Of Blood and Honor Read Online Free PDF

map that indicated the broken tower. “Under no circumstances will I do
nothing,
old friend. I’ll take care of this matter myself.” Before they had a chance to argue the point further, he rose and walked toward the exit, leaving the advisors to stare at one another in confusion. “But on the off chance that he is right . . . may the Light help us all.”
    Later that evening, Tirion sat alone in the keep’s spacious dining hall. His plate of food had gone cold, and he picked at it absently with his fork. He was thinking about the old orc again. Was it truly possible that the orc had saved his life? He would have to find out soon. If Barthilas was right, then everything he’d worked for could come crashing down at any moment.
    Behind him he heard a quiet scuffling of small feet. Looking around, he saw sleepy-eyed Taelan emerging from the adjoining sitting room.
    “Shouldn’t you be asleep, young man?” he asked. The boy crawled into his lap and looked up at him in awe. Tirion smiled at his son, thinking how much the boy resembled his mother. Sandy blond hair. Big blue eyes. He was certainly a sweet, innocent child, Tirion thought.
    “Did the green men come back again, Poppa?” Taelan asked. Tirion nodded and ruffled the boy’s hair.
    “Yes. But you don’t need to worry, son. You’ll be safe enough here in the keep.”
    “Are you going to fight the green men, Poppa?” the boy asked. Tirion’s brow creased.
    “I don’t know yet, son. I just don’t know.”

THREE
    A  Warrior’s  Tale
    T irion woke early the next morning. Slipping out of bed so as not to wake Karandra, he dressed and made his way down to his personal ready room. There, displayed upon an ornate stand near the darkened room’s center, was his armor. The heavy silver plates with their gold lining shone brightly in the early morning light, despite the numerous gouges and dents that covered them.
Scars of battle,
he thought warily. Any one of the deep gouges could have signified a fatal wound, had he been a less cautious man over the years. He hoped silently that his luck would hold out with whatever troubles were coming.
    As quietly as he could, he slipped the armor plates on one at a time and buckled them into place. Once finished, he stood in front of a full-length mirror and looked himself over. He looked much the same as he always had, despite a few more gray hairs framing his tired face. He marveled at how well the heavy suit still fit after all these years. He had to admit to feeling a certain indestructibility every time he wore the armor. Yet that was a young man’s notion. No one was invincible.
No one lived forever,
he thought grimly.
    Walking over to the stone fireplace set into the far wall, Tirion reached out for his trusty warhammer, which rested on the oak mantel above. The expertly weighted hammer felt good in his hands. The holy runes etched in its head shone as brightly as they ever had.
    “With any luck, I won’t need your strength today, old friend,” he muttered. He tucked the hammer under his arm and strode down toward the keep’s stables.
    *    *    *
    The sun was just breaking over the distant Alterac peaks as Tirion finished saddling Mirador. He slung the hammer into its saddle-hoop and made ready to mount the seasoned warhorse. He put his foot in the stirrup and grunted in pain. His ribs still ached, and the heavy armor made it difficult for him to pull his own weight up.
    “May I ask what you’re doing?” a suspicious voice asked from the stable’s dark entryway. Tirion took his foot from the stirrup and turned to face Arden. The captain of the guard’s face was stern and etched with concern.
    “I am going to investigate the tower’s ruins. If the orcs are planning an invasion of my land, then I’ll find proof of it myself,” Tirion said flatly.
    Arden nodded. “Great. Then I’ll saddle up and go with you.”
    “I do not wish to have company. This is something I must do alone, Arden,” Tirion