The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm (24 page)

Aggra’s talbuk was a beautiful blue hue, and seemed feistier. Thrall’s was, as she had told him earlier, “A mount suitable for novices like you, Go’el.” Another slight from one who seemed to take great pleasure in insulting him just enough but not too much. He looked upon Aggra as one more test he must endure for the good of his people.

He liked his talbuk, Shuk’sar, well enough, and had no complaint to offer. The ride was bumpier than the smooth stride of the wolf, but he was growing used to it.

“Nagrand was lucky. It has not suffered as other parts of what was once Draenor have,” Aggra said as they paused for water by a small, clear pool. “Other places are broken and harmed. We do what we can to learn here, and help others to help the elements elsewhere. It will never be the same as before, but it will heal as much as it can.”

“I wonder if my world will be able to say the same,” Thrall said. “You mentioned a place called the Throne of the Elements?”

Aggra nodded. “When we ask for aid from the elements to enact our will, we touch the spirits of those elements. Spirits of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water.”

It was Thrall’s turn to nod, and he did so, a little impatiently. “I know this. It was one of the first things Drek’Thar taught me.”

“Oh? Good. Just making certain. I do not know how rudimentary your knowledge is, after all.” She smiled with false sweetness and he gritted his teeth.

“Geyah said something about the elements having names here,” he continued. “On Azeroth, having a name often denotes that these are particularly strong elementals. What is the role of these beings?”

“That’s actually a good question,” she said, though she offered the praise grudgingly. “These named beings are called Furies. They are extremely powerful elementals, but they are no more all that it is to be earth, or water, than a handful of soil or a drop of water is all that it is to be earth or water. It is a complex idea to hold in one’s head.”

Thrall sighed. “Whatever you think of me, Aggra, you cannot possibly think that I lack intelligence. Your continual insults are eventually going to harm your ability to instruct and mine to learn, and neither of us wants that.”

Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared, and he knew he’d hit the mark. Her strong jaw clenched.

“No. You are not stupid, Go’el. I question your choices, your decisions, but I know there is a brain in your skull.”

“Then, please, teach me as if I actually have the capacity to learn. It will go much faster and I will be able to return home that much sooner. And surely that is something we both want.”

“True,” she said bluntly. “If you grasp what I am telling you—”

“Which I do,” Thrall said, barely able to be civil.

“—then let us spend the day traveling away from Nagrand. I will show you some of the other parts of Outland. I will show you
polluted water elementals and poisoned earth elementals. You can try to talk to them—or engage in battle with them, for they will not come to your call—and see how they feel to you.”

“I have worked with corrupted and twisted elementals before,” Thrall replied, nodding.

“Good. Perhaps you will find something familiar in their illness that can help you heal Azeroth.”

He blinked. When it wasn’t dripping sarcasm or contempt, her voice was husky and melodic. And her face, when not scowling, had a calm beauty that reminded him of Geyah. It was too bad she was so determined to dislike him. He would have liked to have her return with him to Azeroth, use her skill to help the Horde and Azeroth both. But even as these thoughts occurred to him, she seemed to remember how much she disliked Thrall, and frowned.

Clucking her tongue, she turned her talbuk’s head with unnecessary vigor and headed south.

“Come, Go’el,” she said. “We ride to the end of the world.”

“Things are changing,” said Archdruid Hamuul Runetotem. He sat quietly with Cairne outside of Thunder Bluff, in the area known as Red Rocks. This place of jutting, rust-colored stones was considered a sacred site to the ancestors of the tauren. Cairne came here when he needed to think calmly.

He had therefore been coming here often since Thrall left.

“I agree,” Cairne said. “When Garrosh proposed rebuilding Orgrimmar as soon as Thrall left rather than launching some kind of invasion somewhere, I was pleased. I commended him. Told him that showed he was a leader who cared about the well-being of his people, not an orc who was a personal glory-seeker.” Cairne snorted. “I wonder, now. Considering what he did with the money.”

Orgrimmar had indeed been rebuilt, but it was barely recognizable. All of the damaged buildings had been replaced, but not with the wooden, thatched, or hide-covered roofs that had been in place
before. Citing a need to keep Orgrimmar “safe from future fires,” Garrosh had commissioned metal instead of combustible materials. One could argue that his choice was a reasonable one.

One could also, as Cairne had upon beholding the new buildings in Orgrimmar, feel a shiver of unease at how very, very much the new architecture resembled the old. He had never traveled to Draenor himself, but he had seen images of Hellfire Citadel and some of the other buildings created by the orcs when they were in the grip of the demonic bloodlust. Black iron, wrought into jutting, pointed, brutal-looking buildings that were practical but unwelcoming. Now, here in the Horde capital city, one could imagine tools of torture lurking within, rather than the simple groceries and items the buildings actually housed.

He had left Thunder Bluff for Orgrimmar upon Thrall’s departure to be physically accessible to the new young leader Thrall had appointed against Cairne’s advice. As ruler over their people in his absence, Cairne had appointed his son, Baine, a fine warrior with a cool head like his father’s. Baine had had no difficulties in his father’s absence.

As the time stretched on, Cairne had found his advice was not particularly welcome, and indeed was often ignored. As he watched the hostile-looking architecture go up, Cairne had realized that this was no longer a place for him to be. He had asked to see Garrosh, explained that he was returning to Thunder Bluff, and had been surprised at Garrosh’s reaction.

He had expected relief or indifference. Instead, Garrosh had risen and gone to him.

“We fought together well once, in Northrend,” Garrosh said.

“That we did,” Cairne agreed.

“And yet I know you did not agree with many of my decisions.”

Cairne peered at him for a moment. “Both things are true, Garrosh. But I think that my disagreement with your decisions interferes with my ability to aid you.”

“I … Thrall entrusted me with the care of the Horde. He is a symbol of it, as are you. I have no wish to offend you, but I
have to make my own decisions. And I will do so. I will do what I think best for the honor and glory of the Horde … and its overall well-being.”

Cairne liked the words. And he was willing to believe that Garrosh actually meant them. But he knew Garrosh perhaps better than the orc knew himself. Cairne had known of Grom, had known countless other hotheaded youths and watched so many of them come to violent and often senseless ends. He had no wish for Garrosh to join their number, and worse, drag down the Horde along with him.

But it was pointless for him to stay. Garrosh would do exactly as he wanted. If he wished Cairne’s advice, he would find a way to justify requesting it so he could do so without losing his pride. And Cairne would let him keep it.

He bowed, courteously, and Garrosh bowed lower, and then Cairne returned home to Thunder Bluff.

The Kor’kron, the elite guards that were always near the warchief though usually unobtrusive, had shown him out. Cairne had always thought them fiercely loyal to Thrall; indeed, Thrall had revived the order. But it would seem that while their loyalty was certainly fierce, that loyalty was not to any one individual, but to whoever led the Horde. Cairne had listened carefully for any quiet protests or grumblings from them about the new direction the Horde was taking, at least in Orgrimmar, and heard nothing. Indeed, if there were any whisperings or mutterings, they would likely echo approval of the “glory days attitude” that Garrosh had brought to his style of leadership.

“I have not seen Orgrimmar since the rebuilding, nor do I have any desire to,” Hamuul Runetotem rumbled, jolting Cairne back to the present moment. “But, old friend, I do not think you asked me here to comment upon architecture.”

Cairne chuckled. “Would that were the reason, but you are correct. I wished to inquire as to how the negotiations with your kaldorei contacts in the Cenarion Circle are proceeding.”

At the feast to honor the returning veterans, Cairne had spoken
up with a suggestion to reestablish relations with the night elves through the Circle, an area of mutual connection. Garrosh had exploded, and Thrall had had to try to calm him down. The end result was that, officially, nothing had happened.

But, unofficially, Thrall had given Hamuul permission to do whatever he thought would benefit the Horde. And Hamuul had spent the last several months clandestinely sending letters, couriers, and even representatives.

“Surprisingly well, considering everything,” Hamuul replied. “It took a while to even get an initial response from the kaldorei. They were deeply angry.”

“So were we.”

“I explained that to them, and fortunately there are those among them who still call me friend and believed my words. It has been slow, Cairne. Slower than I would have liked, slower than I think was necessary, but things ripen in their own time. I did not wish to force a meeting, but it seems that the kaldorei now would be amenable to one such.”

“This news makes an old bull happy,” Cairne exclaimed, his heart swelling. “I am pleased to hear that there are some who hear the whispers of reason over the shouts of aggression.”

“It is easier to hear such things in the Moonglade,” Hamuul said, and Cairne nodded.

“When and where would such a meeting take place?” Cairne inquired.

“Ashenvale. A few more days of letters, and then I think it will happen.”

“Ashenvale? Why not the Moonglade itself?”

“Remulos does not get involved in these sorts of affairs,” Hamuul replied. Remulos was one of the sons of the demigod Cenarius, who had taught druidism to Malfurion Stormrage. A powerful, beautiful being, Remulos’s form was that of a night elf and a stag; his hair and beard made of moss; his hands not flesh, but leafy, wooden talons. In this tranquil place he oversaw, peace reigned.

“He cannot prevent casual discussions, but we would not bring
such potentially explosive issues to the Moonglade without his blessing. If this goes well, however, Remulos has indicated that he would permit a second meeting in the Moonglade.”

“That would be good,” Cairne said. “Ashenvale is still too volatile a place for my liking. You will be attending, I take it?”

“I will. I will be leading the meeting, along with an archdruid who is essentially my counterpart among the kaldorei.”

“Take some of my best warriors with you,” Cairne urged.

“No.” Hamuul shook his head firmly. “I will not give anyone an excuse to take up arms, saying that I myself come to do so. The only weapons will be the claws, teeth, and talons we all possess in our bestial forms. My counterpart has agreed to do the same. Swords do not befit those who come with peace in their hearts.”

“Hrrm,” rumbled Cairne, stroking his beard. “What you say is true, though I could wish it otherwise. Still, I would not want to see anyone attack you in your bear shape, old friend. They would not end up the victor.”

Hamuul chuckled. “Let us hope we do not find out. I will be careful, Cairne. More than my own life is riding on the outcome of this gathering. We are all aware of the risk we take, and we deem it worth it.”

Cairne nodded and spread his arms, indicating the sacred grounds before them. “I hope I do not have to come here to commune with you afterward.”

Hamuul threw back his head and laughed.

Five bears, their fur of varied shades but all shaggy and huge, walked the verdant forests of Ashenvale. They paused to snuffle or paw at something that interested them here and there, and did not appear to be together. Bears seldom were. Still, if one had watched them long enough, and followed their apparently aimless wandering, one would have noticed that they all seemed to be heading in the same direction.

One also might have noticed that they had horns.

They reached a certain spot in the mountains slightly west of the Talondeep Path. One, a larger, more grizzled-looking beast than the others, scouted about for a few minutes, sniffing cautiously, then rose up on its hind legs and lifted its forepaws to the sky.

Claws, black and shiny, turned to long, strong fingers. Brown and white fur rippled and shortened. The bear muzzle elongated, horns now jutting from a larger head with calm, deep-set eyes. Skeleton and organs shifted within the short-furred skin. Hind legs turned to long, strong limbs with hooves and not paws, and the short tail elongated and grew whiplike, with a tuft at the end.

“I can smell them; they are coming,” Hamuul Runetotem assured his fellows. “And they are alone.”