Before dawn the next morning, Jess went to the Mage Quarter and dusted the study. Amy Malin told him that the situation in the Redridge Mountains had grown complicated and that her father might not return for several days. When Jess said he planned to leave the city on personal business, she took it upon herself to grant him permission.

As soon as he finished his work, he hurried to Old Town.

The journey took him nearly all the way from Stormwind's western end to its eastern one. By the time he reached the Pig and Whistle Tavern, it was already packed with people.

The crowd chanted in rhythm, "Bane-Troll! Bane-Troll!" Jess felt as though he had heard the name somewhere before. It sounded familiar, though he could not be certain.

He squeezed through the crowd to the corner at the front of the tavern and saw two bare-chested figures facing one another in the center, one tall and one short.

The taller man had light-brown, shoulder-length hair and held a wooden staff toward his opponent. His face was resolute and quite handsome, with the strongly defined features typical of a northerner.

Although he wore a small mustache, he still looked fairly young—probably around thirty. His hands and feet moved with exceptional steadiness.

Gred, on the other hand, was in much worse shape. The fight had already been underway for a while, and bruises covered his face and body. The man bore no visible injuries. Aside from being drenched in sweat, he looked as fresh as if he had only just entered the fight.

"Finish that dwarf, Bane-Troll!"

"Hit him!"

"Thrust! Use thrusts! Dwarves have short arms!"

The shouts around him grated on Jess's ears. Even though he was human too, cheering for Gred might get him beaten by the crowd.

The man they called Bane-Troll stood a head taller than Jess. In the small space beneath the stairs on the tavern's ground floor, his head nearly touched the beam overhead.

Judging by the condition of his hair and mustache, his skin, the muscles covering his body, and the slight bulge of his belly, he was very likely a nobleman, not some ordinary middle-aged veteran.

A nobleman in Stormwind who could fight... Could this be His Majesty Varian Wrynn?

Impossible. Varian should only be fifteen or sixteen right now, still little more than a brat. Besides, his hair was a dark brown-black.

Gred suddenly roared, gripped his wooden staff in both hands, and launched a fierce attack. His opponent casually flicked Gred's weapon aside with his own, deflecting the strike, then shifted lightly to the side and let the blow sail past.

Though tall and powerfully built, he moved without the slightest clumsiness. The muscles in his legs tightened and drove his whole body sideways like a perfectly coordinated machine. It was a pleasure to watch.

There was no denying it: Gred was in danger. When Jess heard the day before that Gred would be fighting someone from that club for the middle-aged and elderly, he had imagined Gred trading a few punches with some random old fellow. He had never expected anything this fierce or impressive.

Wait... Bane-Troll, Trollbane. Had he deliberately reversed the name?

If it was Trollbane, Jess knew that name well.

Could this man be Danath Trollbane, one of the Sons of Lothar, one of the leaders of the Alliance Expedition, and among the mightiest human warriors of this age?

The Trollbanes were Stromgarde's royal family, and Danath was the nephew of King Thoras Trollbane.

But the Alliance Expedition was currently facing the orcish Horde at Nethergarde Keep and the Dark Portal. The war might even have spread to Draenor already.

Danath should be locked in battle with the orcs. He could not possibly be brawling in a tavern with an unknown Wildhammer dwarf while his comrades were still at war.

"Kill that prissy little mustached bastard, you old fool from Aerie Peak! Don't embarrass us!"

"That fellow's nothing! I'd do ten times better if I were up there!"

Jess glanced toward the shouting and found two dwarves, probably from Ironforge. More and more Ironforge dwarves had come to Stormwind over the years, and the city had even set aside a Dwarven District specifically for them.

Just as Jess began to worry that Gred might lose and get hurt, Gred spun into a sweeping blow after his thrust missed. The man clearly had not expected the sweep. He dodged it with great difficulty and nearly lost his balance.

Excited by the opening, the dwarf pursued. While his opponent's footing was in disarray, Gred attacked with explosive force. Relying on his absurd upper-body strength, he struck again and again from every strange angle, chopping and slashing. In an instant, the situation reversed. The man struggled to defend himself and retreated without pause until Gred drove him into a corner.

He did not seem accustomed to a dwarf's strength. Did he lack experience fighting dwarves?

If he were Danath Trollbane, that hardly seemed possible.

From Quel'Thalas to the three dwarven clans and all seven human kingdoms, Danath was recognized as a master of combat. That reputation rested not only on his polished technique and formidable martial skill, but also on five or six decades of experience fighting elves, dwarves, and trolls alike.

That was right. Danath Trollbane was already past fifty. The man before Jess was clearly much younger.

Even pinned in the corner, the man had no intention of surrendering. His reach was far longer than the dwarf's. Gred did not dare thrust his staff at the man's throat or chest, because his opponent would undoubtedly strike one of Gred's vital points first.

During that brief hesitation, the man suddenly grabbed Gred's staff and kicked the dwarf squarely in the chest.

The kick landed with a heavy thud. The staff flew from Gred's hands, and his entire body sailed backward before crashing to the floor. Dwarves and humans throughout the crowd gasped.

"What in the world was that?"

"What a humiliation!"

"Bane-Troll!"

As if the jeers from the spectators had reached him, Gred gritted his teeth, climbed to his feet, spread his arms, and charged with a wild roar. The man lifted his foot, preparing to repeat his earlier trick, but the instant his leg extended, Gred caught him squarely by the ankle.

"You're dead!"

The man's face went pale as Gred hurled him upward and slammed him hard against the ceiling.

Gred closed the distance in two strides as the man fell, planted a knee across his upper back at the base of his neck, seized one arm, and wrenched it tight. "Do you yield?"

The spectators erupted in thunderous cheers. Beer and milk splashed everywhere. Even the humans who had been chanting Bane-Troll's name found the sight exhilarating.

"I yield!"

Only after hearing the surrender did Gred's eyelids droop. He released the man and rose to his feet.

The man rubbed his arm as he stood and leaned against the wall. He looked at Gred as though he wanted to laugh, only to grimace from the pain of the fall. In the end, his expression hovered somewhere between laughter and tears.

"They'll let you join the Warriors' Guild, Mr. Gred," the man said.

"Naturally." Gred sat on a step nearby. "You fought well, Bane-Troll."

The man limped a short distance away and picked up a straight sword of middling length. "That was an excellent fight. This is yours. I lost the wager, and I keep my word."

Gred accepted the sword with a delighted grin. "You're a man of your word, I'll give you that."

After the crowd dispersed, Jess approached. Gred glanced at him, and his face immediately darkened.

"You promised you'd come watch in the morning. Why did you only arrive halfway through the fight?"

"I had work in the Mage Quarter, Gred. Besides, you only said morning. How was I supposed to know you'd start as soon as the sun came up? I rose while it was still dark and went to the Mage Quarter first just so I could watch your match."

"Fine. The result was good, anyway, and you didn't miss the most exciting part." Gred waved the sword in his hand. "This was my main reason for doing it. That sword Bane-Troll carried is practically new. It's far better than the battered swords and axes we picked up from the remnants of the war. Once we head outside, we'll need decent weapons to protect ourselves."

Jess had not expected Gred to be thinking about finding weapons for both of them.

He took the sword and examined it from every angle. At last, he found the emblem of a clenched fist on the pommel at the end of its dark-red grip.

"The emblem of the Kingdom of Stromgarde. This sword came from Stromgarde Keep."

"He's probably an Arathi mercenary," Gred said. "But he must have missed the war, because the sword looks almost unused. I recognized it long ago. This is a weapon carried by Stromgarde's royal guards, not a common soldier's sword."

Jess asked, "How much could it sell for?"

"Probably not much. Ten or twenty silver at most, and only if we play up the fact that it belonged to a royal guard. The wielder's high station doesn't mean the sword itself is exceptional. Stromgarde isn't what it once was and can't forge many truly fine weapons anymore. This sword is certainly decent, but it can't compare to dwarven work. It isn't even as good as what your Lordaeron produces."

Jess asked another question. "Didn't you notice anything odd about that man's name?"

"What was odd about it?"

"What is the surname of Stromgarde's royal family?"

"Isn't it Arathor? No, wait. Arathor was the dynastic name of their ancestors. The king of Stromgarde is Thoras Trollbane... Trollbane! Could that fellow be Danath's younger cousin, Galen Trollbane? No wonder he could fight so well. He must have come to see Danath Trollbane off on his father's orders, so he's been staying in Stormwind recently. He couldn't even behave himself during this brief stop and came to the Warriors' Guild looking for a fight?"

Jess nodded. "Very likely. The Trollbanes are all born fighters, after all. If that's true, then you just defeated the cousin of the greatest warrior in the world."

Gred laughed and shook his head. "We don't even know whether he's truly a Trollbane. Besides, Galen is nowhere near Danath's level. Beating him isn't much to boast about, though at least he's someone famous. If I could defeat Danath in a duel one day, now that would be a feat worth bragging about for the rest of my life. I hope he doesn't die over in Draenor and comes back soon."

At that, Gred seemed to remember something. The excitement quickly drained from his face.

"Let's talk about our plans for this afternoon instead."

"Don't you want to rest for a while?"

"What's there to rest from? All I did was thrash a pampered rich boy."

Prince Galen Trollbane's reputation truly was not very good. Though an excellent warrior, he had accomplished almost nothing during the previous war against the orcs. That stood in stark contrast to Danath Trollbane, who had led Stromgarde's army directly against the orcish legions in Khaz Modan and served as Turalyon's tactical adviser.

Many people suspected Galen of cowardice, believing he hid behind his father and cousin rather than risk himself at the front.

As his only son, Galen was somewhat spoiled by Thoras. The king had been unwilling to let him temper himself with the Alliance Expedition and did not even want him going to Nethergarde Keep, where he might encounter the orc forces defending the Dark Portal.

Yet this controversial heir possessed ambitions far beyond either his personal ability or his kingdom's strength. He constantly dreamed of restoring ancient Arathor, reunifying the seven kingdoms, and establishing a human empire once more.

That ambition also planted the seeds of the tragedy that would later befall both him and the entire Kingdom of Stromgarde.