The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm (12 page)

“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.

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.

She entered the sitting room, where a cheerful fire burned in the hearth. It was late afternoon, so she was not surprised to see that the servants had laid out the tea things.

She was, however, surprised to see a fair-haired young man, a cup and saucer in his lap, who turned to her with an impish grin.

“Hello, Aunt Jaina,” he said. “Your hearthstone worked perfectly.”

“Goodness, Anduin!” Jaina said, startled but pleased. “I only just saw you a few days ago!”

“I did warn you that you’d be seeing me all the time,” he said jokingly.

“Well, lucky me.” She stepped forward, mussed his hair, and went to the sideboard to pour herself her own cup of tea.

“Why are you wearing that ugly cloak?” Anduin asked.

“Oh, well,” Jaina said, caught off guard, “I didn’t want to attract attention. I’m sure you don’t always want people knowing it’s you when you’re out riding or such.”

“I don’t mind,” Anduin said. “But then again, I don’t have secret meetings with orcs in the middle of nowhere.”

Jaina whirled, splashing tea. “How did—”

“Yes!” Anduin looked delighted. “I was right! You were out meeting Thrall!”

Jaina sighed and wiped at her robes, grateful that they were, actually, the rough and dirty ones rather than her nice, everyday clothes. “You’re too perceptive for your own good, Anduin,” she said.

He grew sober. “It’s how I’ve stayed alive,” he said matter-of-factly. Jaina felt her heart lurch in empathy for the boy, but he was not seeking pity. “I’ve got to admit, I’m surprised that you’re seeing him. I mean, what I overheard from the Sentinels about the attack seems pretty brutal. Not the sort of thing Thrall would endorse.”

She moved toward the fire with her cup of tea, pulling up her own chair. “That’s because he
didn’t
endorse it.”

“So he’s going to apologize and turn over the killers?”

Jaina shook her head. “No. An apology—but only for breaking the treaty. Not for how it was broken.”

Anduin’s face fell. “But … if he wasn’t responsible, and he doesn’t think it’s a good thing—why not? How does that help earn trust?”

How indeed,
Jaina thought, but did not say. “One of the things you’ll learn, Anduin, is that sometimes you can’t always do what you’d like to do. Or even do what you think is the right thing—at least not right away. Thrall certainly doesn’t want war with the Alliance. He wants to cooperate for all our benefits. But—the Horde thinks differently from the Alliance about a lot of things, and displays of power and strength are absolutely key to a leader’s ability to govern them.”

Anduin frowned into his tea. “Sounds like Lo’Gosh,” he murmured.

“Ironically, yes—that aspect of your father would have fit quite well into the Horde mentality,” Jaina said. “One of the reasons he was so popular as a gladiator during his brief … er … career.”

“So Thrall can’t risk coming out and denouncing it right now, is that what you’re saying?” Anduin popped a small cream-and-jam-laden biscuit into his mouth. For a pleasant instant Jaina was more concerned about whether they’d have enough pastries and small sandwiches to appease a growing boy’s appetite than about the possibility of war. She sighed. Would that filling Anduin’s teenage belly was the most pressing of her cares.

“Essentially that’s correct.” She did not wish to reveal specifics and so simply added, “But I know he didn’t do it, and I know that personally he is appalled.”

“Do … you think he will let it happen again?”

It was a serious question, worthy of a serious, thoughtful reply. So she took the time to give him one.

“No,” she said at last. “This is just my opinion, but … I think this took him by surprise. He’s aware of it now.”

Anduin drained his cup and went to the sideboard to pour
himself a second serving. While he was there, he piled small cakes and sandwiches on his plate. “You’re right, Aunt Jaina,” he said quietly. “Sometimes you just can’t do what you want. You have to wait until the time is right, until you have enough support.”

And Jaina smiled to herself. The youth in front of her had been king at age ten. True, he had a sound advisor in the form of Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, but she’d seen enough to know that he’d wrestled with many things by himself. Perhaps he had never been faced with the sort of choice Thrall had, but he could certainly empathize with it.

She found herself, as she often did, missing the wise, wry presence of Magna Aegwynn. She wished that great lady, the former Guardian of Tirisfal, was still alive to give her sound, if sometimes tart, advice. What would Aegwynn have done now, with this boy sitting at her hearth, this too-serious but good-hearted young man?

A smile touched Jaina’s lips. She knew exactly what Aegwynn would have done. Lighten the situation.

“Now, Anduin,” Jaina said, almost sensing the presence of the wise old woman in the room. “Fill me in on all the court gossip.”

“Gossip?” Anduin looked perplexed. “I don’t know any.”

Jaina shrugged. “Then make some up.”

Anduin returned to Stormwind three minutes late for dinner, materializing in his room to discover that Wyll had laid out his clothing. He splashed his face quickly with water from the basin, then threw on the formal dining clothing and scrambled quickly downstairs to join his father.

There were rooms for enormous banquets, but ordinary dinners for the two of them were held in one of Varian’s private rooms. The last few meals they had shared together had been stiff and uncomfortable. Looming between Varian and Anduin Wrynn was the shadow of Lo’Gosh. But now, as he slipped into his chair and reached for his napkin, Anduin looked down the length of the table and saw his father without the haze of resentment that
had clouded his vision earlier. His visit to Jaina had enabled him to clear his mind, to just … be away from all of this, even for a little while.

And as he looked at his father, he did not see Lo’Gosh. He saw a man who was starting to get faint lines at the corner of his eyes, the marks of age and weariness and not battle. He saw the strain of the crown, of the countless decisions that had to be made daily. Decisions that cost money, or even more precious a currency, lives. He felt not pity for his father—Varian did not need it—but compassion.

Varian glanced up and gave his son a tired smile. “Good evening, Son. How was your day? Do anything fun?”

“Actually, yes,” said Anduin, dipping his spoon into the rich, thick, turtle bisque. “I used Aunt Jaina’s hearthstone to pay her a visit.”

“Did you now?” Varian’s blue eyes flickered with interest. “How did that go? Did you learn anything?”

Anduin shrugged, suddenly filled with doubt. It had seemed so exciting at the time, but now that he had to recount the incident to his father it … well, it was just having tea, mostly.

“We talked about some things. And, um … had tea.”

“Tea?”

“Tea,” Anduin said, almost defensively. “It’s cold and wet in Theramore. There’s nothing wrong with having tea and eating something.”

Varian shook his head, reaching for a slice of bread and cheese. “No, there’s not. And you certainly were in fine company. Did you talk about the current situation?”

Anduin felt the heat rise in his face. He didn’t want to betray Jaina, even inadvertently. But he also didn’t want to lie to his father. “Some.”

Keen eyes flickered to Anduin’s face. Lo’Gosh wasn’t completely present, but Anduin sensed he wasn’t completely absent, either. “See any orcs?”

“No.” That at least he could answer honestly. He toyed with his soup, his appetite suddenly gone.

“Ah, but Jaina did.”

“I didn’t say—”

“It’s all right. I know that she and Thrall are thick as thieves. I also know Jaina wouldn’t betray the Alliance.”

Anduin brightened. “No, she never would. Never.”

“You … sympathize with her, don’t you? With the orcs and the Horde?”