Chapter 18

Bolvar Fordragon

His legs burned from the pace, but Dailin could not afford to waste any more time. He also could not afford a bad step as he juked around tight corners and leapt across small gaps on the bridges of Stormwind's Canal District. One false move, and he would be one step closer to proving the Giant Crocolisk legend not only a myth, but a fact. That, or he sink like a rock. He had heard stories of drowning from sailors. They said it was worse than death, and he believed them as surely as he believed the Giant Crocolisk theory: with blind faith.

The entrance to Stormwind Keep loomed ahead. Its tall buttresses and fortified walls were magnificant to behold, even if he had looked upon them countless times before. He didn't break stride as he landed on the foyer-hallway, and only ground to a halt just outside of the assembly room when a pair of soldier barred his path.

"Name and rank," monotoned one of the emotionless helmets.

"Dailin Yorshworth, Private of the Stormwind Guard."

"Business?" spat the other guard.

"Bearing urgent news for His Majesty's guardian, a pair of two highly-regarded individuals seeking an audience!"

They stepped aside, resuming their immobile stance against the wall. Dailin pushed past, hastily making his way to the circle of light that denoted the customary oration distance upon the ornately-chiseled floor. He fell to one knee, his armor clacking and scraping as the plates adjusted. His head bowed respectfully to the floor, he unloaded his burden.

"Honorable Highlord Bolvar Fordragon! Request permission to speak freely! I have information that is understood to be of great concern to you!"

Bolvar turned to face the young soldier, his armor as brilliant as ever. He smiled warmly.

"At ease, soldier," said Bolvar. Dailin complied, rising to his feet and standing slackly at attention. "What news do you bring?"

"A Human and Night Elf have arrived, allegedly expected by you. They are waiting to be dispatched to Stormwind Keep as we speak, sir."

Bolvar's brow furrowed. He had expected the Human, but a Night Elf? He was both perplexed and amused. No doubt the old bounty hunter had a surprise.

"Send for them, private. I want you to personally direct them to the southern walls, top deck."

"As you decree, Highlord!"

---

He felt nostalgia creep up his spine as he watched Stefan emerge from the barracks below. As the honorable mercenary knelt down to assist his companion, Bolvar was pleasantly surprised to find it was Iyana Moonbreeze, yet another face he recognized from the days of yore. Surrounded by the cool breezes whipping about the castle walls, Bolvar felt warm amidst such good company. As they approached, the broad smiles playing across their faces so perfectly, they looked as if they were pulled from the very books of legend; tales of heroic knights and the righteous maidens at their sides. He couldn't help but smile broadly.

"Stefan! It is good to see you again, warrior! And Iyana, this is a welcome surprise, truly!" he joyfully announced. He took Stefan in a soldier's embrace, two strong slaps against the back. Then he took Iyana's delicate hand and lightly kissed her knuckles. He ushered both to a trio of waiting lounging chairs.

As they took their seats, Bolvar poured a dark, rich wine into three glasses. He handed each one, and took a moment to savor the lovely, aged taste. With a smack of his lips, he directed his attention to the duo.

"Thank you for answering my call so punctually, Stefan. You've yet to disappoint me," said Bolvar.

"Should you have to worry?" he jested.

"Oh, of course not!" laughed the Highlord. He took another sip, nodding toward Iyana as he gulped down the fiery alcohol. "Now what is your story, Iyana? What brings you back to Stormwind?"

The Night Elf blushed slightly as she snuck a glance to Stefan. It did not take an overly-keen individual to understand.

"Well...it was partly duty, but in truth, it was Stefan," she answered after a moment.

As Iyana amused herself with the liquor, Bolvar snuck a bold, sly glance at Stefan. "I see."

"Now, Bolvar, as much as I would love to entertain the idea that you invited me for a social event, I feel there is a more pressing matter to attend to," stated Stefan, his childish smirk turning serious.

Bolvar's own countenance mirrored Stefan's. "That I did. First I would like to thank you for sending the b*****d Rok'Roham's corpse to our apothecaries so swiftly. And secondly--"

Stefan only now noticed the small, metallic box that sat next to the wine bottle. He saw how the surface reflected the sun light so strangely, at odd angles and colors.

Elementium. He shifted slightly, watching intently as Bolvar carefully opened the box. Iyana stood stark still as well.

"--I would like to show you what we found concealed on his person."

As the lid was lifted, the build up of tension and anxiety both lessened and increased. As the object was revealed, Stefan relaxed when he did not recognize its strange craftsmenship. But it was also the source of his increased curiosity. He did not recognize the strange markings that littered the ornate, ice-blue object, but when he heard Iyana audibly gasp, knew it could be nothing good.

Bolvar noticed her astonishment as well. "You know what this is, Lady Moonbreeze?"

She nodded. "Though I do not know its exact use, I know that it is a relic of the ancient Spider Lords," she said, turning to Stefan. "This item belongs to the kingdom of Azjol-Nerub."

The name did not fall upon him so unprovoked. He had heard much about the Nerubians; spider-like humanoids, surely one of the strangest creatures to walk Azeroth. But what scared him about these people is their long history with the Scourge and the traitorous of vermin, Arthas Menethil.

"What does it mean, Bolvar?" asked Stefan, his eyes running along the strange, mesmerizing contours of the square artifact.

Bolvar took a moment before turning to look upon Stefan with a mix of worry and dire resolution. "It means that the Burning Legion has turned its foul gaze upon the cold north, Stefan."

"Northrend," whispered Iyana.