my own father dismissed me."
She laughed without humor. "That's the only magic Dagran Thaurissan and the Dark Irons used on me. My father thought them only to be despised, only good enough to fight and kill. Well, they are dwarves, just like any other clan of dwarves—heirs to the earthen. The other dwarves could stand to be reminded of that, and that's what I intend to do."
"You are the rightful heir," Anduin agreed. "Magni should have recognized and raised you as such from the day you were born. I'm sorry you only found welcome among the Dark Irons, and you're right—they're dwarves, too. But you aren't going to promote harmony by forcing the people of Ironforge to think like you do. Open up the city. Let people see who the Dark Irons really are, as you have. They can have—"
"They can have what I say they can have!" snapped Moira, her voice strident. "And they will do what I say they will do! I have the right of law on my side, and Dagran—the boy that Magni so wished I had been—will rule when I am gone. His father and I…"
She paused, and the artificial good cheer suddenly replaced the honest anger. "Do you know," she said, "that is really the first time this thought has occurred to me."
Discouraged at her reversion to her previous demeanor, Anduin asked, "And what thought might that be?"
"Why, that I am an empress, not just a queen."
A chill ran down Anduin's spine.
"Goodness! This changes everything! I have two peoples to rule over. As will my little one, once he comes of age. Such opportunities to be had to build bridges, to bring peace. Do you not agree?"
"Peace is always a noble goal," he said, his heart sinking. He'd had her, just for a moment, had gotten her speaking honestly. But the moment had passed.
"Indeed. My, my. Sometimes I think I am just a silly little girl still."
No, you don't, and neither do I. "I can sympathize. Sometimes I think I'm just a thirteen - year - old boy," he said.
Moira tittered again. "Ah, your humor delights me, Anduin. While I am certain your father misses you, I am quite, quite sure that I cannot bear to part with you just yet."
He gave her a smile that he sincerely hoped did not look quite as fake as it actually was.
Several hours later, finally alone in his quarters, Anduin closed the door and leaned against it heavily.
Moira wasn't mad, or under any spell. He wished she were. She'd been wronged, he had to admit, but instead of turning that into a strength, she'd let her resentment eat away at her. She was calculating, in control, and intent upon bequeathing an empire to her son. Some of what she said made sense. Peace was a good thing. But so was liberty.
He had to get out of here. Had to let someone know what was going on. He took a deep breath, ran his hand through his hair, and then began to throw things into a small pack he'd brought for day trips with… Light, how he missed Aerin, even now. But he was also glad that she wasn't here to see what Ironforge had become.
He wouldn't need much—a change of clothing or two, some money. He had brought a few special things from Stormwind, but now he realized that he could live without them in the face of the urgent need to get away as soon as possible. But there was one thing that meant too much, that was too precious, to part with.
He'd kept it under the bed since Magni's death, wrapped in the same cloth as it had been when the dwarven king had presented it to him. He hoped word had not reached Moira about the gift. Somehow he suspected the idea wouldn't sit well with her.
He took a moment to unwrap it and touch the beautiful mace. Fearbreaker. He could use its comfort now. Anduin permitted his hand to close about the weapon for a moment, then he rewrapped it and placed it carefully in It was time. He had decided not to tell Wyll. The less the elderly sen - ant knew, the easier they would be on him. Anduin took a deep breath, reached his hand in his pocket, and closed his hand about the hearthstone Jaina had given him. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Anduin filled his mind with images of Theramore, of Jaina's cozy little fireplace—
—and materialized there.
Jaina stared at him. "Anduin, what are you doing here?"
The prince of Stormwind didn't have a thought to spare for her. All he could do was gape at the enormous, angry - looking tauren clad in armor and feathers who stood directly in front of him.
Twenty four
What is this—" the tauren rumbled, in heavy but intelligible Common.
"Baine, Anduin—hold on!" Jaina reached a hand out to each of them.
Baine? "Baine Bloodhoof?" Anduin managed.
"Anduin Wrynn?"
"Everyone hold on!" Jaina cried, more loudly this time. "Baine—I gave Anduin a gift, a stone that enabled him to come visit me whenever he wanted. And given what we've heard from Ironforge—or rather, not heard from Ironforge—I'm very, very glad to see you." She gave him a quick but heartfelt smile. "And Baine—I apologize for his unexpected arrival, but I believe you can trust Anduin."
"His father has no love for the Horde," Baine said. "I believe you did not anticipate this, Jaina, but—"
"I am not my father," Anduin said quietly. He was calming down now, starting to figure out what was going on. Baine Bloodhoof was the son of the tauren high chieftain, Cairne. Cairne and Thrall were good friends, and the tauren were not as hostile to the Alliance as some of the other races that comprised the Horde. If Jaina was on good terms with Thrall, it stood to reason that she would not be averse to meetings—even secret ones—with a representative of Cairne's.
His composure seemed to impress the young bull. Baine relaxed slightly, regarding him with more curiosity than hostility now. "No," he said, "we are not our fathers. Even if we wished to be."
There was something in the tone that alerted Anduin that something was very wrong here. He glanced at Jaina, questioningly. Now that he looked at her, she looked strained and unhappy.
"Sit down, both of you," she said, indicating the hearth. Baine was far too big to fit into any of the chairs. "I think you two have long stories to share."
"I intend no offense," Baine said, continuing to stand, "but I risk a great deal even coming to see you, Lady Jaina. To confide in the heir to the crown of Stormwind? I fear you ask too much."
"I understand your trepidation," said Jaina, "and I know right now you're both focused on your own problems. But bear in mind I am harboring both of you right now, and so you're just going to have to get along."
"How can you harbor a fellow Alliance member?" Baine snorted.
"Because Magni Bronzebeard is dead; his daughter, Moira Bronzebeard, has returned to Ironforge from Shadowforge City with a bunch of Dark Iron dwarves and is declaring herself empress; she's got Ironforge in a lockdown; and she's going to be very, very upset that I got out," Anduin said bluntly. Baine was right. There was no reason he should trust Anduin, prince of Stormwind… unless Anduin gave him a reason to. Besides, if he didn't know already, he soon would. Moira couldn't keep her intent secret forever. Baine's massive, horned head swiveled around, and he blinked at Anduin for a moment.
"Some would call you traitor for revealing that information, young prince," he said quietly.
"What Moira is doing is wrong, even if she is the legitimate heir," Anduin said. "Some of her goals and plans make sense. But how she's going about them—I can't approve of that. Just because she's a dwarf and the daughter of a friend doesn't mean I blindly support her. And just because you're a member of the Horde doesn't mean I wouldn't support you."
He kept his gaze on Baine, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Jaina relax slightly, hopefully.
"He has met Thrall, and they like and respect each other," Jaina said. "You could ask for no better endorsement, Baine."
Baine nodded, though his ears flapped, presumably in distress. "Had not Thrall left, though, I would have no need of your aid, and…" He paused, and took a deep breath, blowing it out through his nostrils. "And my father would still be alive."
Anduin gasped and looked at Jaina. Her eyes were sad, and she nodded. "Baine
already told me," she said quietly.
"I'm so sorry," he said, and meant it. Whatever anyone thought of the Horde, everyone agreed that Cairne had been a good, decent leader and a good… man? Person? But it was not unexpected. Cairne was old. It seemed strange that Baine seemed so upset. No, not upset—anyone who loved his father would be upset at his passing—but… agitated. Distressed. "What happened?"
"Sit down," Jaina said, not unkindly. This time Anduin and Baine complied, taking seats on the floor. Jaina poured tea for all of them, put the cups on a tray, and sat down on the floor, cross - legged, herself. Anduin took a cup, and, after a moment, so did Baine. He regarded the tiny cup in his massive hand and gave a little chuckle—possibly the first, Anduin suspected, he had uttered since learning of his father's death.
Jaina glanced from one to the other. "Neither of you knows how much I wish we three were meeting under different circumstances," she said quietly, "particularly yours, Baine. But at least we are meeting. Maybe this conversation tonight will lay the groundwork for future, more formal conversations between our people."
Anduin lifted his cup. "To better times," he said. Jaina lifted hers and clinked it gently. After a moment Baine did so, too.
"I think… my father would be glad of this," he said. "Prince Anduin. Let me tell you what suffering this past day has brought."
"I'm listening," the prince of Stormwind said.
* * *
"Are you listening to me?" Moira screamed.
"Aye, Your Excellency, I—"
"How could you let him escape?"
"I dinna ken! We've arrested th' magi…. Perhaps a warlock summoning frae outside?" Drukan was reaching here, and he knew it.
"We have wards up against such a thing!" Moira was pacing now. It was early morning, and this was not the sort of news she had wished to awaken to. Not at all. She had simply thrown on a wrap when Drukan had sent her an agitated message that her prize pet had escaped. "No, it must have been something else. Perhaps you simply drank too much and slept while he tiptoed past you!"
Drukan frowned but bit back a retort. "I dinna drink on duty, Yer Excellency. And even if he had slipped past me, he would not have gotten past the guards stationed at every entrance."
Moira placed a hand to her throbbing temples and massaged them. "How is not important. We…"A crafty smile curved her lips. "Perhaps we are mistaken. Perhaps my pretty little caged bird of a prince has not escaped after all."
Drukan looked at her, perplexed. She sighed. "He has clearly left his quarters, yes. But perhaps he is still in Ironforge, simply hiding. There are many places for one to hide in this city."
"Indeed there - oh."
She smiled sweetly. "I will send you as many additional guards as you need to search for him. But you must not attract undue attention! No one must know that he is missing. You have taken the doddering old servant in for questioning?"
Drukan brightened somewhat. "Oh, yes indeed."
"Take care he is not mistreated. We want Anduin… cooperative."
"Of course."
"This must stay as quiet as possible. We shall put out word that Anduin is ill.… No, no, then that pesky Rohan will insist upon seeing him. What to do, what to do…" Moira paced the room, pausing beside her son's cradle and rocking it absently.
"Ah… we shall say he has gone to visit Dun Morogh. Yes! That's just the thing." This would accomplish two purposes. It would provide a plausible cover for why Anduin was not available and would give the impression that, at least in some cases, there was contact with the outside world that Moira approved of. Continuing to rock the cradle, she waved a hand at Drukan. "Go, shoo. Be about your task. Oh, and Drukan?" She lifted her eyes from her child and regarded him coldly. 'You must make certain that no one knows about Anduin's disappearance and no one knows what has happened here. I will reveal my agenda in my own time, and in my own way. Is that clear?"
Drukan swallowed audibly. "Y - yes, Yer Excellency."
Palkar returned with fresh meat to prepare for his and Drek'Thar's evening meal and found a bedraggled tauren courier waiting for him. He was one of Cairne's Longwalkers, which meant that the news he bore was important indeed. He was weather stained, and Palkar could see dried blood on his clothing. It was uncertain at first glance if the blood was the tauren's or that of another.
"Greetings, Longwalker," he said. "I am Palkar. Come inside and eat with us, then share your news."
"I am Perith Stormhoof," the Longwalker replied. "And my news cannot wait. I will share it with your master now."
Palkar hesitated. He did not like to talk about Drek'Thar's declining health with anyone. 'You can share it with me. I will make sure that he receives it. He has not been well as of late and—"
"No," said Perith flatly. "I have instructions to deliver the news to Drek’Thar, and deliver it I shall."
There was no other option. "Drek'Thar's mind is not what it once was. I tend to him. If you speak only to him, your words will be lost."
The tauren twitched an ear, his harsh expression softening slightly. "I regret to hear this news. You may hear it with him, then. But I must speak with him."
"I understand. Come in."
Palkar held open the tent flap, and Perith entered, having to duck as the flap was not designed to accommodate one of his size. Drek’Thar was awake, and his body posture seemed attentive and alert. He was, however, seated a good six feet away from his sleeping furs.
"Drek’Thar, we have an honored guest. It is one of Cairne's Longwalkers, Perith Stormhoof."
"My sleeping furs… why did you move them? You are always disturbing my things, Palkar," he said, his voice displaying his confusion.
Palkar gently helped the elderly orc to his feet, guided him to the furs, and helped him into a comfortable seating position.
"Now," Palkar said to Perith, "you may share your news with us."
Perith nodded. "The news is grave. The heart of the matter is that our beloved leader, Cairne Bloodhoof, is murdered, and the Grimtotem have taken over many of our cities in a bloody coup."
Drek’Thar and Palkar both stared at him, horrified. The news seemed to jolt Drek’Thar into one of his lucid phases.
"Who slew the mighty Cairne? What caused this?" the elderly orc demanded in a voice that was surprisingly clear and strong.
Perith recounted the tragedy of the attack on the druids in Ashenvale, and of Hamuul Runetotem's narrow escape. "When Cairne heard of this atrocity, he challenged Garrosh Hellscream to the mak'gora in the arena.
Garrosh accepted—but only if Cairne adhered to the old rules. He demanded a battle to the death, and Cairne agreed."
"Then he fell, in fair battle. And the Grimtotem saw the opportunity," Drek’Thar said.
"No. There are rumors circulating that Magatha poisoned Garrosh's blade so that the noble Cairne was felled by nothing more than a nick. I saw her anoint the blade; I saw Cairne fall. I cannot say if Garrosh knew of the deception or was himself deceived. I do know that the Grimtotem did all they could to prevent word from reaching Thunder Bluff. It was only with the greatest care, and the blessing of the Earth Mother, that I eluded their net."
Palkar stared at him, his mind reeling. Cairne assassinated by the matriarch of the Grimtotem? And Garrosh was either duped or a willing participant—either was terrible to contemplate. And now the Grimtotem ruled the tauren.
He tried to gather his thoughts, but Drek’Thar, alert and fully present now, spoke more quickly than he. "Baine? Any word of him?"
"There was an attack on Bloodhoof Village, but Baine escaped. No one has heard from him yet, but we believe he lives. If he were dead, rest assured that Magatha would announce it—and back it up with his head."
Something was bothering Palkar, more than the obvious horror at the news. Something else that Perith had said—
"Then there is still hope. Is Garrosh choosing to aid the usurpers?"
"We have not seen evidence of that."
"If he truly was a p
articipant in the dishonorable murder of Cairne," Drek’Thar continued, "it is unlikely that he would not do all he could to silence Baine and see that those Garrosh supported continued to hold power. The warchief must be advised of these developments at once."
The warchief must be advised….
I must speak with Thrall.…He must know….
Ancestors… he had been right!
Sweat broke out on Palkar's brow. Two moons ago, Drek’Thar had had a wild, feverish vision in which he proclaimed that soon a peaceful gathering of druids, both night elf and tauren, would be attacked. Palkar had believed him and sent guards to "protect" the gathering, but nothing had happened. He had thought that the "vision" was nothing more than an expression of Drek'Thar's increasing senility.
But Drek’Thar had been right. Now, speaking lucidly with Perith Stormhoof, the old shaman did not appear to even recall the vision. But it had happened, exactly as he had predicted. A peaceable gathering of night elves and tauren had indeed been attacked—and the results had been disastrous. The incident had simply occurred much later than anyone could have expected.
Frantically Palkar recalled Drek'Thar's most recent dream in which he had cried, "The land will weep, and the world will break!" Could it be that this "dream," too, had been a true vision? That it would come true, just as the dream of the druid gathering had?
Palkar had been a fool. Better to have told Thrall of the dream and let the warchief decide for himself whether or not to pay attention to it. Palkar clenched his hands in anger directed not at Drek’Thar, but at himself.
"Palkar?" Drek’Thar was saying.
"I'm sorry—I was thinking—what did you say?"
"I asked if you would write a missive," Drek’Thar said as if he had uttered this request several times. Which, for all Palkar knew, he might have. "We must tell Thrall right away. Even so, it will take time for a Longwalker to find him. We can only hope we are not too late to help Baine."
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