it away. “Everything I have become, I did for our land and our people, whether they like it or not. I sacrificed too much to let anything happen to either one now.”

I never should have doubted you. I’m so sorry, my brother. The words ring clearly from his twin’s mind, but only Tessa hears them. She keeps her face impassive, unwilling to show hostility while Illidan is there to see. There will be plenty of time later to needle Malfurion until he says those words to the one who deserves to hear them.

“Thank you, brother,” is all that Malfurion says, but there is no undercurrent of resentment or anger in the words. He takes a step back, shimmers, and then the stormcrow circles the tower once before winging its way off to the west.

==================================

“Ahhh, Ryxssssl.”

“Tor’thiss.” The orc dismounts easily from her raptor and clasps forearms with the burly naga. Behind her, the three blood elf magisters shift uneasily on their hawkstriders. The three orcs on worgs are unimpressed. “The Warchief got your message. He’s a little leery of a mage that powerful being so secretive, but if your people are okay with his presence in your territory, he’ll trust your judgment.”

“My Sssshan’do issss known to our people.”

Ryxl turns and gives the female naga a formal salute as best she can with only two arms. The younger female looks startled, and Tor’thiss laughs.

“Ryxssssl, Hith’ssiss is the firssst of our kind to be trained by her Sssshan’do. Hith’ssiss, Ryxsssl. Champion of the Warchief. Do not underesssstimate thissss one.”

Hith’ssiss looks at Ryxl again, wide-eyed with respect. “I sssshall not.”

The orc nods crisply to the two naga and the Siren lurking behind them, then swings back up onto her raptor’s back. “We’ll catch up to you at the meeting point, then.”

The naga hiss agreement and slither into the river, vanishing within seconds as the claws and talons of the rest of the party’s mounts scrape against the stone of the bridge connecting Azshara to Ashenvale.

 

==================================

 

Tor’thiss and his naga are at the agreed-upon clearing when the rest of the Horde delegation rides up. Takk slows to a stop, sniffing the air, and Ryxl is unsurprised when the Kal’dorei delegation fades out of the trees.

“My name is Rainbird,” one says as she steps forward, purple hair braided back. “I am the first of my Shan’do’s night elf students.”

Ryxl nods; Rainbird is obviously the leader of her delegation. “Ryxl Ironheart, Champion of the Warchief. We got your message that your master would be here to aid in the investigation.”

“He is here,” Rainbird says with a glance upwards.

Two figures plummet from the sky, making a dramatic entrance by landing in the center of the clearing. Ryxl has just identified one when a cry of “Betrayer!” rings out from the blood elves behind her, and time slows to a crawl. To her right, the magisters are raising their hands, which glow with the energies of spells yet to be cast. To her left, the three skilled trackers are raising their axes. Beyond the blood elves, the naga are – not reacting. Before her, the smaller winged figure gets a uniquely closed expression that Ryxl has felt on her own face countless times.

Arikara comes at her silent call, all wings and lashing tail and crackling energy threatening doom should the magisters release their spells. Takk leaps and turns at her wordless command, growling and snapping at the worgs while his rider nocks an arrow to her warbow.

“NOBODY MOVE!” The orcs look at her in shocked fury, the magisters eye Arikara with blazing hatred. “Drop your spells! Lower your axes! DO IT, in the name of the Warchief, or I will KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND!”

Ryxl moves just enough to prove that she could shoot any one of them should she so choose, but it’s not necessary. She out-ranks them, and they know it. The magisters reluctantly let their spells fizzle out; the orcs simply drop their axes to the ground. For several seconds, there is silence. When she is certain that her people aren’t about to create a conflict, she lowers her bow and the red windserpent drapes itself around her body as the raptor turns to face the equally shocked night elves – and the two winged ones.

“Lord Stormrage,” she says calmly. “It’s an honor to meet you.” Behind her, one of the blood elves chokes on his comment.

One black eyebrow arches up from behind an elaborately-embroidered blindfold. “Is it?”

“Yes,” she says firmly. “It is.” Her gaze shifts to the smaller figure standing defiantly by his side. “Tessa.”

The half-demon girl eyes her with wary defiance. “Mother.”

“You understand why I banished you.” There’s a curious lack of hostility in the words.

Tessa raises her chin insolently. “I do.”

“Then you understand why I won’t be following through on that.”

The defiance gains a smug tone. “I do.”

“Well, then. Now that the introductions have been made and no one’s going to kill anyone else-“ the phrase comes out as a threat more than a statement of simple fact. “-let’s go see the scene of the murders and figure out what really happened.” Ryxl dismounts, replacing bow and arrow on Takk’s gear, and calmly walks to the Kal’dorei group.

The two delegations eye each other warily, but no hostile motions are made as one of the druids gestures to follow him and sets off into the woods. Ryxl motions her party ahead of her, where they have no doubts that she will be watching them to ensure they behave. As the last of them file past, however, she sees that her daughter’s chosen has had the same idea. She falls into line beside him with a nod of respect, which he returns.

“I wish to thank you for your quick reactions,” he says quietly. “Without your intervention, that could have gotten very ugly. I am curious, however, as to your reasoning.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Lord Stormrage.” She steals a glance at him, but he is looking straight ahead with a deliberate set to his shoulders.

“You were prepared to kill your own people to keep them from attacking me. How are you so sure you made the right decision?”

Ryxl is silent for a minute. “I could tell you many things. I could say that you’d won the trust and respect of the naga who joined the Horde, and who are bound by the Blood Oath to speak up if there is a danger to the Horde. I could say that you’d won the trust and respect of a very powerful woman, one who does not give such things lightly. But the truth, Lord Stormrage, is that in that instant, I saw the look on my daughter’s face, and I knew that if you were attacked, the Horde would have made a powerful enemy.”

He looks surprised at that. “I thought you didn’t care for her.”

“It’s true, I have no love for her. She is a reminder of the torture I endured at the hands of her father. She told you that I banished her on pain of death?” Ryxl waits for his nod, then continues. “I did so because unbonded, she was a weapon the Horde could not use and could not afford to give to an enemy.”

Again, one black eyebrow arches up. “Could not use?”

The smile Ryxl gives him is that of a tolerantly amused mother. “We Champions are very territorial. I wasn’t about to let her bond to my Warchief, even if she didn’t know at the time that she was seeking one.”

Illidan nods at that, her words matching something he already knew. “You know what she is capable of, then.”

“Better than she does, I’d wager, but I’ve had more practice at it.”

“For centuries, I have been known as ‘The Betrayer’ by my people. I am someone who is often regarded with fear and disgust. You say that while unbound, Tessa was a powerful force which could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. How can you be so sure, then, that she did not fall into the hands of an enemy?”

“Because I know what she is capable of.” She gives him a sly grin. “Part of being a Champion is seeing to the deepest desires of her warchief. It is a hunch, a subconscious whisper that tells her what her warchief would want in any situation.” The grin widens. “I see from your expression that she’s demonstrated that to you already.”

“That’s putting it mildly, but yes, she has.”

“Please forgive me if I bring up painful subjects, Lord Stormrage, but you must be aware that there are many stories told of your deeds, both on Azeroth and in Outland. You angered a great many people. Yet, after years of absence, you return – and sequester yourself in a quiet corner of the world to teach magic to anyone, regardless of race or affiliation. If you were inclined to be a danger the Horde needed to be aware of, you would have acted on that long before now – and she would have ensured that your ambitions came to fruition. Your actions speak for themselves.”

He nods to show that he understood her point, but something else seems to be nagging at him. “She would do that…for me?”

“That and more,” the orc says casually. “You have a Champion, Lord Stormrage, albeit an untrained one. However, I don’t think you fully grasp what that means.”

“I do not,” he says, frowning. “Not entirely, at any rate.”

“I assure you, as a child born from the same spell, I do know more about it than anyone else – alive or dead. You have her loyalty, Lord Stormrage. Unbreakable loyalty. Not only will she never abandon you, but if you ordered her to leave your presence forever, she would comply…and still devote herself to acting in your best interests. And even if you did-“ she looks up into his face, wanting to see his reaction. “Even if you did, you would still have her love.”

The former Lord of Outland looks distinctly discomfited. “But…”

Ryxl shakes her head. “No buts. She will love you until the day she dies, even if you do not return the emotion.” She lets the scars of old pain flicker across her face and he nods to show that he saw them. “If you despised her, she would still love you. She will love you no matter what you do.”

He winces a little at that, and she wonders idly what it was that he’d done. He doesn’t seem inclined to talk about it, however, and she leaves him in peace with his thoughts. A few minutes later, the entire party spills out of the trail and into a clearing marked with a building set into the top of a man-made hill. The conflict over who, exactly, is in charge is kept to a minimum by the combined glares of Ryxl and Illidan, who casually orders his Champion to take care of it. She enlists Rainbird and Hith’ssiss, and between the three of them, the Horde and Alliance members are broken into small groups to investigate. Ryxl commands Arikara to sniff around, and the vengeance-spirit flits down into the darkness of the Barrow Dens, leaving orc and half-demon to make camp and wait for information.

“I remember when I was that young,” Ryxl says after the small camp has been prepared. “Feeling the bond form to Thrall, but not knowing what it was.”

Across the fire, Illidan listens intently and wonders what the Warchief’s Champion is getting at.

Ryxl settles on the ground, leaning casually against the bulk of her raptor. “I was filled with burning devotion, the desire to do something, anything, that would make him look at me and smile. If he asked me to do anything, I leaped to accomplish it no matter the cost to myself.” She shakes her head in fond remembrance, then quirks an eyebrow at him. “That’s something to keep in mind, Lord Stormrage. If you ask your Champion to do something, she will do her best to do it. And no matter how you phrase it, it won't be an order – she'll do it because you want her to, not because you told her to.” She gives him that amused-mother look again. “And if she knows you want it badly enough, you won't even have to tell her to do it. She just will.”

He nods slowly, solemnly. “I will keep that in mind….thank you, Champion Ironheart.”

She waves the formality away. “You’re the center of my firstborn’s world. There’s no need to call me by a title I don’t claim unless it’s necessary.”

“Then, thank you…Ryxl…and I insist you do the same. You are my Champion’s mother, after all.” He gives her a faint smile. “I must admit, I did not expect you to be so frank regarding Tessa.”

“I told you – I bear her no love for her father’s sins, but that doesn’t mean I want her to be unhappy.” Ryxl grins at the former Lord of Outland, startling him. “Not that she can be unhappy, really, unless you send her away.”

Again, her words seem to have struck a chord in him. “In which case, you have my word that she’s in good hands.” He glances down at the clawed appendages in question and his mouth quirks up in self-depreciating humor. “Or, as good as these hands can ever be.” He pauses, then says in a rush, “How will I know if I’m doing something wrong?”

Ryxl almost wants to laugh at the look of uncertainty on the face of a man ten thousand years old and feared across three continents and the ruins of a fourth, but she does not. “Trust yourself, and trust her. Give her half a chance, and she'll look out for you. And if you care enough to be concerned, I doubt you're capable of doing anything so wrong that she can't fix it...trust an experienced Champion on that.”

The look on Illidan’s face is priceless. She really wishes she dared ask.

“Again, thank you. Your willingness to share the knowledge you’ve gained from experience is valued. I am grateful.”

“You’re in for an interesting time, Illidan,” she says with a grin.

He opens his mouth to ask what she means, but a red streak flashes by and wraps itself around her, resolving into the vengeance-spirit she’d summoned earlier. Ryxl communes with Arikara briefly, her face hardening, but again he gets no chance to ask as the rest of the delegations come boiling up out of the barrow den looking equally grim.

“Report, my Champion,” he snaps, and Tessa shoulders her way to the front, wearing an expression remarkably similar to her mother’s.

“The Twilight’s Hammer,” she says. “This was a set-up.”

“The Warchief must hear about this,” one of the orcish trackers growls.

Ryxl stands up, holding Arikara’s head still as she looks into the serpent’s eyes. After a few breaths, she lets go and the creature flashes away into the forest. “The Warchief will know within the hour.”

“I will inform Shan’do Stormrage,” one of the druids says, preparing to shift to stormcrow form.

Rainbird gives the druid a curious look. “But he’s right he- ooooh, you meant Malfurion Stormrage.”

The naga laugh in a hissing, bubbling way and the druid eyes Illidan warily before deciding that discretion is called for, and shifts without a word. Once he is out of sight, Illidan chuckles.

“Oh, I wish my brother could have seen that. Tessa!”

“Yes, my Kal’shan!”

Ryxl’s eyebrows lift slightly. Aside from the Kal’dorei word, the phrase sounds exactly like all the times she’s cried out ‘Yes, my Warchief!’ over the years.

“Tyrande must be told as well.”

Tessa nods and backs up until she is far enough away from anyone else, then lifts off with an impressive leap, wings beating against the afternoon sky for a few moments before she abruptly winks out of sight.

Silence descends on the glade. Finally, one of the Sentinels asks hesitantly, “What do we do now?”

Ryxl nods at one of the trackers. “You, go with her and catch our dinner. You-“ she catches the eyes of the magisters. “Whip up some shelter. We’re going to be here until our messengers return, so we may as well get comfortable.”

==================================

 “Tessa.”

The half-demon cringes as her terrifying mother stalks towards her, soul drawn into an impenetrable shell of black shot through with darkly-glowing red, but then remembers that she can do that, too, and her own soul condenses into a shell. “Yes?”

“I need to talk to you for a minute.”

Together, they walk away from  the camp.

“What did you need to talk to me about?” Tessa asks calmly.

“Your…Kal’shan. When you met him, was he claiming the title of Warchief?”

She shakes her head. “Warlord.”

“I see. And when did you feel the bond form?”

“The first time I touched his living energy.”

“How did you feel about him before that?”

The younger woman frowns. “That’s complicated. I didn’t know who he was at first, just that he was another demon on the world I’d thought was mine. I was furious that he was threatening my territory. I knew who he was from my classes – he’s famous – and I’d admired him as much as any girl my age. Maybe a little more because he was a half-breed like me, but nothing remotely as intense as the adoration of the bond.”

Ryxl nods. “One more question: what does he want?”

“Exactly what he has,” her daughter replies without hesitation. “Peace and quiet, good relations with Malfurion and Tyrande, students who respect him, and no one trying to kill him for the things he did when he was broken.”

Calmly, Ryxl eyes the defiant tilt of her daughter’s chin, then nods. “He was broken, and you fixed him. He would prefer to be left alone, and is reluctant to defend himself if it means living up to his previous reputation. Thank you.”

She turns to go, but stops as Tessa says, “Wait.” The cool mask cracking, she asks, “Why did you ask me what he wants, and not him?”

The older woman’s mask cracks in a dry smile. “Because you know that better than he does, and you’ll do your best to communicate things he might shy at saying to a stranger.” The grin widens at her daughter’s stunned expression. “You’re his Champion. You do what he needs, not what he thinks he wants.”

“What…” the shell dissolves into a swirl of fear and insecurity. “What are you going to tell the Warchief?”

“That neither of you are a threat to the Horde unless we threaten you. I know what you are capable of,” she says in a voice like cold iron, “and you are the more dangerous enemy to have, but you are bound to his will. I will see to it that the Horde knows better than to make an enemy of your Kal’shan.”

Tessa regards her mother thoughtfully for a moment. “You’re not doing this for me or for him. You’re doing it for the Horde, because it’s what your Warchief needs, whether or not he thinks he wants it.”

The smile Ryxl gives her is just short of predatory. “You’re learning.”

 

==================================

 

“Ryxl. You’re back.” Thrall took one look at his Champion’s face and the welcoming smile withered and died. “…that bad. I see. If you’ll excuse us,” he said to the orc halfway through his report, then stood and left the room with Ryxl trailing behind him.

There was silence until they reached the Warchief’s private quarters, and then Thrall watched with worried eyes as Ryxl briskly stripped herself of her armor and threw herself down onto her usual pile of cushions. Only then did he sit slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. He almost opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, to urge her to tell him everything, but Champion Ironheart’s expression on her face meant that she would do so without any urging.

“In Icecrown, I struck a deal with Mal’Ganis to secure his assistance in the assault, and in….” One hand fluttered up to touch her heart briefly, and Thrall nodded to show his understanding. “Part of my end was that he could have the remains of the Lich King to take back. The other part was that he could have the child I conceived from him.”

“What-“ The word was bitten off as Thrall thought furiously. “What did he do to you?”

“Everything,” she said quietly. “It was self-defense. At the time,  I didn’t know the child could be moved before its birth. I thought a Champion of that line would be safe, bound to the Warchief. A weapon we could use against the Legion. At the time…” She paused, voice breaking slightly. “I was willing to trade that weapon to Mal’Ganis and hope that the Champion nature would hamper it, in exchange for his assistance.”

Silence; as much as he wanted to hug his Champion until she whimpered out ‘packleader makes everything okay’, she wasn’t ready for that yet.

“I met her a few years back. Her name is Jentessa. She ran away from home.” Ryxl laughed, the sound a nearly-humorless bark. “Apparently, she takes after her father in looks but she gets the rest from me. I sent her away; there was no Warchief here for her to bond to. I don’t know where she went, but she found…”

Ryxl looked up at Thrall for the first time since she’d sat down, expression somewhere between amazement and respect.

“She found Illidan Stormrage. And she fixed him.”

That was entirely unexpected. “That’s who the reclusive mage on our northern border is?”

Ryxl nodded. “He’s not a threat unless we decide to make him our enemy. Tessa’s not a threat, either, as long as we haven’t made any hostile moves towards Illidan.”

“You are sure of this.” Thrall didn’t bother making it a question; that would be insulting.

“He asked me how he could be sure he was treating her right.”

The Warchief threw his head back and laughed. “No, definitely not a threat. Very well, I’ll compose letters to the other leaders immediately.”

He looked at Ryxl , unspoken question and command in his eyes, and she flung herself at him so that he could cradle her in his arms. One deep, shuddering breath was all it took before the last of Champion Ironheart faded and then it was just Ryxl, trembling and whimpering.

“I wish you had told me earlier, but I understand why you didn’t. It’s okay,” he rumbled soothingly. After a moment to compose his vocal cords, he uttered the deep whine that Takk had taught him meant ‘packleader protects the pack’.

==================================

“Ryxl, what’s wrong?” The Mag’har sits next to his mate on the sun-baked slab of rock in their personal courtyard. Although she does not look at him, she leans against his bulk with a choked-back whimper. “Whatever it is, I forgive you,” he says firmly, one arm holding her to him. “You spent three years in a hell equal to mine to free me when even my own father gave me up for lost. You couldn’t possibly have done anything bad enough to outweigh that.”

“I never told you how I got the Scarlets on my side.” Ryxl’s voice is quiet and flat, almost as exhausted as the day he’d returned from the dead. Sarok says nothing, and after a minute, she continues. “Don’t forgive me just yet.”

“You slept with Mal’Ganis.” The words are calm, a statement of fact devoid of any accusation.

“He raped me. Tortured me.” She trembles, but then stills again and her voice hardens. “I used the dagger and got with his child. I gave up all claim on her, used her as a bargaining chip, and bartered the life of my firstborn for her father’s help and the promise that he would give up all claim on this world.” Again she shudders. “I am truly the child of my mother, only my mother walked away with me. She hated me, but she was still strong enough to raise me as a weapon for the Horde. I…”

“You are stronger,” he interrupts firmly, “because you endured more than she ever did.” The brown arm tightens around her. “Ryxl, why are you telling me this now?”

“…you’re not upset?”

“I never told you what those three years were like for me. I can hardly fault you for keeping your wounds quiet, as well.”

Ryxl draws a deep shuddering breath. “She sought me out a few years back. I taught her what she was and sent her away on pain of death. She’s back.”

The implication is clear. “Who did she find?”

“Illidan Stormrage. I spoke with him. He’s…more fragile than I thought he’d be. Vulnerable. Gentle. He knows he’s hated, but he doesn’t want to hate in return.” She laughs humorlessly. “Her father tried to use his skills to break my mind. She’s Illidan’s Champion, so she used her skills to fix his.”

“You’re proud of her.”

Ryxl sits up and looks at her mate. “I suppose I am.”

Sarok smiles, one thumb tracing her jaw. “No. You are, but you don’t want to like her because she reminds you of her father, and what he did to you.”

“Just like my mother.”

“If you shun her because of the memory of Mal’Ganis, then he wins.”

Her lips peel back in a feral smile. “I won’t let him defeat me. Thank you, my love. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

 

==================================

 

Half of the leaders lounged in skin chairs at the council table; the other half were ghostly images projected by blank-faced mages. Most of the mass in the room seemed clumped on one end: Thrall, massive in black plate, flanked by Garrosh and Baine. To Garrosh’s right, the image of the taunka chieftain. To Baine’s left, the lanky Darkspear chieftain. The images of the naga priestess, the Dark Lady, and Jaina Proudmoore alternated with the goblin trade prince and the regent of Silvermoon. A nod from the Warchief, and the Kor’kron Elites lining the walls filed out, leaving only the leaders, the mages, and the fierce female orc known as Ryxl Ironheart, the Warchief’s Champion.

“What will be said here goes no further than these walls for the time being,” Thrall rumbled ominously, quelling all protests before they could be made. “Ryxl? Please give your report.”

The orc female nodded briskly from the front of the room. “I led a joint team to investigate the druid murders in Ashenvale. We had been told by the naga that a reclusive mage had taken up residence in northern Azshara and begun teaching a handful of students, and that he would be lending his assistance in the investigation. We met the night elf party at the agreed-upon place, where the mage and his Champion joined us.”

“We know all of this,” the strident voice of the goblin interrupted. “Why are you going over it again, unless…” beady eyes narrowed. “You’re going to tell us who the mage is?”

The silence thickened with anticipation.

“Illidan Stormrage,” the orc stated calmly.

The silence shattered as Lor’themar’s cry of “Betrayer!” was drowned out by Garrosh’s outraged bellow. In the same breath, the Mag’har demanded to know how this was possible and the blood elf questioned the wisdom of leaving him alive.

“He has a champion,” she answered with iron composure.

“A Champion….da same as da Warchief be havin’ one?” Vol’jin asked. “Da same as da Warchief’s girl be havin’ one?”

The implication filtered through the room.

“In Icecrown, I struck a deal with the dreadlord Mal’Ganis.”

Sylvanas’s image nodded. “The soul of the Lich King for his assistance in the battle.”

“That was only part of it. The other part was that the Nathrezim would give up all claim on this world in exchange for the child I conceived from him while he had me prisoner.”

Silence again, and more than one wince.

“So he has a Champion. Why are we not killing him again?”

“Because he’s not a threat,” Ryxl countered Garrosh calmly. “Even if he were, it would take more than you think to kill him, even without taking his Champion into account. She triples the difficulty of the task.”

“Pagh. One half-grown half-breed.” One brown hand waved negligently.

“Do not underestimate my daughter.”

The Mag’har chieftain flinched as Ryxl’s words sliced the air. Still, he rallied. “What threat could she possibly hold? I could break you with one hand, much less your whelp.”

“You could – if you could catch me. Brute strength is not the only way to win a fight.” She flashed a grin at the Darkspear, who returned it. “You are stronger than me, can lift more, hit harder. That’s why, if I wanted to defeat you, I wouldn’t be so foolish as to attack you head on. Would your strength save you from an arrow from behind? A poisoned needle? A venomous spider or serpent in your bed? Toxins in the air you breathe?”

“Coward’s weapons,” the brown orc sneered.

“Yes, but you would still be dead.”

 “Just to clarify, Champion Ironheart,” the taunka’s image said, “you say that your daughter is a bigger threat than someone who, from what I understand, is a madman ten thousand years old and in possession of immense magical powers?”

“I know what I am capable of,” Ryxl said resolutely. “And I have only my wits and moderate skills at voodoo at my disposal. Dreadlords are creatures of magic, with the power to twist living minds. She may not be able to wipe Orgrimmar off the map the way her lord and master no doubt can, but there are many things worse than a clean death.”

No one looked at Sylvanas, although the Banshee Queen glared at everyone as though daring them to comment.

Ryxl’s hands slammed down onto the table and she leaned forward intently. “I took down the Lich King. Stronger than me in every way, in the heart of his citadel and surrounded by his legions of undead, I took him down without even raising a weapon in his presence. I spent three years getting all those armies to work together, and the Lich King’s fall wasn’t even my goal. It was just the means to the end of taking back the body and soul of the man I love almost as much as I love my Warchief.” She paused to let that sink in. “I’ll say it again: Illidan is not a threat. If you are foolish enough to make him an enemy of the Horde, you had better pray you manage to take Tessa out first, because otherwise she will dismantle the Horde piece by piece and scatter the ashes to the wind.”

“How do you know this?” Garrosh demanded.

Ryxl smiled coldly. “Because if you had killed Thrall in the Ring of Valor, that’s what I would have done.”

Garrosh flinched, as did several others around the table. No one seemed willing to question the assertion, not with the reminder of the Lich King’s fall fresh in their minds.

“So we’re supposed to just sit idly by, then, when the Betrayer decides he wants to take over the world?” Lor’themar asked sourly. “If what you say is true, and I’m not doubting that it is, then he is a madman in possession of a living weapon matched only by her esteemed mother.”

“Except that he doesn’t want to take over the world, or he would have started to do so by now, and he’s not a madman,” Ryxl said calmly.

Garrosh scowled. “Perhaps you are forgetting the things he did in Outland….”

“Or what he did to my people?” The regent of Silvermoon added.

“That was almost two decades ago. Have any of you spoken with him face to face? No? That’s what I thought. I have.” She crossed her arms and leveled a look impartially at the table. “Dreadlord Mal’Ganis was the one who twisted Prince Arthas from a paladin of the Light into a vessel for the Lich King. Do you think for an instant that his daughter wouldn’t use the skills she inherited from him to cure Illidan’s madness? No, he’s no longer a madman, and I wouldn’t call him one in Tessa’s presence if I were you. He seems inclined to let slights slide, and she will abide by his will, but I don’t think the Warchief would appreciate the insult to a very powerful potential ally.”

Several eyes flicked to Thrall, who met each glance with steady challenge.

“You think he would ally with us?” Baine rumbled.

“He’ll never turn againssst the night elvesss, of courssse, but we have good relationsss with him,” the naga priestess’s image hissed. “Tor’thiss reported that he ssseemed impressssed with Ryxssssl’s willingnessss to defend him. Assss she did with me, she sssseemssss to be generating goodwill for the Warchief with her actionssss.”

“It is what she does best,” Thrall said mildly. “Ryxl, was there anything else you wished to add? Very well, then. You have heard her report. Illidan Stormrage is to be considered an ally of the Horde, and I will not tolerate any insult to him or hesitate to show my displeasure should anyone disobey me in this. Are there any questions?”

There weren’t.