"You two have wandered far from home, and the sun settles to sleep," he said. "Which clan do you hail from?"
"I am Durotan. of the Frostwolf clan, and this is Orgrim of the Blackrock clan."
The draenei looked startled. "Two different clans? Were you challenging one another, that you wandered so far from your respective homes?"
Durotan and Orgrim exchanged glances. "Yes . . . and no," Durotan said. "We are friends."
The draenei's eyes widened. "Friends . . . from two different clans?"
Orgrim nodded. "Yes." He added, somewhat defensively, "It is not traditional, but it is not forbidden."
The draenei nodded, but he still looked surprised. He regarded both of them for a moment, then turned to two of his companions and murmured something in his native tongue. Durotan thought the language profoundly musical, like the sound of a stream meandering over stones, or a bird's call. The other two draenei listened intently, then nodded. One took a waterskin from his belt, drank deeply, and then began to run with a gait nearly as smooth and swift as a talbuk's, heading southwest where the Frostwolf lands were. The second raced toward the cast, to the Blackrock clan.
The draenei who had been speaking with them turned. "They will notify your families that you are well and safe. You will return home tomorrow. In the meantime, I am happy to offer you the hospitality of the draenei. My name is Restalaan. I am the leader of the guards of Telmor, the town with which both your clans regularly trade. I regret to say I do not remember cither of you, but then, the orc younglings seem a bit leery of us when We come to your territory."
Orgrim bristled. "I am afraid of no one and nothing."
Restalaan smiled a bit. "You ran from the ogre."
Orgrim's brown face darkened and his eyes glinted angrily. Durotan lowered his head slightly. As he had feared, Restalaan and the others had borne witness to their shame, and now they would be mocked.
"That," Restalaan continued calmly, as if he had not noticed the effect his words had had on the two. "is wisdom. If you had not fled, we would be sending two corpses home to your families tomorrow instead of two healthy, strong orc youths. There is no shame in fear, Orgrim and Durotan. Only in letting fear prevent you from doing the right thing. And in your case, running was definitely the right thing."
Durotan stuck out his chin. "One day, we will be strong and our full size. Then, it will be the ogres who fear us."
Restalaan turned a mild face to him, and to Durotan's surprise, he nodded. "I completely agree," he said. "Ores are powerful hunters."
Orgrim narrowed his eyes, looking for the taunt, but there was none.
"Come," Restalaan said. "There are dangers in the Terokkar forest at night that not even the guards of Telmor would willingly face. Let us go."
Though exhausted, Durotan found the strength to keep up a steady running pace; he would not twice be shamed in one day. They ran for some time, and the sun eventually dipped below the horizon in a glorious display of crimson, gold, and finally purple. He glanced up now and then, trying not to appear rude, but curious indeed at seeing these strangers at more than several yards' distance. He kept waiting for the signs of a city—roads made by countless feet traveling the same path, fire cairns lighting a path, the shadows of buildings against the darkening sky. He
saw nothing. And as they continued, he felt a quick stab of fear.
What if the draenei were not planning to help him and Orgrim after all? What if they were going to capture them, to hold them for ransom? What if they were going to do something worse—sacrifice them to some dark god, or—
"Here we are," Restalaan said. He dismounted and knelt on the ground, moving aside some leaves and pine needles. Orgrim and Durotan exchanged confused glances. They were still in the middle of a forest. No city, no roads, nothing at all. Both ores gathered themselves. They were severely outnumbered, but they would not die without a fight.
Still kneeling on the pine-needle carpet, Restalaan uncovered a beautiful green crystal. It had been carefully hidden beneath the everyday detritus of the forest. Durotan stared, enraptured at the beauty of the thing. It would fit into die palm of his hand, and he ached to touch it, to feel that smoothness, that strange pulsing, against his skin. Somehow he knew it would exude a calm the likes of which he had never experienced. Restalaan uttered a string of syllables that branded themselves on Durotan's brain.
"Kehla men samir, solay amaakahl."
The forest began to shimmer as if it were a reflection caught by a once-still lake into which a stone had been tossed. Despite himself, Durotan gasped. The shimmering increased, and then suddenly there was no forest, no trees, only a large, paved road that led up the side of the mountains to a place that contained images Durotan had never even conceived.
"We are in the heart of ogre country, though it was not so when die city was built so long ago," Restalaan said, rising. "If the ogres cannot see us, they cannot attack us."
Durotan found his tongue. "But. .. how?"
"A simple illusion, nothing more. A trick of . . . the light."
There was something in the way he said this that made Durotan's skin prickle. Seeing the ore's confused expression, Restalaan continued. "The eye cannot always be trusted. We think what we see is always real, that the light always reveals what is there the same way at all times. But light and shadow can be manipulated, directed, by those that understand it. In the speaking of these words and the touching of the crystal, I have altered how the light falls on the rocks, the trees, the landscape. And so your eye perceives something entirely different from what you thought was there."
Durotan knew he still stared stupidly. Restalaan chuckled slightly. "Come, my new friends. Come where none of your people have ever been before. Walk down the roads of my home."
THREE
Drek'Thar had not seen the cities of the draenei when they were at peace. He only saw them when ... well, I am getting ahead of myself. But he told me that my father had walked the shining roads of the draenei, had eaten their food, slept in their buildings, spoken with them fairly. Had caught a glimpse of a world so unlike our own that even today, it is hard to wrap one's mind around it. Even the lands of the kaldorei are not so alien to me as what I have learned of the draenei. Drek 'Thar said that Durotan did not have the words to describe what he saw; perhaps today, living in this land that bears his name and seeing what I have seen, he would. Regret is a bitter taste...
Durotan couldn't move. It was as if the mysterious net of shining energy had flung itself about him as it had the ogre, and he was as helpless to resist. He stared, his mouth slightly open, trying to make sense of what his eyes showed him. The draenei city was glorious! Woven into the side of the mountain as if it had sprung from it, to Durotan's eyes it was a union of stone and metal, of nature and artifice. He did not know exactly what he was seeing, but he knew it to be harmonious. With its concealing spell dissolved, the city was revealed in its tranquil magnificence. Everything he saw drew the eye upward. Massive stone steps, wide and blunt at the base and tapering toward the top, led to spherical dwellings. One reminded Durotan of a snail shell; another, of a mushroom. The combination was striking. Bathed in the hues of the setting sun, the bold lines of the steps were softened, and the domes seemed even more invitingly rounded.
He turned to see a similar expression of awe on Orgrim's face, and then saw the slight smile curving Restalaan's blue lips.
"You are welcome here, Durotan and Orgrim," Restalaan said. The words seemed to break the spell, and Durotan moved forward awkwardly. The stone of the roads had been smoothed, by time or draenei hands, he could not say. As they drew closer, Durotan could see that the city continued up the mountain. The architectural pattern of wide, bold steps leading to a softly curved structure was repeated here. There were long roads, made of the same white stone that somehow did not seem to get dirty although at least ten generations of ores had lived and died since the draenei had arrived. Instead of the skins and horns of animals slain in the hun
t, the draenei seemingly utilized the gifts of the
earth. Gleaming gems were everywhere, and there was that curious overabundance of light brown metal unlike any Durotan had ever seen. The ores knew metal; they worked it to serve them. Durotan himself had helped in the hunt with axe and sword. But this .. .
"What is your city made of?" Orgrim asked. It was the first thing he had said since the two began their odd journey in the company of the draenei.
"Many things," Restalaan said amiably. They were passing through the gates now, and receiving curious, but not hostile, looks from the denizens of this place. "We are travelers, fairly new to your world."
"New?" Durotan said. "It was over two hundred summers ago that your people came here. We were not as We are now."
"No, you are not," Restalaan agreed smoothly. "We have watched the ores grow in strength and skill and talent. You have impressed us."
Durotan knew it was meant as a compliment, but somehow the comment stung. As if ... as if the draenei thought they were somehow better than the ores. The thought came and went, fleeting as a brush from a butterfly's wings. He kept looking around, and to his shame, wondered if that was not indeed the case. No orc dwelling was this ornate, this complicated. But then . . . the ores were not draenei. They did not need, or choose, to live like the draenei.
"To answer your question, Orgrim, when We arrived here, We utilized everything We had brought with us. I know your people build boats, to travel the rivers and lakes. Well, we came on a boat that could travel in the sky ... a boat that brought us here. It was made of metal and . . . other things. Once we realized that this was to be our new home, we took part of the boat and used it in our architecture,"
So that was the giant, muted, swirling metal that seemed at once to be made of copper and skin. Durotan's breath caught.
Beside him, Orgrim scowled.
"You lie! Metal cannot float!"
An orc would have growled and boxed Orgrim's cars—hard—for such insolence. The draenei merely chuckled.
"So one would think. But one would think that it would not be possible to summon the elements to fight an ogre if one did not know better."
"That is different," sniffed Orgrim. "That is magic."
"So is this, of a sort," Restalaan said. He beckoned to one of his men and said something in his native tongue. The other draenei nodded and hurried ahead.
"There is someone I would like you to meet, if he is not too busy," Restalaan said, then fell silent. Durotan had a thousand questions but did not dare voice them, fearing that he would make himself look foolish. Orgrim seemed to have accepted Restalaan's comment about magic, but both youths still craned their necks looking around.
They passed many draenei in the street, and once
saw a female who looked about their age. She was delicately built, but tall, and when Durotan met her gaze, she seemed startled. Then a soft smile curved her lips and she ducked her head shyly.
Durotan felt himself smiling in return. Without thinking, he said, "In our encampment you would find many children. Where are the draenei children?"
"We do not have many," Restalaan said. "Our people are very long-lived, and because of that we do not often have children."
"How long-lived?" asked Orgrim.
"Very," was all Restalaan would say. "Suffice it to say that I remember our arrival here."
Orgrim stared openly at their companion. Durotan wanted to elbow him, but he was too far away. He suddenly realized that the young-seeming female they had just seen was probably nowhere near his age after all. At that moment, the scout that Restalaan had dispatched returned and spoke quickly. Restalaan looked pleased at whatever the scout had to say, then turned, smiling, to the two ores.
"The one who brought us to this world, our prophet, Velen, is staying here for several days. I thought he might wish to see you. It is not often We get such visitors." Restalaan's smile widened. "I am very pleased to say that not only has Velen agreed to meet you, he has invited you to stay with him this evening. You are to dine with him and sleep in the magister's house. This is a very high honor indeed." Both boys were struck dumb. Dinner with the Prophet, the leader of all the draenei?
Durotan was beginning to think it might have been better if he had been squashed flat by the ogre's club.
They followed dutifully as Restalaan led them down the winding, climbing streets up through the foothills and to the large building that sat highest on the mountain. The steps, perfectly square and solid, seemed to go on forever, and Durotan's breath came quickly as they climbed. He reached the top and was regarding the snail-shell structure with interest when Restalaan said, "Look back."
Durotan and Orgrim obeyed, and Durotan's breath caught in his throat. Below them, spread out like jewels on a meadow, was the draenei city. The last bit of sunset painted them in flaming colors, then the sun settled over the horizon and all was bathed in shades of purple and gray. Lights came on in the houses, and Durotan thought of the stars in the sky settling on the earth.
"I do not mean to brag, but I am proud of my people and our city," Restalaan said. "We have worked hard here. We love Draenor. And I never thought to have the chance to share it with an ore. The ways of destiny are strange indeed."
As he said this, a deep, almost ancient sorrow seemed to settle on his strong blue features. He shook off the mood and smiled.
"Come in, and you will be attended to,"
Silent, shocked almost beyond the ability to speak, their young minds wide open to all the sights and sounds and smells of this thoroughly alien place, Durotan and Orgrim entered the magister's scat. They were shown into rooms that while ornate and beautiful made them feel oddly penned in. The curving walls, so attractive from the outside and no less lovely here, seemed to confine rather than embrace them. Fruits sat in bowls ready for consumption, strange clothes were set out for them to wear, and a tub of water so hot that it steamed sat in the middle of the room.
"That water is too hot to drink and is too much for steeping leaves," Durotan said.
"It is for bathing," the draenei replied.
"Bathing?”
"To wash the dirt from one's body," Restalaan said. Orgrim shot him a look, but Restalaan seemed to be quite serious.
"We do not bathe," Orgrim growled.
"We swim in the rivers in summer," Durotan said. "Perhaps this is similar."
"You do not need to do anything you feel uncomfortable with," said Restalaan. "The bath, the food, the clothes are here for your pleasure. Prophet Velen will expect to see you in an hour. I will come for you then. Is there anything you need?"
They shook their heads. Restalaan nodded and closed the door. Durotan turned to Orgrim.
"Do you think we are in danger?" Orgrim eyed the strange materials and the hot water. "No," he said. "But... I feel like I am in a cave. I would rather be in a tent."
"Me, too." Durotan went to the wall and tentatively touched the curving surface. It felt cool and smooth beneath his fingers; he realized that he had expected it to feel warm and ... somehow alive.
Durotan turned and pointed at the water. "Do you want to try it?"
"No," Orgrim said. Both ores started laughing, and both eventually splashed their faces and found the warm water to be more pleasant than anticipated. They ate the fruit, drank the water, and decided that the cloth vests laid out for their use were acceptable to wear in place of their soiled, sweat-stiff tunics, but that they would keep their leather breeches.
The time passed more swiftly than they anticipated, and dicy were engaged in a challenge to bend one of the metal legs of a chair when there came a soft knock on the door. They jumped guiltily; Orgrim had managed to twist the chair leg somewhat and it stood a bit crookcdlv now.
"The Prophet is ready to see you now." said Restalaan.
He is an Elder, was the first thing Durotan thought as his eyes met those of Prophet Velen.
Seeing the other draenei up close had been startling enough. To behold Velen was someth
ing else again.
The Draenei Prophet was half a head taller than the tallest of the city guards Durotan had seen, but not as powerful-seeming physically. His body, clad in soft, swirling, light tan robes, seemed less muscular than theirs. And his skin! It was a warm alabaster hue. His eyes, deep set and wise, glowed a brilliant blue, and were encircled by deeply etched wrinkles, speaking of one who was not just an Elder, but possibly even ancient. His silver hair did not flow down his back, as was the case with the others, but was ornately braided and looped, exposing his pale skull. His beard flowed like a silver wave almost to his waist.
Not Elder. Not even ancient, Durotan thought as those intense blue, glowing eyes settled upon him and seemed to bore into his very soul. Almost . . . outside of time altogether.
He thought about Restalaan's comment, diat he himself was over two hundred summers.
Velen was a good deal older than that.
"Welcome," Velen said in a mellow voice as he rose and inclined his head. The braids danced with the movement. "I am Velen. I am glad that my people found you today, though I doubt not that in a few years you would be more than capable of handling an ogre and even a gronn or two by yourselves."
Again, Durotan did not know how he knew this, but this was no idle compliment. Orgrim sensed it too, for he stood up even straightcr and met the draenei's eyes evenly. Velen waved them to sit and they did so. Durotan felt awkward and ungainly, sitting at the lavish tabic in the ornately carved chairs. When the food came out, he relaxed inwardly. Haunch of talbuk, roasted whitefcathers, large rounds of bread, and plates heaped high with vegetables—this was food he knew and understood. Somehow, he had expected something entirely different. But why? Their buildings and way of life might be vastly different from that of the orcs,but like the orcs,the draenei lived off what the land could provide. The preparation was slighdy unusual—the ores tended to cither boil dicir food or cook over an open flame, when they cooked at all; frequendy flesh was eaten raw—but overall, food was food, and this food was delicious.
Rise of the Horde Page 4
