Thrall Enters the Fray

Morning mist, like gray-white silk, wound itself among the twisted dead trees of the Swamp of Sorrows. Jaina's boot tips lightly touched the water, Arcane Energy crystallizing beneath her feet into glistening platforms of ice that carried her forward slowly. The fetid mud churned beneath the ice, yet could not stain her in the slightest.

"Invisibility is holding well," she silently recited the detection spell. The magical runes flowing along the hem of her robe completely dissolved her form into the surroundings. A Crystal Ball hovered over her left palm, recording the sights along the way—vital intelligence to be brought back to Theramore.

Suddenly, her fingertips trembled.

Ten yards ahead, a straight canal cut through the swamp, its walls embedded with smoothly polished obsidian slabs. The water was unnaturally clear, and she could even see the filter screens laid along the bottom—this was certainly not the work of black dragons. Those creatures had always known only destruction.

After following the canal for three hundred paces, the foul-smelling mist gradually thinned. Jaina's pupils suddenly contracted—

Six Dragonkin clad in tanned hides were carrying logs. Their movements were frighteningly coordinated, and the foreman at the front was even shouting in stiff Common Tongue, "One, two, lift!" Even more shocking, these creatures that should have been savage all wore tool belts at their waists, with files, measuring ropes, and brass buckles peeking out.

"Dragonborn. Working together?" Jaina's quill wrote on its own, sketching images onto the parchment. When her gaze shifted deeper into the swamp, the quill suddenly dropped into the mud—

Three wooden houses with glass windows stood upon solid ground that had been filled in. Their roofs were covered in fireproof clay, and bluish smoke carrying the scent of sulfur drifted from their chimneys. At the entrance of the easternmost building, a human craftsman was instructing a black dragon whelp to curl its tail around a hammer and drive nails. The whelp's clumsy yet earnest manner made it look just like an apprentice in a Stormwind City workshop.

"By the arcane." Jaina's breathing faltered, causing a slight ripple in her invisibility spell. She hurriedly reinforced it, only to hear the sharp crack of a dead branch breaking behind her.

The instant she turned, the Crystal Ball reflected a horrifying sight—twenty yards away, Onyxia stood in humanoid form atop the treetops, Black Flame condensing into the shape of an arrow at her fingertips.

"Jaina Proudmoore." The Black Dragon Princess's cold laugh carried an electronic echo. "Here to tour my model community?"

Dozens of Dragonkin leaped down from newly built watchtowers, but the Black Dragon Princess stopped them from advancing. "Stand down. This is between me and Theramore's jewel."

With that, a massive dragon body appeared before Jaina...

The sea breeze carried the salty stench of the ocean, whipping up Jaina's disheveled blonde hair. The edges of her robe had already been scorched by dragon breath, and her Arcane Barrier had become fragmented under the continuous assault. Theramore's coastline was close at hand, yet the black dragon's shadow remained over her, predatory delight gleaming in those molten-gold slit pupils.

"You run pretty fast, little mage." Onyxia's Dragon Wings whipped up a gale, pelting Jaina's frost shield with gravel like bullets. "Why aren't you teleporting anymore?"

Jaina's fingertips trembled slightly from magical exhaustion, yet she still raised her staff high. Ice Lances poured forth like torrential rain. The ice crystals struck the black dragon's scales and burst into fragments that filled the sky—not even leaving a scratch.

"What a shame," the black dragon drawled with cruel mockery. "Your little tricks before true power—"

Boom!

A blast of Black Flame breath swept across the coast, and Jaina rolled away in desperation. She had intended to use the opening to create a Portal, but Onyxia's claws had already torn open the ground, lava-like fissures instantly cutting off her retreat.

"What do you want?" Jaina panted, a crack already appearing in the crystal atop her staff. "If this is to provoke Theramore—"

"Provoke? No, no, no..." Onyxia suddenly folded her wings, and her enormous dragon body transformed into an elven form as she landed. She stepped lightly onto the blackened reef, idly playing with a wisp of Black Flame at her fingertips. "I'm merely curious—why would the ruler of Theramore sneak into my territory?"

Jaina's gaze swept over the sea. The tide was receding, revealing jagged reefs along the shallows. There were no reinforcements, no escape route, and the Black Dragon Princess was clearly enjoying this game of cat and mouse.

"The 'construction' in the Swamp of Sorrows is quite surprising." Jaina carefully adjusted her breathing, secretly gathering what little magic remained. "Especially for a... destroyer like you."

A dangerous curve lifted at the corner of Onyxia's lips. She suddenly raised a hand, and a Shadow Barrier enveloped them both. All sound from the outside instantly vanished; even the crashing of the waves was shut out.

"Now, tell the truth." The Black Dragon Princess's pupils narrowed into thin slits. "What did you see?"

Jaina tightened her grip on her staff. She knew any lie would be exposed by a dragon's senses, so she spoke plainly. "Those Dragonborn are building a town. Damn it—what exactly are you trying to do? Build another Theramore for the Dragon Race?"

"Make Fertilizer, farm the land, then earn gold." The black dragon finally gave a derisive snort. "Believe it or not."

She dispelled the Shadow Barrier, and the howl of the sea wind rushed back in. In the distance, a figure was sprinting along the coastline—Deren's leather boots splashed through the shallows, water spraying over his rolled-up sleeves.

"Wait!" He came to a panting stop between them. "Lady Jaina, perhaps we can discuss cooperation."

Onyxia's tail rose dangerously, but Deren had already turned to face Jaina. His messy hair looked especially ridiculous in the sunlight.

The sea breeze carried fine spray against the reefs. Deren stood between the two princesses, his linen shirt still dusted with suspicious white powder. He casually brushed off his sleeve, stepped forward, and put on the sincere smile unique to merchants.

"Lady Jaina, allow me to formally introduce myself." He gave a slight bow, neither humble nor arrogant. "Deren Losen, a refugee from Stormwind City, currently the Black Dragon Princess's Agricultural Advisor."

Jaina's fingers remained on her staff, though her brows relaxed slightly. "Agricultural Advisor?"

"That's right." Deren pulled a neatly folded parchment from his clothes. When unfolded, it revealed a detailed map of Kalimdor marked with several Red Circles. "Her Highness intends to reclaim land in The Barrens, grow crops, and develop a Fertilizer industry—you know the situation in the Eastern Kingdoms right now."

His finger tapped Lordaeron lightly. "The Scourge is running rampant, farmland lies abandoned, and refugees are fleeing south. Food prices have already soared through the roof, and they'll only go higher."

Jaina's eyes lingered on the map for a moment before shifting to Onyxia. "A black dragon farming?"

Onyxia snorted, a wisp of Black Flame igniting at her fingertips before going out again beneath Deren's warning gaze.

"This is no joke, Lady Jaina." Deren's voice deepened. "Her Highness saw a business opportunity, and I—" He pointed to himself. "I happened to have farmed in Westfall before. Thanks to Princess Onyxia's regard, I became her Agricultural Advisor."

Jaina's mouth twitched.

Deren pressed on while the iron was hot. "There's a win-win opportunity before you now." He turned to Jaina, his eyes sincere. "I need large quantities of beast fur and horns as raw materials for Fertilizer, and hunting parties of the Horde are never short on such scraps. The prices those Goblins offer me truly make my heart bleed."

He untied a bulging leather pouch from his waist and poured more than a dozen gold coins into his palm. "I'm willing to buy them with hard coin, at fairer prices than the Goblins. Once the Orcs have money, they'll naturally buy food and daily necessities from Theramore—"

"—easing tensions between both sides." Jaina finished, a thoughtful glint flashing through her eyes.

"Exactly!" Deren snapped his fingers. "And if you broker this deal, Thrall will surely remember the favor."

Onyxia suddenly cut in. "Are you done?" Her tail slapped the reef impatiently. "Humans always like to make simple things sound as complicated as dragon magic."

Deren pretended not to hear and continued speaking to Jaina. "Just think: the Orcs turn what they would have thrown away into money, Theramore's merchants gain new customers, and we—" He patted the pouch of Fertilizer samples at his waist. "We guarantee that Kalimdor's wastelands will grow golden wheat. The people of the Eastern Kingdoms won't starve to death. Look at it—what a wonderful future!"

The tide washed over the three of their boots. The tip of Jaina's staff lowered slightly, a sign that she was letting down her guard.

"Your proposal," she said, choosing her words carefully, "does have merit. But Thrall will not easily trust a human, especially one cooperating with a black dragon."

Deren smiled as though he had expected this. "That is why we need an introduction from an 'old friend' like you." As if performing a magic trick, he drew a letter from his sleeve. "I even drafted the wording for you—though naturally, the final version will be up to you."

Jaina accepted the letter and gave it a glance. Neat writing covered the parchment:

"Thrall:

A reliable merchant seeks to purchase beast fur and horns on a long-term basis. Prices negotiable in person. If interested, send an envoy to Theramore for detailed discussions. —Jaina

Simple, direct, without a single word that might aggravate the Horde's sensitive nerves.

Onyxia suddenly leaned close to Deren's ear, her dragon breath scorching the tip of it red. "When did you prepare all this?"

"Last night, while you were drinking." Deren answered quietly, then raised his voice. "Lady Jaina, this is only a draft. You can absolutely—"

"No need." Jaina tucked the letter into her robes. Her gaze shifted back and forth between the two of them. "I will send someone to Orgrimmar. But if I discover there is any conspiracy behind this—"

"—then you can throw me into the sea to feed the Murlocs." Deren smoothly finished for her. "Come to think of it, Murloc scales can be used as fertilizer too."

Onyxia's tail suddenly curled around Deren's ankle and yanked him into a stagger. "Let's go, Advisor. Time to get back and supervise the work."

As the Black Dragon Princess dragged the human away into the swamp mist, Jaina rubbed the edge of the letter and suddenly noticed a tiny wheat-ear emblem in its lower-right corner—identical to the one on Deren's Company Badge.

The sound of the tides gradually faded. She turned toward the sea and began drafting her second letter to Thrall. This time, perhaps they truly could break the deadlock between the Alliance and Horde in Kalimdor.

Under Orgrimmar's scorching sun, Thrall set down the battle axe in his hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. Several battle reports lay spread across the table—hunting parties in Ashenvale had clashed with the Night Elves again, prey in The Barrens was becoming scarcer by the day, and several young Orc warriors had even come to blows over half a Wind Serpent.

Just as he frowned over a response, hurried footsteps sounded outside the tent.

"Great Chieftain!" The messenger lifted the tent flap, holding a letter sealed with Theramore wax in both hands. "An urgent letter from Jaina Proudmoore."

Thrall accepted the letter, his rough fingertips brushing over the anchor-shaped seal. He broke the wax and unfolded the paper. Familiar handwriting met his eyes—it was indeed Jaina's own hand.

But the contents left him standing there in a daze. It said someone wanted to purchase the beast fur and horns left over from Horde hunting.

Thrall stared at those few short lines, his thick brows slowly knotting together. He turned the paper over and over, even holding it up to the sunlight to check for hidden writing—there was none.

"Beast fur? Beast horns?" he muttered, his voice full of disbelief. "Since when did Jaina start doing this kind of business?"

The messenger stood to one side and cautiously asked, "Great Chieftain, should we have the warlocks check whether the letter has been enchanted with a confusion spell?"

Thrall shook his head. He recognized Jaina's handwriting, and he knew her habit of leaving a tiny ink dot after writing "Thrall"—this was unquestionably her work.

But the contents were simply too absurd.

The beast fur and horns left after Orc hunts had always been waste, discarded or burned. Who would spend money on such things? And the price was negotiable?

"Could they be some new kind of human magical material?" Thrall stroked his chin, suddenly considering another possibility. "Or are the Goblins working on some strange invention again?"

He rose to his feet and paced back and forth through the tent. His hide boots struck the hard ground with dull thuds.

If this was true...

Thrall suddenly stopped. What the Horde lacked most now were trade routes. As a neutral port, Theramore could provide iron tools, food, and medicine—supplies the Horde desperately needed. But because the Orcs had expanded everywhere in the past, their relationship with Theramore had never been good. And if the mountains of waste left behind after Orc hunts could be exchanged for clinking gold coins... could Theramore refuse such a trade?

"Prepare my wolf rider," Thrall suddenly ordered, his voice decisive. "I'm going to Theramore myself."