The peaceful realm of Azeroth stands on the brink of war as its civilization faces a fearsome race of invaders: orc warriors fleeing their dying home to colonize another. As a portal opens to connect the two worlds, one army faces destruction and the other faces extinction. From opposing sides, two heroes are set on a collision course that will decide the fate of their family, their people and their home. So begins a spectacular saga of power and sacrifice in which war has many faces, and everyone fights for something.
Moonlight bathed the throne room of Stormwind, causing the white stone of the empty royal chair to glow as if with its own deep radiance, and transforming the golden lions crouched at its base to silver beasts with hollowed eyes. Cool, milky light caught the clean lines of weapons on display, and turned the shadows in the corners, where its pale fingers could not reach, into pools of infinite darkness. In the fey glow, someone with a keen imagination might think the decorative suits of armor standing sentry were not so empty after all.
The moon’s illumination was challenged by the light of a single lamp, which shone its warm, ruddy glow on the intent face of a boy. He held two carved toys in his hands. One was a soldier, wearing a painted version of the armor that loomed in various places of the quiet room. The other was a hunched beast—green, with tusks and an axe that was fully half again the size of its wooden adversary.
On the floor were other soldiers and beasts. Most of the toy monsters were still standing.
Most of the toy soldiers had been toppled.
The room brightened as the door was opened. The boy turned, displeased at having been interrupted, and glowered momentarily at the figure who entered before turning back to his playtime.
“So,” the man said, his voice youthful, “this is where you’ve been hiding.”
The man moved beside him. In the faint lamp light, his hair did not look quite so gray, nor was the scar that ran from chin to eye quite as ugly as it appeared in the daylight. He gazed down at the scene the boy was reenacting. “How goes the battle?”
The boy said nothing at first, staring at the small green toys, and then he said in an angry voice, “Every orc deserves to die. When I’m king, I’ll be like Lothar, and kill them
“Lothar is a soldier,” the man said, not unkindly. “He fights because it is his duty.
The boy did not answer. A just peace. Enough of war.
Impossible.
“I
“I know,” the man said quietly, and his lack of judgment of the boy’s outburst calmed the youth somewhat. “But war is not always the answer. You need to understand that not all orcs are evil, even if it seems that way.”
The boy frowned and threw the man a skeptical glance. Khadgar was very wise, but what he was saying seemed unbelievable to the boy.
“You know,” Khadgar continued, “the orcs came from another world, far away from ours.” He lifted his hand and moved his fingers. A reddish-orange ball appeared in his hand. The boy watched, interested now. He loved to see Khadgar work his magic. The orb spun, green energy crackling around it. “It was dying,” Khadgar continued. “It was consumed by a dark magic called the fel.” The prince’s eyes grew wide as the strange green glow seemed to eat away at the brown, dusty-looking world. “The orcs had to escape. If they didn’t…they would die with it.”
The prince had no sympathy to spare for orcs or their dying world. His fingers tightened around the toy orc he clutched in his hand. “So, those green monsters invaded
“They weren’t all green when they came to Azeroth. Bet you didn’t know that.”
The prince stayed silent rather than admit his ignorance, but he was curious now.
“Only the ones poisoned by the fel magic,” Khadgar continued. “It changed them. But we once met an orc who resisted it. One who almost stopped this war from ever happening. His name… was Durotan.”
No windows were needed in the Chamber of Air. It was as its name stated, a chamber of air; in it, and of it.
Strangers to this place might marvel at the sight, might gasp in beauty and fear both, and wonder how it was the Council of Six could stand here and not have concerns for their safety. But there would be no strangers, not ever, not here in the Violet Citadel of the Kirin Tor.
Like magic, the Chamber was not for anyone but mages.
The blue sky and white clouds that served for walls and ceiling set off the colors of gold and purple that decorated the stone floor. The floor was also inlaid with a symbol—a stylized, watchful eye, and the boy who stepped inside and stood in the center of that room thought it particularly appropriate today.
He was eleven, of fair to middling height, with brown hair and eyes that changed from blue to green depending on the light. He was dressed in a white tunic, and he was the sole focus of attention of the entire Council of the Kirin Tor.
