World of Warcraft: Crossroads: The War Within Anthology E-Book

Adam Christopher

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 231

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Journey deeper into the lore of The War Within, the first expansion in World of Warcraft's Worldsoul Saga, with this deluxe anthology. After witnessing the fall of Dalaran and braving the depths beneath Khaz Algar, the heroes of Azeroth face an uncertain future. Across the world, old hatreds are rising and Xal'atath remains at large, at work on her own machinations. But even amidst a tide of chaos and fear, hope remains. Join Thrall, Jaina Proudmoore, Renzik the Shiv, Faerin Lothar, Alleria Windrunner, and the Locus-Walker in this new collection of novellas and short stories that provide deeper insight into the powers at play and the battles still to fight following The War Within. These tales serve as a reminder that Azeroth's fate is shaped by the sacrifices and struggles of all, and that even small, quiet actions can echo large throughout history.

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

HEARTLANDS

Chapter 1: Summit at Boralus

Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past

Chapter 3: Bloodlines

Chapter 4: Marran’s Choice

Chapter 5: The Battle of Go’Shek Farm

THE TIPPING POINT

FAITH & FLAME

THE DOOM OF K’ARESH

Chapter 1: The Voice from the Void

Chapter 2: The Devouring War

Chapter 3: Ethereum

ADAM CHRISTOPHERL. L. McKINNEYANDREW ROBINSON

TITAN BOOKS

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Published by Titan Books, London, in 2025.

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1

SUMMIT at BORALUS

I would offer a coin for your thoughts,” said a warm voice behind her, “but I fear the price may be too high.”

Lady Jaina Proudmoore turned from the view of the city below as her old friend joined her on the parapet. Despite his size and heavy armor, he had somehow made it up the tight and winding stair of Proudmoore Keep’s tallest tower without making a sound.

Thrall leaned on the old stone and looked out across Boralus, took a deep breath of the cool air. “I can see why you treasure this spot.”

Jaina nodded. The tower offered her the solitude and privacy to think, while the view of Boralus offered perspective, a reminder of where she was—and of who she was.

And right now, as the sea mist cleared, Boralus shone like a sapphire in the dawn. A thousand roofs, a hundred spires, all glowing with the promise of a new day. From the tower Jaina could fully glimpse her domain, from the snowy mountains to the great harbor, in which sat the mighty Kul Tiran fleet, with a dozen of its fastest ships ready and awaiting her command.

“I know you thought it would be easy,” said Thrall.

Jaina blinked out of her reverie. Thrall’s face had lost some of the fear she’d seen the day Dalaran fell. But there was still a shadow over him—over them both. Up here, it was easy to forget the darkness plotting at the heart of the world, a darkness that would soon cast its pall over not only Boralus but all of Azeroth, if they couldn’t defeat it.

“Easy is . . . not the word I would use.” She sighed. “But yes, I had hoped for more.”

She’d counted ten sunrises since that terrible day. And every night since, Jaina had relived the horror of that moment in her dreams, as the city of light and wonder was plucked from the sky over Khaz Algar like a child’s toy.

But that nightmare had been real. And Jaina knew that it was just the start.

Something terrible was coming. Another Sundering, another Cataclysm. An evil that had a name.

Xal’atath.

Those ten days since Jaina and Thrall had returned to their respective capitals had been a blur of activity. Couriers had been dispatched to every corner of Azeroth, carrying with them the full authority of both Horde and Alliance within a singular, imperative message: a call to unite, a call for all leaders to meet at Boralus, ready to face this new enemy. They would come, Jaina had been sure of it.

And some had—but many had not.

Perhaps she had been naive, in retrospect, not realizing quite how badly the Radiant Song had affected people across the world. Even now, as she looked across her own city, watching the guards on patrol, workers in the docks, innkeepers sweeping their steps while market traders rolled barrels and loaded carts, she wondered how many of her people had heard the song, unsettled by the vision and the voice. How many were afraid, left wondering what it could mean.

There was a metallic clatter from behind them, followed by muttered curses and the sound of heavy footfalls on the spiral stair. Jaina and Thrall watched as Danath Trollbane emerged onto the roof. He paused for breath, chest heaving under his red tabard.

“By Thoradin’s blood,” he said, “for such a seafaring people, the Kul Tirans do have a fondness for stairs.”

Jaina stifled a laugh—she couldn’t help it, despite her foul mood. Danath was the first to respond to her call. He had been in the city for several days already, helping Jaina prepare for the summit. If he was disappointed by the responses from the other leaders as they trickled in, he had never shown it. Instead, he had been a steadfast companion, an excellent sounding board—and a very good friend.

“Have they come up with a solution?” asked Thrall.

“Actually,” said Danath, “I think we have.” He turned back to the stairs. “Come, there is much to consider.”

*   *   *

She’d counted ten sunrises since that terrible day. And every night since, Jaina had relived the horror of that moment in her dreams, as the city of light and wonder was plucked from the sky over Khaz Algar like a child’s toy.

Jaina could hear the mumbled discussions as she and Thrall followed Danath back into the meeting room, deep at the heart of Proudmoore Keep. With the return of the trio, those discussions fell into a respectful silence.

The assembled leaders had been locked in conversation all night, trying to overcome both geography and politics to assemble a strike force that Jaina and Thrall could take to Khaz Algar. And now, as the representatives stood around the huge war table in the center of the chamber, Jaina dared to hope that Danath had spoken the truth—that they could soon take the fight to Xal’atath.

The leaders who had answered Jaina and Thrall’s joint call were, Jaina reflected, an unusual mix. On the Horde side was Aggralan—Aggra—of the Earthen Ring and Thrall’s life-mate; Baine Bloodhoof, the tauren High Chieftain, towering over the slim form of Thalyssra, First Arcanist of the Nightborne, who in turn stood tall over the diminutive Kiro, Caravan Leader of the Voldunai vulpera.

On the other side of the table were the representatives of the Alliance—Shandris Feathermoon, newly risen to leader of the night elves, and Magister Umbric of the void elves stood almost back-to-back, making an impressive, even beautiful pair next to the stout form of Kurdran Wildhammer, the dwarf deputized as Falstad’s representative from the Council of Three Hammers. Finally, Tess Greymane represented Gilneas, a queen in title and, of the group, looking perhaps the most battle-ready in her purple-and-brown leathers. It was she who broke the silence, her warm greeting a relief to Jaina, who didn’t quite know what to expect of the assemblage. When they had left the group several hours before, tempers had been high, the atmosphere tense as each leader had argued about their respective burdens of office and the limitations this placed on them to contribute to the strike force.

Jaina approached the table, covered now by a large map that had not been there earlier. She recognized the region at once.

“The Arathi Highlands?”

Danath opened his mouth to speak, but Umbric got in first.

“This is a risk,” he said quietly, long blue fingers steepled under his chin. “I need something less . . . uncertain.”

“So do we all,” said Baine. The tauren folded his massive arms and raised his chin, making Thalyssra duck out of the way of his feathered headpiece. “But sometimes what we need and what we have are two different things.”

“Agreed.” Shandris leaned over the table. “We must take the opportunity offered and use it well.”

Jaina looked around the group. “What opportunity? Danath?”

“The 7th Legion.” He pointed to the location of his own kingdom on the map of the Arathi Highlands. “There is a considerable force massed at Stromgarde. A ready-made army, awaiting command.”

Thrall rubbed his chin. “Interesting. Who commands this garrison?”

“My niece, Marran,” said Danath. “As my diplomatic duties draw me to Stormwind, she stands as regent of Stromgarde. I have had word she has been reinforcing her position with the 7th Legion Auxiliary.” He spread his hands. “Her own decision, but I trust she is—”

“Stoking tensions with the Mag’har.” Aggra stepped forward, shaking her head. “The Horde granted the base at Hammerfall to the refugee orcs amid the Armistice. After the Fourth War, Overlord Geya’rah and her people had nowhere to go. The lands surrounding Hammerfall are much like Nagrand, a gentle place for their people to make a fresh start on Azeroth.” She pointed to the other side of the map, where the orc stronghold lay nestled under the hills, and turned to Thrall. “But the wounds of her Draenor have not fully healed, for Geya’rah or her people. The Kor’kron now train in number there at her request, to deter action from Stromgarde.” She looked at Danath, a hard expression on her face. “What Stromgarde does, Hammerfall answers.”

Kurdran swore under his breath. “An old fight, one we thought long settled,” he said, running thick fingers through his beard. “The situation in the Highlands is no good, no good at all.”

Jaina watched as Tess and Umbric exchanged a glance, and Thalyssra bent down to listen to something Kiro muttered into her ear. Then Jaina looked at Thrall, but the former warchief was silent, his brow once again furrowed. He was studying the map, not the people around it.

Danath raised his hands. “Please, we have been through this.” He sighed and began a slow circuit of the table. “I understand your fears, but you forget, Stromgarde still struggles to recover from the Fourth War. Marran requested aid from the 7th Legion to help farmers fend off predators, to train new soldiers to support the Alliance, to maintain our family’s rule while I am absent. I trust she is only doing what she feels she must as leader and that the matter will easily be righted.” A fresh murmur spread around the table, but Danath would not be deterred. “Here is our strike force. The 7th Legion and”—he nodded as he walked by Aggra—“the Kor’kron. Two of the best fighting forces in Azeroth. Trained. Ready! We could not hope for a better army.”

Kurdran swore under his breath. “An old fight, one we thought long settled,” he said, running thick fingers through his beard. “The situation in the Highlands is no good, no good at all.”

He stopped and now stood by Jaina and Thrall once more. He looked at the two of them. “Marran will listen to you, Jaina. I have heard how well she regards you and your mother. I will write to her as well, to tell her of your coming and to prepare the 7th Legion to march. And while I don’t know Geya’rah, I know you, Thrall. The Horde may not have a warchief, but the Kor’kron are yours to command.”

Thrall held Danath’s gaze for several moments, then nodded. His eyes found Jaina’s. “Perhaps this is our best option, for both rallying a strike force and avoiding a larger conflict.”

Jaina considered. The situation in the Arathi Highlands sounded delicate, to put it mildly, but Danath was right. They needed an army, and here was not one but two, waiting for a proper target.

Jaina reached for her staff. “Then so it will be. I will order the fleet to sail for Stromgarde. By the time they arrive, the strike force will be ready. Thrall, you will go to Hammerfall and negotiate with Geya’rah for the Kor’kron.”

“I will come,” Aggra said. She stepped around the table to join Thrall. “Geya’rah is as a sister to me.” She laid a hand on her mate’s shoulder. “I promise, she will listen.”

“Agreed,” said Jaina. “Danath and I will go to Stromgarde.”

“I am sorry, Lord Admiral,” said Danath, bowing his head in apology. “I have been away from Stormwind too long already. Turalyon has sent word that I am urgently needed to rejoin his court. But on my honor, Marran will gladly receive you and your word on this matter.” He smiled.

“Very well,” said Jaina. She turned to the assembled leaders. “I thank you all for your courage and candor on this council. We are adjourned.”

As the leaders began filing out, offering their farewells, Jaina turned to Thrall and Aggra.

“Prepare yourselves,” she said, conjuring a portal. “We leave at once.”

*   *   *

Jaina, Thrall, and Aggra had barely stepped through the portal from Boralus to the Arathi Highlands when they sensed the situation had taken a drastic turn. They had arrived in a hollow, shielded from view by steep hillsides. No sooner had they got their bearings than Aggra rushed forward, cursing under her breath. Jaina watched as she crouched by a body, lying face down.

It was not the only one.

Thrall stepped over a human corpse, the man’s armor split by axe blows.

“Oh no,” Jaina whispered. She counted the bodies—twelve in total, six human in the colors of the 7th Legion, six orcs in the furs and leathers of the Kor’kron. Casting a wary eye over the surrounding hilltops, she joined the other two. “What happened?”

Aggra pulled a bloodied 7th Legion sword from the nearest Kor’kron. “A fight to the death,” she said. She stood and used the sword to indicate several orcs, arrows stuck in the weak points of their armor. “The humans staged an ambush . . .”

Thrall picked up his life-mate’s train of thought. “Only to find the Kor’kron a formidable foe.” He looked down at the bloody scene, his expression grim. “A battle of mutual annihilation. Two small forces, equally matched in number, perhaps equally—and foolishly—surprised at the strength of their enemy.” He looked at Jaina. “I fear we may be too late.”

“We cannot be too late,” said Aggra. She dropped the sword and turned to her companions. “But I agree that time is short. I will go directly to Hammerfall and stay Geya’rah’s hand. You both should continue to Stromgarde—a united front may be the fastest route to peace.”

“We cannot be too late,” said Aggra. She dropped the sword and turned to her companions. “But I agree that time is short. I will go directly to Hammerfall and stay Geya’rah’s hand. You both should continue to Stromgarde—a united front may be the fastest route to peace.”

Thrall nodded. “Luck, my love,” he said. The two clasped hands, then without another word, Aggra took off, sprinting for the northern hillside, which she deftly scaled before disappearing from view.

Thrall watched her go, then turned to Jaina. “To Stromgarde, then.”

But as they left their cover, Jaina heard a high whistling sound. Almost before she registered it, Thrall jerked where he stood and took a stumbling step backward, the feathered shaft of a projectile emerging between his shoulder and chest armor.

Jaina spun, instinctively putting herself between Thrall and the archer. She raised her staff high and cast a protective shield for cover. Another whistle, but this time the arrow glanced off the shield. That moment was all Jaina needed to spot her target. There, by the solitary tree at the top of the hill opposite, came a flash of movement. A cloaked figure broke cover, bow raised, quiver bouncing on their back as they fled.

At once Jaina balled her fist and threw it forward, sending an orb of crackling purple energy flying toward the hillside. A moment later, the tree exploded in a gout of yellow flame and pink light, but of the bowman there was no sign. Cursing, she knelt beside Thrall.

“Leave it`, I will be fine,” said Thrall, waving her away. He grabbed the shaft of the arrow, still protruding from his flesh, and pulled it free in a single tug. He held up the arrow to examine it. “I hope, anyway.”

Jaina peered at the arrowhead. It was smeared with blood, the liquid near black, but there was something else too—another substance, bright blue, oily. Her eyes widened in horror.

“Poison? Thrall, you—”

Thrall tossed the arrow to one side, then gave his injured shoulder an experimental roll. He winced; the wound was still seeping. “I’ll be fine,” he said, then paused. “But we do need to get to Stromgarde, and quickly.” He gestured to the hillside. “Lead the way.”

2

ECHOES of the PAST

I don’t care who you are,” said the guard, “you can’t enter with him.”

Jaina and Thrall stood before the gates of Stromgarde. It had been years since she had visited the stronghold, and she didn’t remember the entrance being so imposing.

Certainly, it had never been so unwelcoming.

There were six guardsmen at the gate—Stromgarde regulars rather than 7th Legion—and above, on the towers that flanked the entrance, another six armed with crossbows aimed squarely at them.

Jaina tried to keep calm, but it was difficult. The walk to the city had been slow going, and she was very aware that Thrall’s strength was being steadily sapped by the arrow’s poison. Even now, as they stood before the gates, he was leaning heavily against her, his head bowed, his breathing labored.

“We are here to see Lady Marran Trollbane!” Jaina raised her voice and looked up at the guards on the towers, hoping that maybe one of them would show more sense. “My name is Jaina Proudmoore, Lord Admiral of the allied kingdom of Kul Tiras. This is Thrall, orc representative to the Horde Council, who is gravely wounded. We are both here at the direction of Danath Trollbane on a mission of peace, and we have urgent business with your regent. I demand you open these gates!”

The guard in front of them simply shook his head.

“I don’t think you understand,” Jaina said through gritted teeth, her staff glowing as she channeled the arcane. “I ask permission only as a courtesy—”

She felt Thrall’s big yet gentle hand on her forearm. “Danath’s message may not yet have arrived, Jaina.”

Jaina drew breath to argue, but Thrall pushed himself away from her. “We have a job to do, and I am a hindrance.” He nodded at the guard. “Do not make a mistake today. The Lord Admiral is here to meet your regent. I suggest you let her in.”

The guard remained steadfast, but there was movement behind him, and as Jaina glanced up, she saw there was one fewer soldier on the wall above. Moments later came the sound of heavy chain and creaking wood.

Jaina sighed with relief and relaxed her grip on her staff. Somebody was willing to listen, at least. As the gates began to slowly move, she turned to Thrall, ready to lead him in, but he shook his head.

“You go,” he said.

Jaina drew breath to argue, but Thrall pushed himself away from her. “We have a job to do, and I am a hindrance.” He nodded at the guard. “Do not make a mistake today. The Lord Admiral is here to meet your regent. I suggest you let her in.”

Jaina frowned. “Thrall, you need help. I can’t leave you.”

“It is I who leaves you,” he said. “And I will get help, but not here. I will go to Hammerfall. Aggra will have spoken to Geya’rah by now.” He nodded at the open gates. “Talk to Lady Marran. Remember our mission.”

Jaina sighed, then turned as the guard from above—clearly someone with both more rank and sense than his comrade—appeared before her.

“Follow me,” he said.

*   *   *

As soon as she stepped through the gates of Stromgarde, Jaina felt the eyes of the entire city on her.

It was busy, certainly—and it wasn’t just the 7th Legion Auxiliary here. The main body of the army itself, the liveried soldiers, filled the streets, nearly outnumbering the common folk. Despite the bustle, it seemed the normal business of the city had ground to a halt, with stores, inns, and houses not just closed but boarded up, as though Stromgarde was preparing to weather a great storm. What regular citizens were out stopped and stared as Jaina and her escort passed.

All looked afraid—a common response to a battle happening outside the city walls perhaps, though Jaina couldn’t help but sense there was something strange afoot. The people scattered before her, dragging children with them, slamming doors and windows behind as if she were the enemy.

Beware the Daughter of the Sea.

The unhappy memory sprang unbidden into Jaina’s mind. She dismissed it as quickly as it arrived, but it did nothing to improve her mood.

Soon they reached the keep, the doors of which opened as they approached. Two burly legionnaires emerged, followed by a small woman in more elegant, but far less protective, armor. She was perhaps forty, old enough to know the many perils that had faced Stromgarde in Jaina’s lifetime, and she carried those burdens in the sharpness of her eyes, the taut line of her mouth.

“Lord Admiral,” Marran Trollbane approached, her arms clasped tightly behind her back. “Thank Thoradin. We are short on allies in this land and welcome your counsel.”

Jaina frowned, trying to take measure of the woman. “Yes, my lady,” she said. “I’ve come a long way to talk to you. Danath, said—”

“We’ve not much to offer in the way of hospitality,” said Marran, cutting Jaina off, “but any child of Arathor is always welcome under our gates. Come, please, follow me.”

With that, the regent turned and walked through the doors and into the keep.

Adjusting her grip on her staff, Jaina followed her inside.

“I’m quite glad you’ve come,” said Marran as she led Jaina through the keep’s wide halls. “Truth be told, I’ve driven my retainers to distraction, trying to find a solution to this mess.”

Jaina heaved a sigh of relief—perhaps the situation could still be salvaged. “I am glad to hear it. Should we convene with your council or meet privately first?”

“Let us talk before summoning the others,” said Marran, waving off the guards as they opened the doorway to her study.

“I appreciate your attention on this matter,” said Jaina, settling into a plush velvet chair at Marran’s invitation. “Most urgently, I came here with an emissary from the Horde, but he was injured in the crossfire of a skirmish between the 7th Legion and the Kor’kron. Your guards would not let him enter, so he left for Hammerfall. I suggest we start there—summoning him back, negotiating a peace he can take to the Mag’har.” She paused. “But time is against us. There is much else to discuss. Dalaran—”

“Dalaran?” Marran cut in. She cocked her head at that, as if she hadn’t heard right. Then the regent moved around Jaina and sat in a more austere high-backed chair behind her desk before settling her elbows atop a mess of parchments. “I know you’ve seen a lot of war, Lord Admiral. I know how long you’ve ruled Kul Tiras.” She rifled through the pages on her desk until she found the one she sought. “But do you know how many bushels of grain your kingdom needs for the winter?” She held up another parchment. “How many horses plow the fields of Stormsong Valley?” Another scrap of paper. “The cost per hundredweight of iron ore?” She shook her head. “For years, Stromgarde has lost too many battles and cared too little for its people.”

Jaina felt stung—she was losing her. “Of course,” said Jaina. “But there is another fight coming, one that threatens more than just our small kingdoms. It is a fight we must join against, orc and human alike. Fighting each other only diminishes the strength we must show, united. Let the 7th Legion and the Kor’kron fight side by side,” she said. “And perhaps in doing so, an understanding—a peace—can be found between your people and the Mag’har.”

“A peace?” asked Marran quietly. “A peace, while my people mourn their kin, lost today to senseless violence?” Jaina could see the woman was actually trembling with rage, but she had to press on. She tightened her grip on her staff and inclined her head in the affirmative.

Marran nodded, but now she looked at her desk. “I see. Now I see.” She looked up. “You’re not here to reinforce our borders, to help us . . . You’re here to lead the Auxiliary off on another grand adventure, aren’t you? Another foe to dispatch, another glorious war, the heroes saving us, one and all.” Marran’s expression hardened. Jaina’s heart thudded in her chest as the regent’s face flushed, her words almost hissed through clenched teeth.

“And with the Auxiliary gone,” said Marran, “the orcs will have their chance. They will put Stromgarde to the sword, and the Highlands will be theirs for the taking.”

Jaina shook her head. “How could that—”

Marran spat a laugh. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve come here to ask this of me. This is what the Alliance does, asking us to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good. But I tell you now, we have been cut to the bone while the Alliance chases its next battle. I am here for Stromgarde. These are my people. Their lives matter, and I will make sure of it.”

“You’re not here to reinforce our borders, to help us . . . You’re here to lead the Auxiliary off on another grand adventure, aren’t you? Another foe to dispatch, another glorious war, the heroes saving us, one and all.”

“Marran, please—”

“I am the lady regent and will be addressed as such. As an ally of this kingdom, you will be given proper quarter, but I think it best you depart at dawn.”

*   *   *

That afternoon, Jaina watched from the window of her guest chambers as the courier mounted a horse and, with a kick of his heels, tore off toward the main gate of Stromgarde, carrying with him a message to Stormwind.

She hoped it was the right decision—she’d felt compelled to write to Danath, outlining her concerns about Marran and asking him to make haste his return. But Jaina was aware that summoning Danath back could well throw fuel on the fire of an already volatile situation.

Following her confrontation with the regent, Jaina had been abruptly dismissed and taken by escort to her guest quarters—and perhaps it was just as well. It had been a long day, and Jaina was happy to let Marran compose herself so they could have a more reasonable discussion later. In the meantime, Jaina decided to walk the city and get a sense of the situation for herself.

As soon as she stepped out onto the streets, she could sense the