An Orc War Banner

That night, Jess and Gred practiced sword fighting in a clearing at the Eastvale Logging Camp for two hours. Finally, too exhausted to continue, they collapsed onto a pile of logs nearby.

Bright campfires burned in the soldiers' camp across the main road. Patrols and sentry posts lined the route from Eastvale all the way to the eastern pass into the Redridge Mountains.

The kingdom had clearly gone to great lengths to protect the trade routes linking the three towns.

But that also meant drawing some troops away from Westbrook Garrison and Westfall. It was no surprise the gnolls there were becoming more troublesome.

The two returned to the tent where they were staying. Gred sniffed the air.

"Can you smell that piss stink? Did some animal take a leak in our tent?"

Jess immediately tensed up. Had Gred smelled the sulfur on Saeno?

He glanced at the warlock's bag where the imp was hidden. It still lay flat, without stirring. The scholars and mages at the Wizard's Sanctum couldn't detect its dark energy. How could Gred? Did Wildhammer dwarves have some racial talent for detecting demons?

"I don't smell anything," Jess said. "What animal would be in here? A fox? A mongoose?"

Gred lowered his head and sniffed around. His nose passed over the warlock's bag without stopping, and Jess finally relaxed.

In the end, the dwarf put his hand on the package Marin had given Jess.

"It's coming from this. What's in here?"

"Just the stuff my boss wants delivered to Stonewatch Keep." Jess collapsed onto his sleeping mat. "Better not mess with it. He never told me to open it. What if he fines me? Let's get some sleep."

"But it stinks," Gred said. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"How bad can it be?" Jess couldn't smell anything from where he lay. He moved closer, put his nose beside the tied opening, and finally caught a rank, animal-like odor.

It smelled as if something had been shut away for a long time. It wasn't just old cloth. There was definitely something like urine in it.

Now Jess couldn't settle down to sleep either.

The two sat staring at the package. Every so often Gred looked at Jess.

"Come on, let's open it. How would your boss know? There's no lock."

Jess scratched his head. "You think a mage needs a lock to tell if something's been opened? This really isn't a good idea. What if there's a magical trap?"

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"True," Gred said. He paused for about a second, then reached for it. "Then I'll open it."

"Hey, don't—"

Before Jess finished, Gred had undone the wrapping. Along with the letter, a yellow-brown bundle rolled out. It looked like clothing made from animal hide.

"What's this?"

Gred pulled out one part to examine it. It wasn't clothing, just a piece of processed hide.

"An animal-skin rug? Or what?"

"Put it back..." Jess said helplessly.

The more Gred pulled out, the worse the smell became.

When he finally unfolded the whole thing, the tent reeked of an old animal smell, like the smell of a tiger at a zoo. Jess could barely stand it.

But now he realized what it was. It wasn't clothing or a rug. It was a banner bearing the battle emblem of an orc clan.

"That's an orc clan banner."

"Thought it looked like one. Can you make out the symbol?" Gred opened the marked section fully and held it up in front of Jess.

Jess tilted his head until he found the right angle. Finally, he could see the design.

"It's a dragon's head."

"A dragon's head?" Gred asked. "Why would orcs put a dragon's head on their banner? Does Draenor have dragons too?"

For a moment, Jess didn't know how to answer. Draenor hadn't originally had dragons. Whether it had any now was another question.

If Teron Gorefiend had already returned through the Dark Portal, that meant Deathwing, the black Dragon Aspect who had allied with the Horde, had crossed the portal with him.

Had he gone to Draenor to find a safe place to keep his eggs, away from the other dragonflights, and build a new black dragon lair?

"There's a clan among the orcs called the Dragonmaw clan," Jess said. "The ones who rode red dragons into battle. Doesn't that ring a bell?"

"I... of course I know about red dragons and the Dragonmaw clan," Gred said immediately. "But just because they tamed red dragons, they went and changed their clan name?"

"How would I know? Ask their Warchief yourself sometime," Jess said. "Maybe my boss found this banner somewhere and thinks showing it to his colleagues at Stonewatch Keep could help them track where the red dragons went. I don't know. I'm just delivering the letter."

"Track where the red dragons went?" Gred asked in surprise. "What for? Let them go wherever they like! Better yet, let them disappear from the world forever. Why go looking for trouble with them again?"

Most veterans of the orc wars saw red dragons as evil, violent magical beasts. This wasn't the time to lecture Gred on the world's lore. Jess was falling asleep on his feet.

"Mages always want to find some eye-catching topic to research, publish a flashy paper in Dalaran, get famous, and win a promotion. Let's stay out of their nonsense, Gred. Go to sleep."

He wrapped the battle banner back up, replaced the letter, tied the opening as tightly as he could, and pulled open the tent flap to air the place out.

It was autumn now. A cool night breeze blew inside. Jess wrapped himself in his coat and huddled in a corner.

"Should've picked up that wolfskin coat from your place first," he muttered.

"Too much luggage. The horse couldn't take it," Gred said as he lay down. "I'm still thinking about that orc thing."

Before dawn the next morning, the two set off with a cavalry patrol heading to Redridge. A few travelers and mounted merchants joined them.

Around ten in the morning, a broad lake came into view in the distance.

Jess stared at the water, which looked almost like a bay, and took a huge breath as if trying to draw the lake air into his nose from all that distance away.

One of the cavalrymen at the front shouted, "That's Lake Everstill ahead! We'll be in Lakeshire soon, everyone!"

The merchants and travelers broke into cheers. Gred shouted along with them.

Jess wondered what these people had been through before. Nothing had attacked them on this trip, yet they were celebrating as if they'd been lucky. Maybe it was just an unwritten custom, like people clapping when a plane lands.