Gordawg turned and strode off. Thrall stared after him, shocked.
"He ate the stone you gave him," Aggra said, stepping up beside Thrall. "Was he able to help?"
"Yes," said Thrall, his voice a whisper. He cleared his throat, shook his head. "He told me that the stone was afraid. That all the elements are afraid. They know something dreadful is coming. Something that was once good and in harmony with the world, but now is unnatural. It's been hurt, and it burns with the desire to hurt other things."
He turned to her. "And one final thing. I have to go back to Azeroth. I don't think they would have helped me if I couldn't do something. I have to see if I can figure out what exactly the elements are so terrified of… and do all in my power to stop it. Because that stone was emitting a similar kind of terror to what Draenor felt before—"
"—before it was shattered," Aggra finished, her own eyes wide with fear. 'Yes, Go'el. Yes! We must not let such a cataclysm happen twice!"
Once the bloodlust and the thrill of victory over Cairne had passed—Cairne Bloodhoof, a legend, one of the great figures of the Horde's history in Azeroth—Garrosh was somewhat surprised to find himself dealing with mixed emotions.
Cairne had been the one to challenge him. Garrosh still wasn't exactly sure why. Cairne had hurled accusations about—something about some attack on druids somewhere. Garrosh had had no idea what he was talking about, but once that humiliating blow had been struck and Cairne had invoked the challenge, there had been no turning back. For either of them. The old bull had fought well. Garrosh would never admit it, but he had been worried that he might not survive the fight. But he had. Garrosh bore the blood of the tauren high chieftain on his hands, yes, but there was no guilt. It had been a fair fight, each combatant had been aware that only one would walk away alive, and honor had been satisfied.
And yet… while there was no guilt, Garrosh found there was regret. He had not disliked Cairne, although the two had clashed repeatedly over their beliefs in what was best for the Horde. It had been a shame that Cairne simply could not wrap his old - fashioned mind around what needed to be done.
After the wild celebrating of those who had been supporting Garrosh had died down and the night was moving toward dawn, Garrosh found himself back at the arena. Cairne's body had been removed almost immediately, to where, he did not know. He wasn't sure what the tauren did with their dead. Bury them, burn them?
There was still blood on the floor of the arena. Garrosh supposed someone would have to come clean it up. He would see to it on the morrow. For now, he was embarrassed that he had neglected the vital task of cleaning his blade for too long. Speaking of… where was—He looked around, becoming increasingly worried when he did not see the axe.
"Are you looking for Gorehowl?" The voice startled Garrosh. He turned to see one of the Kor'kron standing there, holding out his cherished axe and bowing. "We retrieved it and put it in a safe place until you wished it."
"My thanks," said Garrosh. He was a little uncomfortable with the nearly constant and yet often unnoticed presence of the elite unit of bodyguards. But he had to admit, they were handy at times like this. He was angry that he had allowed himself to be so carried away as to forget Gorehowl. It would not happen again. He waved the bodyguard away, and the Kor'kron bowed again and moved into the shadows, leaving Garrosh alone with the axe that had been his father's.
As he regarded the axe, and the blood on the arena where Cairne had fallen, he heard a voice behind him. An orc's—but not one of his bodyguards.
"This is a loss to the Horde, and I know you know it."
Garrosh turned to see Eitrigg sitting up in the stands. What was the old orc doing here? He couldn't remember seeing Eitrigg during the combat, but surely he had to have been present. Garrosh found he didn't remember much about the actual fight itself; it was no wonder that he hadn't been paying attention to who else was watching. He had been rather occupied at the time.
He debated chastising the other ore, but found he was strangely weary. "I do know it. But I had no choice. He challenged me."
"Many saw the challenge. I don't dispute that. But did you not notice how quickly he fell?"
Unease stirred in Garrosh. "I do not remember much. It was… fast, and heated."
Eitrigg nodded. Slowly, for Garrosh knew his joints pained him, Eitrigg rose and descended to the floor of the arena, speaking as he went. "It was. How many blows did you receive? How many did Cairne deal? Many. And yet he fell so quickly from just one."
"It was a good blow," Garrosh said, his voice sounding petulant in his own ears. Had it been? It had been right across the chest. Hadn't it? The bloodlust hazed everything—
"No." Eitrigg spoke bluntly. "It was a long but shallow cut. And yet he did not defend himself when the death strike came." By now Eitrigg stood beside him. "Do you not think that odd? I certainly did. And I am not alone in my observation. Cairne died far too quickly, Garrosh, and if you didn't notice it, others did. Others like me, and Vol'jin, who came to me just a short while ago. Others who wonder how it is that such a fine warrior fell with just a glancing blow."
Garrosh was starting to grow angry. "Out with it!" he growled. "What are you trying to say? Are you saving I did not win this fight fairly? Would I have let him give me these wounds had I been attempting to cheat?"
"No. I do not think you fought dishonorably. But I believe someone did." Eitrigg extended a gnarled finger and pointed at Gorehowl. "You received a shamanic blessing with sacred oil on your blade."
"So did Cairne. So does everyone who chooses to fight in the mak'gora," Garrosh said. "It's part of it. That is not dishonorable!" He was starting to raise his voice, and a strange emotion was churning inside him. Was it – fear?
"Look at the color of the oil," Eitrigg said. "It is black and sticky. No—in the ancestors' names, do not touch if!"
Most of the blade that had taken Cairne Bloodhoof s life was coated with dried blood. But in one small spot along the edge, Garrosh could now see a tacky - looking, black substance that did not in any way resemble the golden, glistening oil with which blades were usually anointed.
"Who blessed Gorehowl, Garrosh Hellscream? Who blessed the axe that slew Cairne Bloodhoof?" Eitrigg's voice held anger, but it was not directed at Garrosh.
A sick feeling twisted Garrosh's gut. "Magatha Grimtotem," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.
"It was not your skill in battle that killed your opponent. It was the poison of an evil schemer who sought to destroy an adversary and used you, like a pawn, to do so. Do you know what has happened in Thunder Bluff?
While you were out celebrating?"
Garrosh did not want to hear. He stared at the blade, but Eitrigg pressed on.
"Grimtotem assassins have taken over Thunder Bluff, Bloodhoof Village, and other tauren strongholds. The teachers, the powerful shaman, and druids and warriors—all dead. Innocent tauren slaughtered in their sleep.
Baine Bloodhoof is missing and is probably dead, too. Blood pours from a peaceful city, because you were too full of pride to notice what was happening literally right in front of your eyes!"
Garrosh had been listening in increasing horror, and now he bellowed, "Enough! Silence, old one!" They stood there staring at one another.
And then something broke in Garrosh. "She robbed me of my honor," he said quietly. "She took my kill from me. I will never know now if I would have been strong enough to defeat Cairne Bloodhoof in a fair fight. Eitrigg, you must believe me!"
For the first time that night, the old orc’s eyes held a glimmer of sympathy. "I do, Garrosh. No one has ever questioned your honor in battle. If Cairne knew what was happening to him as he died, I believe he knew you were not to blame. But know that doubt has been sown here tonight. Doubt that you fought fairly—and they are speaking of it, in hushed whispers. Not everyone is as understanding as I and Cairne Bloodhoof."
Garrosh stared again at the blood - and poison - coated weapon he bore. Magatha had stolen his honor.
Had stolen his respect in the eyes of the Horde he so loved. She had used him, used Gorehowl, too, a weapon his father had once wielded. It had been coated with poison, the coward's weapon. It, too, had been dishonored. And Magatha, in performing such a base, deceitful act, had spat in the face of her shamanic traditions. And Eitrigg was telling him that there were some who believed he would willingly be involved in this?
No! He would show Vol'jin and any others who voiced their lies exactly what he thought of them. He closed his eyes, clenched his hand on the hilt of Gorehowl, and let the rage take him.
Twenty seven
Jaina's first instinct upon seeing Anduin materialize so unexpectedly, almost literally in front of her, had been to contact his father. While Moira had been doing an excellent job of keeping a tight hold over communication going in and out of Ironforge, complete isolation was difficult to obtain. Rumors had begun circulating after only a day. Varian had immediately tried to contact his son by sending urgent letters. When they were not answered, he had become both worried and angry.
Jaina was not a parent, but she had an idea of what Varian was going through, both as the father of a son he had only recently reunited with and as a king fearing for the security of his kingdom. But more urgent than putting Variants fears to rest had been the calming of a potentially explosive situation. Sometimes politics began and ended with two people. While she had never met Baine, his reputation preceded him. She had certainly known, respected, and liked his father. Baine had come to her, risking everything, trusting that she would aid him. Jaina did know Anduin, quite well, and knew that if the initial shock and suspicion could be quelled, productive conversation would ensue.
And so she had assuaged their fears, and gotten them to speak, both to her and each other. The news each bore was dreadful in its own way. Baine spoke of the murder of his father at the hands of Garrosh and Magatha and the ensuing slaughter of a peaceful people in one of the bloodiest coups Jaina had ever heard of. And Anduin spoke of a returning daughter whose rightful claim to the throne did nothing to mitigate the fear at the utterly tyrannical way she had swept into a city and taken away the liberties of its citizens.
Both, each in his own way, were fugitives. Jaina had made the promise to keep them safe and support them however she could, though the plans as to how exactly she would do that had not yet been formed.
Now voices were growing hoarse from speaking, and heads, including Jaina's own, were starting to nod. But she felt good about what they had done here. Baine had told her that those who had accompanied him would be expecting his return, and if it did not happen, they would likely assume treachery. Jaina had understood; she would have assumed the same. She opened a portal to the site he requested, and he stepped through, leaving Anduin and Jaina alone.
"That was…"Anduin struggled for words. "I feel so bad for him."
"I do, too… and for all those poor tauren in Thunder Bluff and Bloodhoof Village and all the other sites that came under attack. And Thrall… I don't know what he's going to do when he gets the news." It would crack the orc's noble heart, she knew. And indirectly, it was all because of his decision to appoint Garrosh as leader in his absence. Thrall would be devastated.
She sighed and shook it off, turning to Anduin and giving him the affectionate hug she'd not given him upon his arrival. "I'm so very glad you're safe!"
"Thanks, Aunt Jaina," he said, returning the hug and then pulling back. "My father… can I talk to him?"
"Of course," Jaina said. "Come with me."
The walls of Jaina's small, cozy room were, not surprisingly, lined with books. She stepped up to one shelf and touched three of them in a particular order. Anduin gaped as the bookshelf slid aside to reveal what looked like a simple oval mirror hanging on the wall. He closed his mouth as he caught a glimpse of his own reflection; he looked rather idiotic staring with his jaw open.
Jaina didn't appear to notice. She murmured an incantation and waved her hands, and the reflection of Anduin, Jaina, and the room disappeared. In its place was a swirling blue mist.
"I hope he is nearby," Jaina said, frowning a little. 'Varian?"
A long, tense moment passed, then the blue mist seemed to take on a shape. A topknot of brown hair, features in a lighter shade of blue, a scar crossing the face—
"Anduin!" cried Varian Wrynn.
Jaina could not help but smile, despite the direness of the situation, at the love and relief in Varian's voice and expression.
Anduin was grinning. "Hello, Father."
"I’ve heard rumors…. How did—of course, the hearthstone," said Varian, answering his own question. "Jaina—I owe you a tremendous debt of thanks. You may have saved Anduin's life."
"It was his own cleverness that made him remember to use it," Jaina demurred. "I just gave him the tool."
"Anduin… did that witch of a dwarf hurt you?" Varian's dark brows drew together. "If she did, I will—"
"No, no," Anduin hastened to assure his father. "And I don't think she would. I'm too necessary to her. Let me tell you what happened."
He filled his father in on all that had transpired, quickly, concisely, and accurately. They were almost the exact same words he had used earlier to Baine and Jaina. Not for the first time Jaina found herself admiring the cool head on the young man's shoulders, especially given the fact that he—along with Jaina herself—was operating on very little sleep and under extremely tense circumstances.
"So you see, her claim is legitimate," Anduin finished.
"Not that of empress," Varian retorted.
"Well, no. But princess, yes, and queen, once she's had a formal coronation. She doesn't have to be doing this… trapping everyone like this."
"No," the king replied. "No. She doesn't." His eyes flickered to Jaina. "Jaina, I'm not about to tip my hand to Moira and let it be known that Anduin escaped successfully. Let her stew for a bit. That means I have a favor to ask."
"Of course he can stay here with me," Jaina replied before he could even voice the question. "No one's seen him yet, and the few who will are completely trustworthy. Whenever you're ready for him to come home, just let Anduin nodded. He had been expecting such a decision, but Jaina saw a flicker of disappointment cross his face. She didn't blame him for it. Anyone in his position would have wanted to go home and be done with all this.
"Thank you," said Varian. "And of course I'll continue to publicly appear as baffled as she wants me to be."
"As will I. We'll let Moira think she's succeeded in hiding her coup. And in the meantime—"
"Don't worry." Varian smiled coldly. "I've got a plan."
And with that, his face vanished. Jaina blinked at the abrupt dismissal.
"He looked angry," Anduin said quietly.
"Well, I'm sure he is. I was angry when I heard about all this, too, and the danger you were in. And he's your father."
Anduin sighed. "I wish there were something more I could do to help the people of Ironforge, or the tauren."
Jaina resisted the urge to ruffle his hair. He wasn't a child anymore, and although he was probably too courteous to protest, she suspected he wouldn't like it. She contented herself with giving him a reassuring smile.
"Anduin, believe me when I say that, somehow, I'm certain you'll find a way."
Anduin was surprised but pleased when he learned that Baine Bloodhoof had actually requested his presence at the next night's meeting with Jaina. Although the sitting room where they had spoken last night seemed a strange place for such weighty negotiations, Anduin didn't object when Jaina suggested it again. And neither did Baine, although it was obvious that nothing in the room was ever intended for one of his bulk. Anduin wondered if somehow Baine, too, sensed the comfort of the room, even though it was so far removed from what Anduin understood to be the tauren lifestyle. But here friends had often gathered to ward off the chill of a cold
rainy day with lively conversation, hot tea, and cookies. Maybe some of that good cheer lingered and was perceived by
Baine.
It was an odd way to conduct negotiations, Anduin thought, remembering the summit at Theramore long ago. No formal declarations, no weapons to lay down, no guards. Just three people.
He decided he liked it.
Baine and Jaina were already there when Anduin came to join them. To Anduin, the tauren seemed a little calmer, but sadder, than he had last night. Anduin greeted Baine politely and sincerely, bowing the correct distance to an equal. Baine made his own gesture of respect, touching his heart and then his forehead. Anduin smiled. It began as an awkward smile, but as he regarded Baine, it softened into an easy, sincere one.
Baine, Jaina, and Anduin again sat on the floor. Anduin's back was to the fire, and the heat beating against him was comfortable. Jaina brought in a tray of tea, placing it in the center between all of them. This time, Anduin noticed, she had an oversized mug for their guest.
Baine noticed it, too, and made a small, gentle, snorting sound. "Thank you, Lady Jaina," he said. "I see the details do not escape you. Thrall does well to put his trust in you, I believe."
"Thank you, Baine," Jaina said. "Thrall's trust means a great deal to me. I would never jeopardize it—or yours."
Baine took a swallow from the mug, which, even though large, still looked small in his great hands. He stared into the cup for a moment. "There are some among the Forsaken who read tea leaves," he said. "Do you know such an art, Lady Jaina?"
Jaina shook her bright head. "No, I do not," she said. "Although I'm told that used tea leaves make a fine compost."
It was a weak joke, but they all smiled. "It is just as well. I do not need to have an oracle tell me what my future holds. I have been thinking, praying for direction from the Earth Mother. Asking her to guide my heart. It is full of pain and anger now, and I do not know if it is altogether wise."
"What does it tell you?" Jaina asked quietly.
He looked up at her with calm brown eyes. "My father was stolen from me by treachery. My heart cries out for vengeance for that despicable action." His voice was steady, almost a monotone, but even so, Anduin found himself instinctively shrinking from it. Baine was not anyone he would ever want charging at him demanding vengeance.
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