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Authors: Chris Metzen

BOOK: Of Blood and Honor
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“I went out to inspect the site where I fought the orc, Karandra. I needed to find out if there were more orcs in my lands,” he said, a tad too irritably. “I wanted to go alone, so I told Arden not to speak about it with anyone.”

Karandra frowned and folded her arms under her breasts. She did that every time she was upset with him.

“You went off alone only days after your attack? How can you be so reckless, Tirion? What were you trying to prove? It’s not like you’re a young man anymore!” she said heatedly.

Tirion flinched. First Barthilas and now his wife. “I’ve been soldiering for more years than you’ve been alive, girl! The last thing I need from you is a lecture on how to perform my duties properly!” he growled.

Tirion rarely spoke to her like that, and Karandra never really knew how to respond when he did. She decided that a tactical change of subject was needed in order to salvage the conversation.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, trying to make her voice sound as innocent as possible.

Tirion forced himself to calm down, but knew that this new line of questioning wouldn’t fare well for her either. “Yes, I did,” he said in an even tone. “I am convinced that my encounter was an isolated event, and that we have nothing to fear from the orcs.”

Karandra brightened and sat down beside him on the bed. She took his hand in hers. “I’m so relieved. That’s wonderful, Tirion, but how can you be so sure?” she asked.

Tirion’s heart sank. He would not lie to her. “I can’t tell you, my love,” he said softly.

“Why not? If there is nothing to fear, as you say, then there shouldn’t be any problem with telling me, should there?” she asked. Something in her voice sounded hurt.

“It is a matter of honor, Karandra. I cannot tell you,” he repeated.

With a start, Karandra ripped her hand away and stood up from the bed. Tirion half expected lightning bolts to burst forth from her eyes.

“Honor. It always comes down to that with you, Tirion! You’re just as exasperating as that vainglorious Barthilas! Is your precious honor really more important to you than your own wife?” She cupped her face with her hands and seemed to be on the verge of tears. Tirion looked up at her and answered as gently as he could.

“You wouldn’t understand, my love. I am a Paladin. There is a great deal expected of me. . . .” he said, his voice trailing off. There was an uncharacteristic note of self-pity in his tone.

Karandra took her hands from her face and had to restrain herself from hitting him.

“You’re right, I don’t understand! But I know exactly what’s expected of you,” she yelled as tears started flowing down her reddening cheeks. “You’re expected to act like my husband and not try to shelter me from your silly little secrets like I’m still a girl in pigtails! You’re expected to act like a responsible lord and not go gallivanting off alone and putting yourself in danger!” Tirion looked away as she began to sob. “You’re supposed to be careful and stay alive so that our son doesn’t grow up without a father,” she finished.

Tirion stood up and took her in his arms. “I know, dearest. I did take an unnecessary risk. But you’ve got to trust me on this, Karandra. Everything will be all right,” he told her soothingly.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked at her husband’s face. She would try to trust his judgment. She was about to tell him as much when a quiet shuffling of feet announced that Taelan had entered the room. Tirion and Karandra looked toward the door to see their bleary-eyed son standing before them. Apparently, their arguing had woken the boy up.

“Are you two fighting?” the boy asked timidly, his big blue eyes glistening with concern.

Tirion walked over and scooped the boy up in his arms. “No, son, your mother’s just worried about the orcs, is all,” he said soothingly.

Taelan seemed to think for a moment. “Poppa, are the orcs as mean and cruel as everyone says they are?” the boy asked.

Tirion wasn’t prepared for such a direct question. He thought about his revealing conversation with Eitrigg, and marveled that he wasn’t so sure anymore. He certainly didn’t want to lie to his son.
There had to be some hope for future generations.

“Well, son, that’s hard to answer,” he said slowly. Focused on Taelan as he was, Tirion didn’t see Karandra’s incredulous stare. The boy listened intently as his father continued. “I think there are some orcs who can be good. They’re just harder to find, is all,” Tirion said gently.

Karandra couldn’t believe her ears. Her ebbing anger flooded back into her.

“Really, Poppa?” Taelan asked.

“I think so,” Tirion replied. “Sometimes we need to be careful of how quickly we judge people, son.”

The boy seemed pleased with the answer. Karandra was not. Despite everything else, she would be damned if she let Tirion fill the boy’s head with such nonsense.

“Don’t tell him that!” she hissed. “Orcs are mindless beasts who should all be hunted down and killed! How can you even say that, knowing what they’ve done to our world! What’s gotten into you, Tirion?” she yelled, snatching Taelan from his arms. Sensing her anger, the boy began to cry. She stroked his hair lovingly as she turned to leave. “Don’t worry, baby,” she said, “your father’s just tired. We’ll let him get some rest, all right?” she said as she left the room briskly without even turning to acknowledge Tirion.

Left alone, Tirion wandered over to an ornate serving stand and poured himself a cup of chilled wine. Taking a deep sip, he sat down heavily and marveled at how quickly his entire world had turned upside down.

FOUR

The  Chains  of  Command

T
wo days passed by quietly in Hearthglen. The rumors of the supposed orcish threat had died down significantly. Tirion felt relaxed, and mused that he might even be able to put the whole matter behind him for good. So long as Eitrigg stayed away from people, Tirion wouldn’t have to worry about taking action and betraying his oath to the old orc. He was surprised to find that Barthilas had remained quiet about the issue for the past few days. Yet, despite the young Paladin’s silence, Tirion sensed that Barthilas wouldn’t rest so long as he suspected there were orcs in Hearthglen.

After his unexpected hiatus, Tirion slipped back into his role as the lands’ governor with relative ease. The somewhat monotonous bureaucratic duties of his office served to keep his mind off of Eitrigg and their fateful encounter. He spent what private time he could find with Taelan and Karandra. Surprisingly, his wife seemed to have forgotten about their argument from the previous night. She acted as cheerful as she always had, and never once broached the subject of orcs again. Tirion was thankful for the peace and quiet. After the past week, he had had his fill of excitement and danger.

*    *    *

The sun was centered in the crystal blue sky as Tirion sat on a large balcony overlooking the keep’s stables and riding corral. Located at the rear of the keep’s grounds, the balcony offered a breathtaking view of the mighty snow-capped Alterac peaks in the distance. He watched as, far below him in the corral, Karandra led a small, white pony around in circles. Upon the pony’s back sat Taelan, who was clearly having the time of his life. The laughing boy flailed his tiny arms gleefully, calling for his mother to go faster and faster. Karandra laughed with her son, and kept reminding him to hold onto the pony’s mane with both hands.

Tirion gazed at them both intently. They were the center of his world and the source of all his joy. He would not fail them. He had thought long and hard about what Karandra had said to him during their heated argument. Perhaps his honor was a selfish thing after all, he mused. But even if it was, it was an integral part of him. It defined him as clearly as his own face did. As a Paladin he could not and would not discard it out of hand. All depended on it. He simply hoped that it would never come between him and his loved ones again.

*    *    *

Arden’s heavy boots clanked loudly upon the balcony’s stone floor. The captain of the guard strode up behind Tirion and bowed curtly. Tirion noticed that Arden was winded. Apparently, the loyal captain had rushed to find him. Tirion stood up and saluted the younger man. He saw that Arden’s face was drawn and pale.

“What is it, Arden? Why are you in such a hurry?”

The captain struggled to catch his breath. “I’ve been looking all over for you, milord,” Arden said in a raspy tone. “We have visitors at the gate.” Tirion tensed. For a brief moment, he feared the worst. Certainly, visitors to the keep were common enough. The only thing Tirion imagined that would affect Arden so was an army of orcs scaling the walls.

“What visitors? Is there some problem?” the Paladin asked tightly.

Arden shook his head and gulped air. “An envoy from Stratholme, milord. Lord Commander Dathrohan has come in person, escorted by a full regiment. He wishes to speak to you immediately.”

Tirion’s jaw dropped.
Lord Dathrohan, here?
he wondered. The Lord Commander was not only his direct superior, but one of his oldest friends as well. Dathrohan was a great leader and an honorable warrior. He and Tirion had saved each other’s lives more than once during the war. Due to their increasing duties, the two friends hadn’t seen each other in years. But why would the great lord venture all the way from the province’s capital for an unannounced visit escorted by so large a force? A burst of panic surged through Tirion’s body.
Dathrohan knew about the orc.
It was the only explanation for his visit, Tirion concluded. He knew that it must have been Barthilas who had alerted the Lord Commander to his recent encounter with Eitrigg. Tirion inhaled deeply and steadied himself. He patted Arden reassuringly on the shoulder and, with a sidelong glance at his wife and son below, strode out toward the main gate.

*    *    *

Lord Commander Saidan Dathrohan was an imposing figure. He stood nearly six and a half feet tall and was resplendent in his ornate, shining armor. A gold-rimmed, midnight-blue cloak covered his broad shoulders and flowed out regally behind him. His aged features were marked by long years of battle and strife. His evenly cropped hair and neatly trimmed beard were gray, but his piercing blue eyes shone with a vigor and strength that belied his years.

Upon seeing Tirion approach, Dathrohan’s stern countenance broke and he smiled widely. He strode forward and embraced his friend in a bear hug. Tirion felt the air escape from his lungs. The mighty Dathrohan nearly lifted him from the floor. Dathrohan let out a deep, barrel-chested laugh.

“Tirion, my friend, it’s good to see you. How long has it been, four years?” Dathrohan asked. He released Tirion and the Paladin straightened formally.

“Almost four years exactly, milord,” Tirion replied.

Dathrohan smirked and slapped his back, nearly sending Tirion stumbling. “Let’s not start with all that ‘my lord’ rubbish! You’re one of the few men alive who still remembers me as a snot-nosed whelp. We’re on even ground here, you and I,” Dathrohan said humorously. Tirion forced himself to relax and smiled back.

“Have it your way then,
Saidan.
” He slapped his hand on the taller man’s shoulder plate. “It’s good to see you, too,” he said warmly. Though Dathrohan’s demeanor was as familiar and raucous as it had ever been, there was a light of concern in his sharp eyes. Tirion looked past his friend and saw row upon row of armored footmen standing on the plain beyond the keep’s walls. His heart sank. Although he was glad to see his friend, Tirion knew that the presence of so many soldiers meant trouble.

“Tell me, Saidan, why didn’t you inform me of your journey? I could have prepared a great feast, had I known you were coming,” Tirion said, trying to keep his voice open and friendly.

Dathrohan nodded and spread his hands wide. “I apologize for the intrusion, Tirion, but we have urgent business to conduct. I felt I had to come and see you as soon as possible. But let’s leave our business until later. You need time to gather your advisors for a meeting,” he said in a more somber tone.

“Is there trouble, Saidan? Are we going to war?” Tirion asked, not knowing what else to say. Dathrohan held him in his piercing gaze, studying his features.

“That’s what I’m here to find out, Tirion,” he said at last.
He
does
know about Eitrigg,
Tirion concluded. “For now, I’m anxious to meet your lovely bride and your son,” Dathrohan said warmly. “I regret that I couldn’t visit and see the lad when he was born. You know how it is.”

Tirion nodded. “He’s a good boy. A future Paladin,” he said assuredly. He felt beads of sweat forming on his brow. He tried to calm himself and behave naturally. He felt as if Dathrohan were looking right through him. He nearly jumped as Dathrohan belted out a hearty laugh.

“Of that I have little doubt. I suspect that the Fordring line will always be there to defend Lordaeron and its people,” Dathrohan said, smiling.

Tirion smiled back and nodded while saying, “I certainly hope so.”

*    *    *

Hours later, Tirion’s advisors had gathered in the council room. A few of Dathrohan’s senior lieutenants were present as well. Barthilas, who looked very excited by the new arrivals, stood near the back of the room and remained silent. Lord Commander Dathrohan had taken a seat at the head of the table, next to Tirion. There was a tension in the room as all present speculated on the urgent matter that Dathrohan had come to discuss.

“Now, then,” Dathrohan began, looking levelly at Tirion. “I received news that there are orcs in Hearthglen. What exactly is the current situation?” he asked.

Tirion swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Milord, a few days ago, I had an encounter with an orc warrior,” he said. “Though I wounded it badly, I was knocked out before I could slay the creature. I returned to the spot where we battled in order to determine if the creature still lived. And, to discern whether or not there are others of its kind within my borders. My findings led me to believe that it was an isolated incident and that there were no other orcs accompanying it,” Tirion finished. He was on dangerous ground. He had no wish to lie to his superior. Honor forbade it.

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