Vol'jin: Shadows of the Horde

23

Anger flashed through Vol’jin at hearing his name on her lips. He stared at the man, who, though trussed up, hardly looked beaten or tortured enough to have given away his identity. Then shame for thinking he had done that followed mockingly. Tyrathan would not have betrayed me.

Vol’jin stabbed his glaive into the ground.

The Zandalari inclined her head in a salute. “I would be takin’ your word, Darkspear, dat you gonna cause no trouble, but since you’ve already caused trouble, I gonna be forced to bind your pets. You should be knowing I bear the pandaren no ill will, but not so my hosts.”

Vol’jin looked around. “I be seeing no one else.”

“Such be our intention. You gonna accompany me, and your luggage gonna be brought along behind.” She paused, her eyes tightening for the barest of moments. “You don’ recall me, do you?”

He studied her for long enough that she’d think he was making an effort. “I not gonna lie. I do not.”

“I didn’t expect you would. And thank you for not lying.” She led the way down to the outpost and around it. There, in the middle—along with a handful of Zandalari poking and prodding bodies, measuring bowshots with their eyes—were two tall, powerfully built figures. Vol’jin had seen their like before, in visions and nightmares.

“Your hosts.”

“The mogu. Rulers of Pandaria.” She smiled indulgently. “You do know dis was a trap, yes? Not for you, per se, but for your archer. He vexed me. Setting a trap for him was not difficult.”

“And you thought once you had him, you had me?”

“I had my hopes.”

They passed to the east, cutting across where the humans and Sister Quan-li would have gone. Vol’jin saw no signs of pursuit. “You’re letting the bait go?”

“If they can stay ahead of what I sent after them, certainly.” The Zandalari gave him a look. “You can’t imagine I would let dem escape. It would suggest weakness to the mogu, and they already believe us weak. If your companions get away, it matters little to me. I’d welcome it, actually. The stories dey tell gonna sow fear among the enemy. That’ll be more useful than some Amani army promising to hold our flank.”

Vol’jin said nothing, hiding the flicker of surprise at her mentioning Amani allies. “Even if they do escape, they not gonna be believed.”

“But it will make for a good tale, an Alliance nobleman rescued from trolls by Vol’jin. A Vol’jin returned from the grave, no less.” She led him over to where two grooms held the reins for sleek raptors. Beyond the saddle beasts stood two carts, both clearly of pandaren manufacture but with mushan to draw them.

She pulled herself into the saddle of the red raptor and waited for him to join her on the green-striped one. “Dat beast belonged to the officer you killed. Annoying I be finding him, hence my willingness to sacrifice him. Ride with me, Vol’jin. Feel what it be to race through this land.”

Her raptor leaped forward and shot away rapidly. His responded to heels dug into ribs and set off eagerly in pursuit. At the moment when she had suggested they race, he could think of nothing he wished to do less. As the wind played through his hair, and his body remembered how to shift his weight as the raptor sprinted, old joys rekindled. The speed and the ferocious power of the beast beneath him, coupled with the sense of the land, were intoxicating.

Vol’jin kicked his beast once more in the ribs. The raptor responded, knowing that was a promise of worse if it did not go faster. Claws shredded golden ground cover. Vol’jin leaned forward over the beast’s neck, laughing harshly, hoarsely, as he caught his hostess and passed her.

He raced on, giving the raptor its head. It knew where they were going, and Vol’jin didn’t care where. Just for that short time in the saddle, he forgot everything: his mission, the Horde, Garrosh, the monastery. With those burdens still back in the bloody dust of the Zandalari outpost, Vol’jin was able to breathe free. He couldn’t remember when it was that he’d last felt like that, only that it had been far too long ago.

“Dis way!”

Their course had been taking them toward Mogu’shan Palace, which was nearing the height of its nightly cycle. She reined her mount off to the east and down between two hills. Vol’jin followed, bringing his ride to an end at a long, low building with high-pitched roofs and wings that enclosed a courtyard in the back. He dismounted, tossing the reins to the groom who had taken the same from his hostess, then followed her through the front door.

Khal’ak clapped her hands loudly, and trolls scurried from doorways and halls, heads lowered. Gurubashi mostly, if the tattoos were correct, but clearly serving under a handful of Zandalari.

His hostess pointed at him. “This be Vol’jin of the Darkspears. If you be ignorant of who he be, I gonna break my fast with your heart at dawn. You gonna bathe him and then attire him appropriately.”

The foremost of the servants sniffed as she looked at Vol’jin. “He be Darkspear, mistress. He should wallow with pigs and steal clothes from a swineherd.”

Vol’jin’s hostess moved so fast and struck her so hard that the backhanded slap couldn’t have been avoided even if the servant had a week to prepare. “He be shadow hunter. He be revered of the loa. You gonna see to it dat he shines like a god. Tomorrow, when the sun reaches its zenith, if he does not make the mogu weep for his beauty and the Zandalari wail in envy, you all gonna feel my wrath. Go!”

Save for the insensible crone stretched out on the floor, the servants scattered. His hostess turned and smiled slightly. “I trust your pandaren be serving you more faithfully. There be times I think even men like your archer might be more suited to serving. We gonna discuss these things, and others, when you have completed your ablutions and be properly attired.”

Vol’jin, though he had no love lost for the Zandalari as a general rule, found her intriguing. “And then you gonna help me remember your name.”

“No, my dear Vol’jin.” Her smile broadened. “You have no chance of rememberin’ because you’ve never heard it. But later I gonna tell it to you and be giving you good cause never to forget.”

Vol’jin would have refused to go along with her having him cleaned up, save that her minions so clearly hated tending to his needs that it tortured them far more than it ever would him. For Zandalari and Gurubashi to wash him, trim his hair and nails, rub unguents into his hands and feet, and then dress him in a fine silken kilt with a raptor-leather belt, their torment had to be all but unendurable. To make matters worse, they were forced to grant him the honor of wearing a small dagger, a ceremonial one, in a sheath bound to his upper-left arm. Such was his right as a shadow hunter. As much as they might like to dismiss him as being from an ill-begotten and disobedient tribe of fallen mongrels, the lowest of them knew they never could have won the honors they now bestowed upon him.

The magic of the place also played on him, convincing him that, indeed, he was due honors and accolades. A small part of him welcomed his hostess’s attentions because he had earned consideration. The Gurubashi and Amani may have dismissed the Darkspear with a sneer, but when the Zandalari king Rastakhan had sought to unite all the trolls, Vol’jin had been summoned to represent the Darkspears. He had refused to join the other tribes, noting that the Horde was now his family, but the fact was that he’d still been invited.

Once he’d been prepared, a long-faced servant led him to the central courtyard. A fire blazed at its heart in a simple circle of stones. A small table with two golden goblets and a matching pitcher filled with dark wine stood beside it and back a bit. Two lounging mats had been placed between the table and fire, allowing easy access to refreshments.

She knelt on one mat, poking the fire with a stick, then stood as he entered. She’d changed from leather to silk, a darker blue that caught lighter tones from the Mogu’shan Palace display. A simple gold-linked belt gathered her sleeveless gown at the waist. It had been fashioned from coins minted throughout the known lands and in a variety of eras. The ends dangled as far down as her knees, and he assumed she would simply double-loop it when conquests added more links.

She pointed toward the wine with a hand. “I be offering you refreshment. You be choosing the cup. You pour. I gonna drink from whichever or both. I want you to be knowing I mean you no mischief or deception. You be my guest.”

Vol’jin nodded but kept the fire between them. “You pour and choose. You have done me this honor. I gonna trust you.”

She poured, but both cups remained untouched on the table. “I be Khal’ak, servant of Vilnak’dor. He be to King Rastakhan what you be to Thrall, and more. He sees to the pandaren situation. Though he be not wholly aware of it, he owes you a great debt.”

“How would that be?”

Khal’ak smiled. “Some history first. I served Vilnak’dor and he served our king when Rastakhan allowed Zul to propose all trolls be uniting under one banner. Of all the leaders dere, only you, only Vol’jin of the Darkspears, refused the offer to be joining. As you turned away and stalked off, you walked right past me. I watched you leave. After you’d gone from sight, I be spending a long time studying your footprints in the sand. I wondered which would erode first: Zul’s dreams or your footprints.”

She glanced down into the fire for a moment. “So I found myself surprised, dere at Zouchin, when one of my warriors be showing me a footprint I recognized so easily. By that time, of course, our spies within the Horde had passed on stories of your disappearance. The rumors about you do you great credit. Most of the Horde believes dat you perished performin’ a secret mission of ultimate importance for their benefit. You be widely mourned. And, yet, dere be those who claim you’ve been murdered.”

Vol’jin raised an eyebrow. “No one be considering that I have survived?”

Khal’ak picked up the goblets and approached, offering him equal choice. “There be lunatics who suppose that, and the odd shaman who be claiming you have ascended to be one of the loa. A few pray to you, and some have had a tattoo of a dark spear inked into their flesh. Usually flank or inside of the biceps, since the orcs do not favor such displays.”

He accepted one of the goblets. “And your master be enjoying himself a ghost story? This be why he should thank me?”

“Oh, no, he owes you far more greatly.” She sipped her wine, then turned. She walked to her lounging mat casually, the muscles of her lean body fluid beneath the silk. She knelt, almost like a supplicant before a god, then drank. “Please, join me.”

Vol’jin did, returning his wine to the table before sitting. “Your master?”

“One thing, Vol’jin. I do you the honor of supposing you are not a fool. You gonna learn many things in our conversation, many important things. Understand that I be fully aware I am sharing them with you. I do have a purpose. I gonna treat with you honestly. Ask, and if I be able, I will respond.”

He took up his goblet again and drank. The dark wine tasted of fruit and spices, some from Kalimdor, but more from Pandaria. He liked it yet did not let it put him at ease. “You were saying…”

“The mogu be arrogant and disdainful. Their experience of trolls is based on stories from before their empire disintegrated. What dey have seen since be Zandalari who control a fraction of what we did before, and other trolls that they be viewing as degraded creatures. And those be the trolls who fight with us. The mogu’s experience of the few dat be fighting with the Horde only confirms their biases.

“And then there be Zouchin and you.” She sipped her wine, licking her lips after. “I didn’t know it was you, of course, and little dared hope after hearin’ of your death. I was assuming the more sinister rumors be true, given dat you refused Garrosh more robustly than you did my king. I was thinking only the Horde could kill you, and now I see dat I was wrong.”

Vol’jin did not answer her with words, but lifted his chin enough for her to see the scar at his throat.

“Yes. I wondered. Your voice be not as I be remembering it.” Khal’ak smiled. “Our Alliance guests have also heard of your death. Relieved they be, most of them. Many a nightmare of which you be the author be vanished. For now, at least.

“But, back to the mogu. For a troll and a man to have beset us, dis amused them greatly. And yet, your elusiveness be suggesting a power that impresses them. As I was settin’ the trap for this evening—and they greatly enjoyed the display, though your pandaren underlings and their presence disturbed them—I hoped I might be catching you. If not with the group, then at least meeting you in exchange for the life of your pets.”

“Because?”

“Because I be wishin’ you to join us. This would be impressing the mogu and suggesting dat we have powerful influence within the rest of the world. In their view, all we have done be to awaken their sleeping king. They, in their arrogance, ignore the fact that this service be not one they’d managed in the millennia since their empire crumbled. To have a man and a troll beset us so reflected our weakness, the loss of vitality in our blood. For you to be joining us, this would be grand.”

Vol’jin frowned. “You were there. I already refused the Zandalari offer.”

“Dis be not the same offer, Shadow Hunter, nor be it the same world.” She reached out, a finger caressing the scar at his throat and again the one on his side. “Then you claimed the Horde be your family. They have rejected you. Garrosh, small-spirited and smaller-minded, slew the one troll who could have advised him through the maelstrom that be coming. You owe him no allegiance. Your people be the Darkspears, and we be willin’ to make them first among the tribes.

“Yes, the Gurubashi gonna moan. The Amani gonna wail. They gonna point to their histories, and I gonna point out their failures. For the Darkspears be the one tribe that has remained true to itself. That you have not risen to rule an empire be not because you could not but because you have not chosen dat course. Having strived and lost, as they have, does not sanctify the effort. Dey wish glory for work done centuries ago and work undone a short time later.”

She lifted her chin, her gaze meeting his, her eyes ablaze with the future’s promise. “So this be my offer to you, Vol’jin Darkspear of the Darkspears. Be to me what you were to Thrall. Assume your full power as the shadow hunter your people need. Your people: the Darkspears and the trolls. Together we gonna show the world their folly and again bring order to lands which have languished in its absence.”

Vol’jin lifted his cup. “This be a great honor, and an offer that only a fool would refuse.”