Traveler

by Greg Weisman

  Thalyss asked, “Murky mrrg?”

  The little murloc came around to the campfire and gathered up his nets.

  Makasa and Aram both reached out to stop him. “Whoa!” “Wait!”

  Aram said, “Have him tell the story without the nets. We don’t need to untangle him again.”

  Thalyss, as usual, seemed amused. He scratched one pointed ear and said, “Murky mrrg nk mgrrrrl.”

  Murky looked briefly disappointed—but he shrugged it off.

  Slowly, he mimed picking up the nets as the druid translated the murloc’s narration: “He says he is from a fishing village on the Forgotten Coast. Lived there with an uncle and aunt. Or maybe older cousins … ?”

  Murky clarified: “Mmmrrgglm, mmmrrggllm.”

  “Yes, I was right. Uncle and aunt.”

  They continued. “He left one day to go fishing. But his return was delayed—”

  “Let me guess,” Makasa said. “He tangled himself in his nets.”

  “Yes,” said Thalyss, “it seems to be a common occurrence with the little fellow.”

  Makasa shook her head and muttered, “The uselessness of this creature is truly astonishing.”

  Aram shushed her. He was still drawing Thalyss, glancing back and forth from the elf to the murloc, who seemed to take no notice of Makasa’s contempt and was still performing for his audience.

  “When he returned to the village, everyone was gone. His uncle. His aunt. All his friends and family. Gone.”

  “What happened?” Aram asked. He was no longer drowsy, sitting forward on his knees.

  Murky began stomping around the campfire, saying, “RRRgrrrs! RRRgrrrs!”

  And half a second before the kaldorei translated, Aram finally understood.

  “Ogres,” Thalyss and Aram said in unison.

  Makasa’s scowl vanished. She and Aram exchanged a glance, as both thought of the ogre Throgg, who had cut down so many of their crew before crippling the ship by cutting down Wavestrider’s mainmast.

  “It was an entire ogre clan. He calls it …”

  “GRRundee klun RRRgrrrs,” Murky repeated, before ranting angrily and rapidly, spittle flying as he spoke.

  “I think he means the Gordunni clan of ogres. He says they … well. He says something rather impolite about them, actually. But the gist is they have been raiding the coastline for years. Taking murlocs and others. But they had never taken an entire village before.”

  “What do they do with their captives?” Aram asked.

  “Did he find any bodies?” Makasa demanded.

  Thalyss and Aram stared at her. The latter knew she wasn’t one to mince words, but he thought that was fairly insensitive even for her.

  But Murky didn’t seem troubled by it; he simply shrugged. “Nk.”

  He went on, and the druid did, too. “No bodies. No sign of his people at all. The ogres always disappear back into the mountains with their prey. It has been a month since the raid, and Murky has not seen anyone from his village since.”

  Makasa stood. “How often were these raids?”

  Thalyss looked to Murky, who muttered, “Fflflk.”

  “Fflflk flk?” Thalyss asked, trying to clarify.

  “Flk flk.”

  Thalyss scrunched his brow in thought. He said, “Murlocs do not mark time the way we do. So his answer is, shall we say … vague. If I were to guess, I would say the raids came every couple of months.”

  “Every couple of months along the coast?” asked Makasa.

  “Yes.”

  “Then raiding parties here in the low hills, closer to the ogres’ mountains, could come more frequently. We need to maintain a watch.”

  “He did try to tell us last night,” Aram said.

  She nodded. “I suppose he did.”

  Thalyss rose and stretched. “I will take the first watch. I do not mind.”

  Makasa stared the night elf down. Finally, she said, “No, I’m awake now. You rest.”

  The druid smiled and shrugged and said to Aram, “I do not believe I have quite earned the trust of your friend.”

  He had made no attempt to lower his voice. So Aram didn’t, either. “Given what we’ve been through, she has good cause to be cautious.”

  “And you do not?”

  “I do.” He looked at Makasa; they nodded at each other. “But I have her to watch my back.”

  “And do you not watch hers?”

  “Yes. But she’s much better at it.”

  “He’s learning,” Makasa said, which was just about the closest thing to praise he’d ever received from Wavestrider’s second mate. “All of you can rest. I have the watch.”

  Aram pocketed his sketchbook and pencil. Murky curled up by the fire. Thalyss, still smiling, addressed Makasa: “You keep your watch; I shall keep mine. I do not sleep on beautiful nights such as this. In fact, I have not slept on any night in the wild for over nine thousand years.”

  Aram gulped. “Nine … thousand … years …”

  “Nine thousand and thirteen, to be precise. There was one drunken night near Skypeak, or else it would easily be ten thousand.”

  Murky was already snoring, but Aram’s eyes widened in stunned amazement as Thalyss began to transform before him and Makasa. Only his antlers and his silver eyes remained the same. He bent fully over as his robes glowed briefly, then vanished, and his arms became forelegs and his hands and feet hooves. His ice-colored hair actually shortened, turning into ice-colored fur, which grew rapidly, progressing down over his entire frame—now covered with strange rune-like markings. Last of all, his face stretched into the snout of a great stag.

  With jaws hanging slack, Aram and Makasa watched the beast leap away, following his swift progress under the light of a nearly full moon, until, finally, the stag—the kaldorei—vanished into the dark night.

  Makasa roused Aram with considerably more gentleness than she had ever done aboard Wavestrider.

  She whispered, “Draw your cutlass. Take the watch. It’ll be morning in a couple of hours. If the elf comes back before then, wake me. If you see or hear anything—besides that murloc snoring—wake me.”

  He nodded. She nodded back. “Keep your eyes and ears open,” she said. Then, after laying down her harpoon and sword within easy reach on either side of her, she turned her back to the dying fire, laid her head on her shield, and closed her eyes.

  As ordered, Aram stood and drew his sword. He flapped his arms about for warmth. Padding softly, he circled the campfire a few hundred times. And he stayed on the alert.

  Finally, the first glimmer of light appeared in the east, heralding sunrise. That same sun would already be up in Lakeshire. By now, Robb was feeding the forge, and Ceya was preparing breakfast, maybe sending Soot to wake Robertson and Selya.

  Makasa slept on. Aram had never known her to sleep past dawn. He wondered if this slumber was an indication she felt secure under his watch, an indication she was beginning to trust him more. He decided it was more likely an indication she was exhausted.

  As he regarded her, something nudged his shoulder from behind. He was so startled, he nearly jumped into the cold firepit. But when he turned to look, it was the stag. The stag with something in his mouth. Aram, sword still out, approached with caution. It was a book. It was—

  Aram slapped his back pocket, but his sketchbook wasn’t there. The huge blasted beast had approached in what was nearly broad daylight and picked Aram’s pocket, while he had stood there, staring at Makasa. The stag reached his head forward. Aram carefully took the sketchbook with his free hand. Then the stag struck an intentionally comic noble pose.

  Aram glanced back at Makasa. She had told him to wake her if the elf came back before morning. But strictly speaking, it was already morning, and this was the stag, not the elf. Plus Makasa was clearly so tired …

  Murky crunching on a fresh carrot finally woke Makasa.

  Though Thalyss had reverted to his two-legged form, Aram was putting the finishing touches on his sket
ch of the stag.

  Makasa was silently furious, glaring reproachful daggers that clearly spoke, I trusted you. He felt ashamed. He had betrayed her trust—and just for the artistic satisfaction of drawing the shapeshifter as a buck.

  His eyes expressed his regret, but she wasn’t ready to forgive him—or herself.

  The druid handed Aram a carrot. Then he reached out with one for Makasa. She waved it off. He said, “Be angry if you must, but do not be foolishly stubborn. You need sustenance.”

  Aram found himself saying, “You need to feed your forge.”

  She turned her back on him—but took the carrot.

  The night elf then reached into his pack. It seemed empty or nearly so. He pulled out one last carrot and snapped off the tip in his mouth. Crunching away, he said, “Where are you headed? I am en route to Gadgetzan, myself.”

  Aram said, “So are we,” before Makasa could stop him.

  “Well, then,” Thalyss said. “Suppose we make up a party?”

  Makasa glowered, but it was hard to take her seriously while she munched on the carrot.

  Aram shrugged at her. “Safety in numbers?”

  She said nothing, which was as close to an acquiescence as Aram thought they were likely to get.

  Murky said, “Murky nk mlggrm mga. Murky mga mmgr mmmm frunds.”

  Thalyss translated: “He says he has nowhere to go, so he will travel with his good friends.”

  “Fine,” Makasa said coldly. She took another bite.

  They broke camp.

  Hiking out of the gorge in single file—with Thalyss leading, followed by Murky, Aram, and Makasa—they reached the ridge, which began to turn southeast again.

  To confirm this, Aram pulled the compass out from beneath his shirt. Sure enough, their path and the needle were now pointing in the same direction. So either the device was truly sending Aram home—or it was just permanently broken. Aram preferred to believe the former. He tucked it back in under his shirt and looked up. His eyes met Thalyss’s, who was looking back over his shoulder, studying the boy. The night elf’s tongue snuck out and tapped his upper lip twice. Then Thalyss nodded to himself and turned away.

  Dark clouds gathered above them.

  And the troll watched them from below.

  “Why do we wait?” demanded Ssarbik.

  “We wait for confirmation,” rumbled Malus.

  “You have it, mon,” Zathra said, joining them in the clearing. “Da human boy has da compass ’round his neck.”

  “There,” said Ssarbik. “You have your ansswer. What new exxcusse will you uzze to delay ussss?”

  Malus ignored the arakkoa. “Who’s with him, Zathra? Be specific.”

  “It be as Throgg said. Dere be da tall dark-skinned human girl from Thorne’s ship.”

  “A good fighter, that one,” whispered Valdread cheerfully.

  “And the puny murloc? Is he still with them?” asked the ogre, while fastening a pike to his wrist.

  “Ya, brudda. Da boy seems particularly fond a da creature.” The troll stroked her armor. “Be treatin’ him like a pet.”

  “Interesting,” Malus said, stroking his chin.

  “And dey be with a night elf, a druid.”

  “They gather alliezz azz they go!” Ssarbik hissed furiously. “Our possition weakenzz while you wasste time!”

  Malus still ignored him. “A shifter then?”

  “Ya, mon,” she confirmed.

  “The stag?” asked Throgg, who had earlier taken his own turn observing them.

  “Ya, brudda. One and da same.”

  “And what other magics does this elf possess?” Malus said.

  “None dat I seen, but …” She let the implications hang.

  “Fear not the magicss of druidzz! There izz nothing a night elf may sssummon that I cannot counter! But the compassss …”

  Finally, Malus turned to the arakkoa. “The compass will be ours, sorcerer. And this is how …”

  The day waned. For the most part, their path sloped upward, sometimes steeply. Thalyss was very sure of foot, and Murky’s webbed, clawed feet seemed to suck onto the rocky terrain and pop free with each step. Makasa also seemed to have no difficulties, but Aram was a bit less sound. He nearly stumbled once—a bit too close to the edge of the river gorge, which was now a good hundred feet deep, at least—but Makasa steadied him. Though she hadn’t quite forgiven him yet, she was still his big sister and protector. Aram knew those things weren’t mutually exclusive.

  Thalyss had an actual canteen, and he shared its contents with the others. Makasa seemed reluctant. Aram wondered if her hesitancy was because she feared the druid had put something in the water. But he ultimately came to the conclusion that Makasa simply didn’t like being beholden to, well, anyone—especially not a stranger.

  For his part, however, Aram was glad for Thalyss’s company. Murky’s, too, for that matter. Both were considerably more talkative than Makasa and made the long walk less of a chore. Of course, Aram knew the conversation was another source of irritation for Makasa. More than once, she had told them to hold it down, concerned they were making themselves targets for any nearby marauding ogre clans. But they were already in plain sight, walking along the ridgeline. If the Gordunni ogres were searching for targets, the four travelers weren’t exactly hard to find. It was probably for this reason that Makasa had given up trying to silence her companions, but that had done little to quell her annoyance.

  Thalyss did most of the talking, either on his own initiative or by translating for a similarly chatty Murky. Thalyss pointed out lichens and moss and elucidated which were healthful and which were mildly or thoroughly poisonous. His sharp gray eyes picked out raptors at some distance. He spoke of their nesting and hunting habits. Aram thought that Charnas of Gadgetzan would enjoy conversing with Thalyss. For that matter, so would Greydon Thorne. Like Aram’s father, the night elf was interested in everything and everyone. He even attempted to get Makasa to talk, to tell her story. He met with no success at all, but that hardly damaged his cheerful mien.

  With Aram, the night elf had better luck. Aram talked of Lakeshire and the forge, of his brother and sister and dog, of his mother and stepfather. As much as possible, he avoided speaking of Greydon or the ship, of the attack and their reason for being stranded as they were in Feralas. But Thalyss didn’t press those points, and seemed perfectly satisfied hearing about the flora and fauna surrounding Lake Everstill or the fish Murky’s uncle netted along the Forgotten Coast.

  It occurred to Aram that despite the quantity of verbiage constantly emerging from the kaldorei’s mouth, Thalyss actually revealed almost nothing about himself. If Aram were inclined to suspicion as Makasa was …

  Almost for her sake, he asked, “What is your business in Gadgetzan?”

  “There is a druid tender there, an old friend, part of the Cenarion Circle. I need to consult with her on … druidic matters. Oh, and I have a gift for her, as well. Just a little thing. But I think she will be quite pleased.”

  “You sound like you’re going courting,” Aram said.

  Thalyss laughed. “Oh, she is a few centuries too young for me, I would wager. Though I would not mind …” He seemed to get lost in such thoughts for a moment—and Aram briefly found himself thinking of the lost Duan Phen—but the night elf soon laughed himself out of his musings. He said, “And what awaits you and Makasa in Gadgetzan, my young friend?”

  “Hopefully, a ship to the Eastern Kingdoms. A ship home.”

  Thalyss turned back to look at Makasa and asked, “Do you make your home in the east, too?”

  She said nothing, at first. For some reason, Aram thought it likely that the night elf already knew she was from Booty Bay in the Eastern Kingdoms.

  Finally, Makasa said, “My home is aboard Wavestrider. Once the boy is safe, I will return to it.”

  Thalyss raised an eyebrow. “Even if she is at the bottom of the sea?”

  “Even if,” she said without hesitation.


  Aram looked back at her. She met his glance. “Even if,” she repeated quietly.

  Thalyss stopped, so Murky stopped, and Aram, who was still looking back over his shoulder at Makasa, tripped over the murloc, landing painfully, shoulder against rock.

  Murky said, “Urum mmmr?”

  “I’m fine,” Aram said, chagrined. The others watched him lurch to his feet, rubbing his shoulder.

  Thalyss said, “There is a switchback trail here back down to the river.” He held out a hand. It was starting to drizzle. “There is even some cover below, a ledge, which could come in handy with a storm brewing.”

  “And if the river floods?” asked Makasa.

  “Oh, well, in that case … we would all drown. Except Murky, I suppose. But we are almost out of water. And there is no cover up here at all. Not from rain … or ogres.”

  Makasa lowered her head in defeat. She was losing control, had lost command of their travels. She couldn’t fault the night elf’s logic, but Aram knew she didn’t like depending on it.

  They all followed Thalyss down the trail.

  It was treacherous. The more so, as the rain began to make the rocky path slick. Aram’s shoulder ached, as did his feet, his calves, and even his head. If and when he did get back to Lakeshire, he’d sleep for a fortnight.

  Finally, they reached the bottom and made camp against the wall of the gorge, beneath the ledge of rock Thalyss had promised. There was no wood for a fire. And no food. But at least the river enabled them to slake their thirst.

  After drinking his fill, Murky pulled out his nets and said, “Murky mgrrrrl mmm flllurlok.”

  Thalyss said, “He is offering to use his nets to fish for our supper.”

  “No!” Makasa and Aram said at once. Murky’s shoulders sank.

  Makasa hefted her harpoon. “I’ll try to hunt. Though given that the ogres have all but left this place a barren wasteland, I don’t hold out much hope.”

  “That is quite unnecessary,” Thalyss said. “I will procure our meal.”

  Aram tilted his head to regard the night elf. “You don’t mean to say you still have supplies in your pack after last night.”