Saving Azeroth (By Stealing the Black Dragon Princess) - 16

Chapter 16: Thrall Enters the Game

Morning mist wound through Dustwallow Marsh's twisted deadwood like gray-white silk, carrying the perpetual stench of decay. Jaina's boot tips touched the water's surface lightly, arcane energy condensing beneath her feet into crystalline ice platforms that bore her steadily forward. Putrid mud churned beneath the translucent ice, yet could not stain her pristine robes.

"Invisibility spell holding well," she murmured, detection incantations under her breath, magical runes flowing along her robe's edges as her form dissolved completely into the environment. A crystal orb floated in her left palm, recording every scene along the way—vital intelligence to bring back to Theramore's council.

Suddenly, her fingertips trembled with alarm.

Ten yards ahead, a straight drainage ditch cut through the swamp with unnatural precision, its walls embedded with polished obsidian fragments that gleamed dully in filtered light. The water flow was impossibly clear—she could even see filtration nets laid carefully at the bottom. This was definitely not black dragon work; those creatures understood only destruction and chaos.

Following the engineered ditch three hundred paces, the putrid fog gradually thinned with each step. Jaina's pupils suddenly contracted with shock—

Six dragonkin wearing surprisingly well-tanned hides were hauling massive timber beams. Their movements displayed terrifying coordination and discipline. The foreman at the front even shouted in crude Common tongue, "One, two, lift!" More shocking still, these supposedly savage creatures all wore practical tool pouches at their waists, with files, measuring ropes, and brass clasps clearly visible inside.

Dragonspawn cooperatively laboring with purpose? Jaina's enchanted quill automatically recorded observations, with parchment displaying detailed sketch scenes. When her gaze shifted toward the marsh's murky depths, the quill suddenly dropped into mud—

Three substantial wooden houses with actual glass windows stood proudly on filled, hardened ground. Roofs were expertly laid with fireproof clay tiles, chimneys emitting sulfur-scented blue smoke that spoke of active forges. At the easternmost building's entrance, a human craftsman was patiently instructing black dragon whelps to use their prehensile tails to coil hammers and pound nails with surprising accuracy. The whelps' clumsy yet earnest manner resembled Stormwind craftsmen shop apprentices during their first training week.

"By the Arcane..." Jaina's breathing faltered, her invisibility spell producing dangerous fluctuations. She hastily reinforced the magical concealment, then heard dry branches snapping behind her with ominous clarity.

Whirling instantly, the crystal orb reflected a chilling image—twenty yards away, Onyxia in human form stood casually atop tree canopy, fingertip black flames condensing into arrow shapes aimed directly at her position.

"Jaina Proudmoore." The Black Dragon Princess's cold laugh carried an electronic reverberation that raised goosebumps. "Come to tour my model community?"

Dozens of dragonkin leaped from newly built watchtowers with military precision, but the Black Dragon Princess stopped their advance with a raised hand. "Stand down. This matter remains between me and Theramore's Pearl."

With terrifying speed, a massive dragon form materialized before Jaina, wings blotting out the sky...

Sea wind wrapped in salty brine scent lifted Jaina's disheveled golden hair that had escaped its usual perfect arrangement. Her robe edges had been scorched black by dragon breath, arcane barriers becoming dangerously tattered under continuous devastating attacks. Theramore's coastline tantalized close at hand, yet the black dragon's shadow perpetually shrouded her escape, those molten-gold vertical pupils gleaming with the predator's sadistic pleasure.

"Quite the fast runner, little mage." Onyxia's dragon wings stirred gale-force winds, sharp gravel striking Jaina's frost shield like bullets that cracked the ice with each impact. "Why not continue teleporting to safety?"

Jaina's fingertips trembled slightly from severe mana depletion, yet she still raised her staff high with defiant determination. Ice arrows poured down like winter rainstorm. Crystals struck black dragon scales with explosive force, detonating into sky-filling fragments—yet failing to leave even a single scratch on that impenetrable hide.

"Such a pity," the dragon's trailing tone carried cruel mockery that stung worse than flames, "your clever little tricks before true overwhelming power—"

A black flame breath swept the entire coastline in a wall of destruction. Jaina rolled desperately to evade, robes tearing on jagged rocks. She desperately wanted to open an escape portal, but Onyxia's dragon claw had already torn the ground apart, lava-like fissures instantly cutting off any viable retreat.

"What exactly do you want?" Jaina panted heavily, her staff's crystalline top already spiderwebbed with cracks. "If this is meant to provoke Theramore into war—"

"Provoke? No, no, no..." Onyxia suddenly folded her massive wings, her draconic form transforming to elf shape upon landing with surprising grace. She stepped elegantly across the charred reef, fingertips toying with the dancing black flame. "I am merely curious—why would Theramore's mighty ruler sneak onto my private territory?"

Jaina's gaze swept the sea desperately. The tide was receding, revealing jagged reefs jutting from shallows like broken teeth. No reinforcements visible, no viable retreat, and the Black Dragon Princess was clearly savoring this cat-and-mouse game.

"Dustwallow Marsh's construction efforts prove quite surprising." Jaina carefully regulated her breathing, secretly condensing what little mana remained. "Especially for a destroyer like you."

Onyxia's lips curved dangerously. She suddenly raised her hand—a shadow barrier enveloped them both in suffocating darkness. External sounds instantly vanished, even the ocean's clamor was completely isolated.

"Now, speak truthfully." The Black Dragon Princess's pupils contracted to predatory slits. "What exactly did you see?"

Jaina gripped her staff tightly, knuckles white. She knew any lie would be instantly detected by draconic senses, so she spoke with plain honesty. "Those dragonspawn are constructing a permanent settlement—what in the name of Dalaran are you doing? Building another draconic Theramore?"

"Making fertilizer, cultivating crops, then earning honest gold," the black dragon finally sneered with dark amusement. "Believe it or not."

She withdrew the shadow barrier abruptly, the sea wind's howl suddenly surging back with startling force. In the distance, a figure sprinted desperately along the coastline—Deren's leather boots splashing through shallows, water spraying his rolled-up sleeves.

"Wait!" He stopped breathlessly between them, hands raised in placating gestures. "Lady Jaina, perhaps we can discuss mutually beneficial cooperation instead of combat."

Onyxia's tail erected dangerously, but Deren had already turned to face Jaina directly, his disheveled hair looking particularly ridiculous in harsh sunlight.

Sea wind rolled fine spray against weathered reef. Deren stood between two formidable women, his linen shirt still conspicuously stained with suspicious white powder. He casually dusted his sleeves, stepped forward with surprising confidence, his face adopting a merchant's characteristic sincere smile.

"Lady Jaina, permit me to formally introduce myself." He bowed slightly, posture neither humble nor arrogant. "Deren Lawson, refugee from Stormwind's outlying territories, currently serving as the Black Dragon Princess's agricultural development advisor."

Jaina's fingertips still rested warily on her staff, but her defensive posture slightly relaxed. "Agricultural advisor?"

"Precisely correct." Deren pulled a neatly folded parchment from his breast pocket, unfolding to reveal a detailed Kalimdor map marked with several strategic red circles. "Her Highness plans to reclaim and cultivate the Barrens' vast wastelands, developing a comprehensive fertilizer industry—as you surely understand, given the Eastern Kingdoms' current catastrophic situation."

His finger tapped Lordaeron's location with deliberate emphasis. "The Scourge ravages relentlessly, farmlands lie devastated, and refugees flee southward in desperate masses. Grain prices have skyrocketed and will rise even further."

Jaina's calculating gaze lingered on the map momentarily, then moved with obvious suspicion to Onyxia. "Black dragons engaging in agricultural pursuits?"

Onyxia snorted coldly, fingertips igniting black flame, yet extinguishing immediately under Deren's warning look.

"This is no jest, my lady." Deren's voice lowered with serious intensity. "Her Highness recognized a significant business opportunity, and I—" He gestured at himself with self-deprecating humor. "I happen to have farmed extensively in Westfall before circumstances changed. Through Her Highness's regard, I became her agricultural consultant."

Jaina's mouth twitched with barely suppressed incredulity.

Deren pressed his advantage immediately. "Now a genuine win-win opportunity presents itself." He turned fully to Jaina, gaze radiating sincerity. "I require large quantities of animal fur and horns as organic fertilizer components, and Horde hunting parties possess these waste materials in tremendous abundance. The goblins' extortionate prices make my finances weep."

He untied a bulging leather pouch from his waist, pouring out a dozen gold coins into his palm, where they gleamed. "I am willing to purchase with honest gold at considerably fairer prices than goblin merchants demand. Orcs with actual money will naturally purchase grain and daily necessities from Theramore's merchants—"

"Easing tensions between both factions substantially." Jaina finished his sentence, genuine thoughtfulness flashing in her eyes.

"Precisely!" Deren snapped his fingers with enthusiasm. "And with you facilitating this business arrangement, Thrall will surely owe you a significant favor."

Onyxia suddenly interjected with impatience. "Finished your speech?" Her tail slapped the reef irritably. "Humans love making simple transactions sound like ancient draconic magic."

Deren pretended not to hear, continuing earnestly to Jaina. "Consider the benefits carefully. Orcs exchange garbage they would otherwise discard for actual currency, Theramore's merchant caravans gain valuable new customers, and we—" He patted the fertilizer sample bag at his waist. "Guarantee the wasteland produces golden wheat to feed thousands. Eastern Kingdoms' people avoid starvation. See what a beautiful future this creates!"

Tide lapped persistently over their boot soles. Jaina's staff tip drooped slightly—her subtle signal of significantly lowered guard.

"Your proposal..." She chose words with diplomatic care. "Does possess considerable merit. But Thrall will not easily trust any human, especially one openly cooperating with black dragons."

Deren displayed his most prepared smile. "That is precisely why your trusted old friend introduction becomes essential." He magically produced a letter from his sleeve. "Even drafted the initial wording for your convenience—naturally subject to your final editorial approval."

Jaina accepted the missive with obvious curiosity, scanning rapidly. Neat handwriting on quality parchment read:

"Thrall:

A reliable merchant wishes to establish long-term purchase arrangements for animal fur and horns at negotiable prices. If interested, please send an envoy to Theramore for detailed discussions.

—Jaina"

Simple, direct, containing no phrasing that would trigger Horde political sensitivities.

Onyxia suddenly leaned near Deren's ear, dragon breath reddening his ear tip. "When exactly did you prepare all this?"

"Last night while you were drinking," Deren whispered back, then raised his voice. "Lady Jaina, this represents merely a draft template. You are completely free to—"

"No modifications necessary." Jaina tucked the letter carefully into her robes. "I will have a trusted messenger deliver this to Orgrimmar." Her gaze swept between them with renewed wariness. "But if I discover any conspiracy lurking behind this arrangement..."

"You will throw me in the sea to feed hungry murlocs." Deren cheerfully finished. "Speaking of which, murloc scales can actually produce excellent fertilizer additives..."

Onyxia's tail suddenly coiled around Deren's ankle with crushing force, yanking him completely off-balance. "Let us depart, advisor. Time to supervise construction progress."

As the Black Dragon Princess dragged the protesting human away into swamp mist, Jaina rubbed the letter's edge thoughtfully, suddenly noticing an extremely small wheat sheaf pattern embossed in the lower right corner—identical to Deren's company badge insignia.

The tide sounds gradually faded into the distance. She turned toward the open sea, beginning to mentally compose a second, more detailed letter to Thrall. This time, perhaps she could genuinely break the bitter deadlock between Alliance and Horde in Kalimdor.

Orgrimmar's scorching sun baked hide tents until they radiated heat like ovens. Thrall set down his war axe with a heavy thud, wiping accumulated sweat from his broad forehead. War reports spread across the wooden table—Ashenvale hunting parties clashed violently with night elf patrols again, Barrens prey grew increasingly scarce, and young orc warriors even brawled viciously over claiming half a wind serpent carcass.

Just as he frowned while contemplating viable countermeasures, urgent footsteps approached from outside the command tent.

"Warchief!" The herald lifted the tent flap dramatically, hands holding a letter sealed with Theramore's distinctive anchor wax. "Urgent message from Jaina Proudmoore herself."

Thrall accepted the letter with curiosity, rough fingertips rubbing the familiar anchor-shaped seal. He broke the wax carefully, unfolding the parchment. Familiar handwriting met his eyes—definitely Jaina's personal script, complete with her characteristic flourishes.

But the content left him completely stunned.

The message mentioned someone wishing to purchase leftover animal fur and horns from Horde hunting expeditions—materials usually discarded as worthless waste.

Thrall stared at these few short lines, thick eyebrows gradually knitting together with confusion. He examined the paper repeatedly from every angle, even holding it to bright sunlight, checking for hidden magical text—absolutely nothing.

"Animal fur? Horns?" He muttered incredulously, his voice full of disbelief. "Since when does Jaina engage in this peculiar sort of trade business?"

The herald stood aside respectfully, carefully asking, "Warchief, should we have our warlocks examine whether the letter was enchanted with confusion spells or mind-altering magic?"

Thrall shook his head decisively. He recognized Jaina's distinctive handwriting intimately, familiar with her habitual quirk of dotting a small ink spot immediately after writing "Thrall"—this was authentically her work.

But the content seemed simply too absurd for belief.

Animal fur and horns remaining after orc hunting expeditions were always either discarded carelessly or burned as useless waste. Who would actually pay gold for such refuse? And at negotiable prices?

"Could this involve humans' new magical material requirements?" Thrall rubbed his chin thoughtfully, suddenly considering various possibilities. "Or perhaps goblins are developing some bizarre new invention?"

He stood abruptly, pacing the tent's confines. Hide boots struck hard-packed ground with dull rhythmic thuds.

If this opportunity was genuine...

Thrall suddenly stopped mid-stride. What the Horde needed most desperately was legitimate trade channels. Theramore as a neutral harbor could provide critical iron goods, grain shipments, and medicine—supplies the Horde desperately needed but struggled to acquire. Previously, because orc clans expanded aggressively everywhere, relations with Theramore remained strained and distrustful. But if mountains of waste materials accumulated after orc hunts could be exchanged for jingling gold coins... how could Theramore possibly refuse mutually profitable trade?

"Prepare my personal wolf mount immediately." Thrall suddenly ordered, voice carrying decisive command. "I am traveling to Theramore personally to investigate this matter."

The herald's eyes widened with alarm. "Now, Warchief? But the journey is dangerous, and—"

"Precisely because this opportunity seems too good to be true," Thrall interrupted, already reaching for his traveling cloak, "I must verify it personally. Prepare a small honor guard. We leave within the hour."