Once out of the boat, she slipped off her hood, revealing bright golden hair and a smile equally as bright.
“Thrall,” Jaina Proudmoore said warmly. “Someday we shall meet under better circumstances.”
“Ancestors willing, that day will not be long in coming,” Thrall rumbled, his voice deep and affectionate. He slipped off his own hood, revealing a strong, bearded, orcish face and eyes as blue as her own.
Jaina squeezed his hand and then released it, turning to his companion, an older orc with white hair pulled back in a topknot and a sparse beard. “Eitrigg,” she said, and dropped a small curtsey.
“Lady Jaina.” His voice was cooler than Thrall’s, but still kind. With a nod, he moved slightly away to higher ground, to keep watch while his warchief and the human sorceress spoke.
Jaina turned back to Thrall, her brow furrowing. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me here. In light of … recent events, I thought a meeting site other than our usual one at Razor Hill would be a good idea. Word has reached Stormwind of the … incident in Ashenvale.”
Thrall grimaced and ground his teeth. “Word has reached me of the incident in Ashenvale.” His voice simmered with barely contained anger.
Jaina let herself smile. “I knew that you couldn’t possibly be behind it. That the rumors you were involved weren’t true.”
“Of course they’re not true!” Thrall spat the words. “I would never condone such barbarity. And if I make a treaty with the Alliance, I intend to see that it is kept.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “Still—I cannot lie. Orgrimmar, the Barrens—they are in desperate need of supplies. And there are plenty of both to be had in Ashenvale.”
“But that’s not the way to get them,” Jaina said.
“I know this,” Thrall snapped, then added more gently, “but others apparently do not understand such—subtleties. Jaina, I did not authorize that incursion, and I am furious at the level of brutality displayed toward the Sentinels. I deeply regret the violation of the treaty. But the results have proven … very popular.”
“Popular?” Jaina’s eyes widened. “I know some of the Horde have bloodthirsty natures, but—I confess I had thought better of them as a whole. I had thought you—”
“I have done what I thought best,” Thrall said, then added under his breath, “though now sometimes I question.” More loudly, he said, “We have a violent history, Jaina. And the more fate forces us toward simply surviving, the closer to the bone we must pare.”
“Have you received Varian’s courier?”
The grimace deepened. “I have.” They both knew what the courier’s letter had said. Varian had been very controlled in the missive—for him. He had demanded that Thrall issue a formal apology, reaffirm his dedication to the treaty, denounce the actions, and turn over those responsible to Alliance justice. Varian would then agree to overlook the “blatant violation to a treaty designed to promote peace and cooperation between our two peoples.”
“What are you going to do? Do you know who did it?”
“I do not have proof, but I have my suspicions. I cannot approve of the action.”
“Well, of course you can’t,” Jaina said, looking at him uncertainly. “Thrall, what’s wrong?”
He sighed. “I cannot approve of it,” he repeated, “but I will not do as Varian demands.”
She stared at him for a moment, mouth slightly open in shock. “What do you mean? Varian believes you deliberately broke the treaty. His request wasn’t unreasonable, and he will have the perfect excuse to escalate the situation. We could be looking at outright war!”
He held up a large green hand. “Please. Listen to me. I will send a letter to Varian, stating that I did not condone the incursion. I will seek out those responsible. I’ve no desire for war. But I cannot apologize for the violence, nor will I turn over any suspects to the Alliance. They are Horde. They will be judged by Horde. To give them to Varian—no. It is a betrayal of my people’s trust on far too many levels. And frankly … it is wrong. Varian would never stand for such a request from me, nor should he.”
“Thrall, if you didn’t give the order, then you’re not responsible, and—”
“But I am responsible. I lead my people. It is one thing to rebuke my people for violating a law. It is another to appear to attack their sense of self. Their very identity. You do not understand how the Horde thinks, Jaina,” Thrall said quietly. “That is one thing my unique upbringing granted me. To understand how things are perceived from both sides. My people hunger, they thirst for clean water, they must have wood for housing. They believe they were wronged when the night elves closed the trade routes. They see this unwillingness to fill basic needs as a brutal act—and someone, somewhere, decided to retaliate in kind.”
“Slaughtering night elves and removing their skins is in-kind retaliation for closed trade?” Her voice rose.
“Closed trade permits children to starve, to be exposed to the elements, to become sick. The logic … I can follow it. And so can others. If I were to condemn this attack openly, when it successfully provided something so desperately needed—it would seem as though I am condemning that need. I would look weak, and believe me, there are plenty who would like to take advantage of such a moment of perceived vulnerability. It is a treacherous path I walk, my friend. I must rebuke them—but only to a point. I will apologize for the violation of a treaty, but not for the theft, or even the murders or how they were performed.”
“I am—disappointed that you choose this path, Thrall,” Jaina said, being completely honest.
“Your opinion matters to me. It always does. Nonetheless, I will not grovel before Varian, nor play down the desperate survival needs of my people.”
Jaina was silent for a long moment, her arms folded tight across her chest, looking down at the ground. “I think I understand,” she replied finally, the words coming slowly, bitterly. “Light, how I hate to say that. But one thing you need to understand is how very badly the Wrath Gate incident harmed your relationship with the Alliance. We lost almost five thousand at the Wrath Gate alone, Thrall. And in particular, the loss of Highlord Bolvar Fordragon was personally felt by so very many.”
“As was the loss of Saurfang the Younger,” Thrall said. “The best and brightest sliced down in his prime, then raised to … well. Do not think the Horde escaped lightly from this conflict.”
“Oh, I don’t. But—it is hard to bear. Especially when so many of the fallen died at Horde hands and not Scourge.”
“Putress was not of the Horde!” Thrall growled.
“It’s a distinction that not a lot of people make. And even now, there are doubts. You know that.”
Thrall nodded, growling a little in the back of his throat. Jaina knew it was not directed at her but at Putress and the rest of those who had been behind the attack. Those who had claimed allegiance to the Horde while plotting behind its back.
“First that, and now this. It’s going to be hard for the Alliance leadership to trust you,” Jaina continued. “A lot of people, Varian included, felt that you didn’t do enough to address the situation after it happened. Publicly decrying all aspects of this incursion would go a long way to mending the Alliance’s image of you and the Horde both. And let’s face it—it wasn’t a little scuffle. This was horrific.”
“It was. And turning over suspected criminals to Alliance justice would be a horror that my people would never recover from. It would shame them, and I will never do that. They would seek to overthrow me, and they would be right in doing so.”
She regarded him evenly. “Thrall, I don’t think you fully appreciate the direness of the situation. It’s not going to do much good for you to tacitly approve something you deplore if it brings war upon the Horde. And Varian—”
“Varian is a hothead,” Thrall snapped.
“So is Garrosh.”
Thrall suddenly chuckled. “Those two are more alike than they know.”
“Well, their hotheaded similarities may end up ge
tting more people killed, far too soon after Northrend.”
“You know I do not wish war,” Thrall said. “I led my people here to avoid senseless conflict. But truth be told, from what you have said, it does not sound like Varian is inclined to listen to me anyway. He would not believe me even if I did publicly denounce the attack. Would he?”
She did not answer, her brow furrowing deeper in her unhappiness. “I … I would encourage him to.”
Thrall smiled sadly and gently dropped a huge hand on her narrow shoulder. “I will condemn the breaking of the Horde’s word … but nothing more.” He looked around at the dismal swamp environment in which they stood.
“Durotar was the place I chose to give my people a fresh start. Medivh told me to bring them here, and I chose to listen to him, though I knew nothing of this place. When we arrived, I saw it to be a harsh land, not verdant like the Eastern Kingdoms. Even places with water, such as this, are difficult in which to dwell. I chose to remain here despite that, to give my people a chance to pit their spirits against the land. Their spirits are still mighty, but the land …” He shook his head. “I think Durotar has given all it can. I must tend to it, to my people.”
Jaina’s eyes searched his. She brought her hand up to brush a lock of golden hair out of her eyes, a girlish gesture, but her expression and words were those of a leader. “I understand that the Horde works differently than the Alliance, Thrall, but—if you can find a way to do what I urge you to, you will find a path open to you that would otherwise not be.”
“There are many paths open to us at all times, Jaina,” Thrall said. “As leaders of those who trust us, we owe it to them to examine every one.”
She extended her hands to him, and he clasped them gently. “Then I shall just have to hope that the Light guides you, Thrall.”
“And I hope your ancestors watch over and protect you and yours, Jaina Proudmoore.”
She smiled up at him warmly, as another fair-haired human girl had in the not-so-distant past, then Jaina returned to her small boat. Still, Thrall thought as he gave the dinghy a good shove, he saw a little furrow in her forehead that told him she was still troubled.
So was he.
He folded his arms and watched the water take her back toward her home. Eitrigg came quietly down to join his warchief.
“It is a pity,” Eitrigg said, apropos of apparently nothing.
“What is?” asked Thrall.
“That she is not an orc,” Eitrigg said. “Strong and smart and greathearted. A leader all on her own. She would bear strong sons and brave daughters. A fine mate she could make someone someday, if she so chose. A pity she is not an orc, and so cannot be yours.”
Thrall couldn’t help it. He threw back his head and laughed loudly, startling some crows resting in a nearby tree into cawing angrily and flapping away in a flurry of black wings to a quieter perch.
“We are coming off wars with the Lich King and nightmares themselves,” Thrall said. “Our people are starving, thirsting, and reverting to barbarism. The king of Stormwind thinks me a brute, and the elements turn deaf ears to my pleas for understanding. And you speak of mates and children?”
The old orc was completely unruffled. “What better time? Thrall, everything is unsettled now. Including your place as warchief of the Horde. You have no mate, no child, no one to carry on your blood if you were suddenly to join the ancestors. You have not even seemed interested in such a thing.”
Thrall growled, “I have had more on my mind than dalliances and getting a mate with child,” he said.
“As I say … those reasons are precisely why that is so important. Too—there is a comfort and a clarity to be found in the arms of one’s true mate that can be found nowhere else. The heart never soars as high as when listening to the laughter of one’s children. These are things you have put aside for perhaps too long—things that I have known, though they were taken from me. I would not trade that knowing for anything else in this or any other life.”
“I need no lecture,” Thrall grumbled.
Eitrigg shrugged. “Perhaps that is true. Perhaps it is you who needs to speak, not I. Thrall, you are troubled. I am old, and I have learned much. And one of those things I have learned is how to listen.”
He slogged into the water, his wolf following. Thrall stood for a moment, then followed. When they reached the shore, both orcs swung onto the backs of their wolf mounts and said nothing more. They rode in silence for a while, and Thrall collected his thoughts.
There was something he had not shared with anyone, not even Eitrigg. He might have shared it with Drek’Thar, had that shaman still been in possession of his faculties. As it was, though, Thrall had kept it to himself, a cold knot of a fearful secret. Inwardly, he was at war with himself.
At last, after they had ridden for some time, he spoke. “You may understand after all, Eitrigg. You, too, have had interaction with humans that has been more than slaughter. I straddle two worlds. I was raised by humans, but born an orc, and I have gleaned strength from both. I know both. That knowledge was power, once. I can say without boasting that it made me a unique leader, with unique skills, able to work with two sides at a time when unity had been utterly vital to the survival of all of Azeroth.
“My heritage served me, and through my leadership, the Horde, very well then. But … I cannot help but wonder … does it still serve them now?”
Eitrigg kept his eyes on the road before him and merely grunted, indicating that Thrall should continue.
“I want to care for my people, provide for them, keep them safe so that they can turn their attention to their families and rituals.” Thrall smiled a little. “To finding mates and getting children. To the things all thinking beings have a right to. To not have to constantly see their parents or children going off to war and never returning. And those who still spoil for battle do not see what I do—the Horde population now consists largely of children and elders. A whole generation almost entirely lost.”
He sensed the weariness in his voice, and Eitrigg obviously did, too, for he said, “You sound … soul sick, my friend. It is not like you to so doubt yourself, or to fall so far into despair.”
Thrall sighed. “It seems most of my thoughts are dark these days. The betrayal in Northrend—Jaina cannot imagine how stunned, how shocked I was. It took all my skill to keep the Horde from splintering afterward. These new fighters—they have cut their warrior’s tusks on slaughtering undead, and that is a very different thing from attacking a living, breathing foe, who has family and friends, who laughs and cries. It is easy for them to become inured to violence, and harder for me to temper them with arguments that call for understanding and perhaps even compassion.”
Eitrigg nodded. “I once walked away from the Horde because I grew sickened by their love of violence. I see what you see, Thrall, and I, too, worry that history will repeat itself.”
They had emerged from the shadows of the swamplands and onto the road heading north. Heat from the baking sun seared them. Thrall glanced around at the place so aptly named the Barrens. It was drier than ever, browner than ever, and he saw few signs of life. The oases, the salvation of the Barrens, had begun drying up as mysteriously as they had appeared.
“I cannot recall the last time I felt rain on my face in Durotar,” Thrall said. “The silence of the elements at this time when something is clearly so very wrong …” He shook his head. “I remember the awe and joy with which Drek’Thar pronounced me a shaman. And yet, I hear nothing.”
“Perhaps their voices are being drowned out by these others you are listening to,” Eitrigg offered. “Sometimes, in order to solve many problems, you must focus on only one for a time.”
Thrall considered the words. They struck him as wisdom. So much could be eased if he understood what was wrong with this land and was able to help heal it. His people would eat, would have shelter again. They would not feel the need to take from those who already had bitterness and hate in their hearts. Tensions would be
eased between the Horde and the Alliance. And maybe then Thrall could focus on, as Eitrigg had said, his own legacy, his own peace and contentment.
And he knew exactly where to go to listen.
“I have been to the land of my father only once,” he told the elder orc. “I wonder if now another journey is in order. Draenor was a world that saw more than its fair share of elemental pain and violence. What it is now—Outland—could still remember that. My grandmother, Geyah, is a powerful shaman. She could guide me as I attempt to listen to the wounded elements there. And perhaps they have some knowledge bought from the pain of their own world that could help ease Azeroth.”
Eitrigg grunted, but Thrall knew him well enough to know the gleam in the other’s eyes was that of approval.
“Sooner you do that, sooner you’ll have a little one to dandle on your knee,” he said. “When do you leave?”
Thrall, his heart lightened by the decision, laughed.
NINE
Jaina rowed steadily, deep in thought. Something was troubling Thrall. Something more than the current situation. He was an intelligent, capable leader, with a great heart as well as a great mind. But Jaina was convinced that this tacit acceptance of the graphically violent attack in Ashenvale would lead to nothing positive. He might keep the goodwill of his people, but he would lose that of the Alliance—well, what little was left, anyway. She had to hope that he would find out who was behind it and deal with them swiftly. A second occurrence would be disastrous.
She docked, secured the little dinghy, and walked toward the keep, lost in thought. She was worried about Thrall and his relationship to the Horde. In all the time she had known him, he had never seemed so … uncertain about his control over it. She had been stunned at the conclusions he had reached about how to proceed. Thrall would never in his heart condone such unnecessary violence. And, therefore, how could he publicly?
She smiled perfunctorily at the guards and ascended the tower that housed her private quarters. And Varian—he was still dealing, poorly, it was clear, with the integration of his separated selves. It would have been better if he had been granted some period of calm, but such was not fate’s decree. The Alliance had been plunged into war with a man—if you could still call him that—who had once been her childhood friend, and who had slaughtered tens of thousands. And what of young Anduin? He was a capable youth, perceptive and smart. But he wanted a father who could—well, father him.
The Shattering Page 8
