“I suppose the whole world is more important than me,” Aram murmured.
“Not by much, son. My regrets are legion, but being with you now, seeing you grow into this fine young man, that does not number among them. I have told my sad tale, Aram, but now I should very much like to hear yours. I have a feeling it is far more interesting than mine.”
“It doesn’t involve the end of the world,” Aram said. I don’t think. Or maybe it did. Aramar had been brought into the adventure by the Light, and it had spoken to him, so maybe he really was a part of his father’s grand story after all. “Well, it begins with Makasa. I never would have gotten far without her by my side. Weird, I know, because at first? At first we couldn’t stand each other. She was just so bossy and a know-it-all, and I never wanted to listen, but then we were stranded. After the Wavestrider sank, we didn’t just give up. We made friends. We pressed on. I carried the compass and protected it through the wilds of Feralas, to Gadgetzan, and all the way across Kalimdor to the Stonetalon Mountains.”
His father said nothing, but waited, clearly intrigued. It was Aram’s turn to spin a tale.
“There’s Murky, a murloc who saved me from a whale shark, and a brave gnoll warrior called Hackle, who faced yetis and ogres, and never wavered as my friend. And there was … There was …” He faltered, then drew in a shaky breath. “There’s more, a lot more. Goblins and dryads and elves and druids, they all tried to help me, and I have faith in them. I know things are dire, but I have faith.”
“Indeed,” Greydon Thorne said, his voice hoarse. “Indeed, Aramar, I should think that they will try even harder now that you are gone. Faith is good; faith in our friends is even better.”
Aramar nodded, satisfied for the moment. The desolation of the pits hung heavy on the air, screams erupting from random directions, piercing through the smoky darkness that surrounded them. Could they really be saved? Was there any hope at all for a father and son imprisoned in the depths, waiting in the unknown of Outland, with nothing to sustain them but a single bright flower?
Drella’s lullaby returned to him, and he hummed it to himself softly.
There I walked in my grove
With hope and pride.
There I shall stay
When I fear the rising tide.
Had he dreamt of that very grove? Maybe their bond wasn’t severed after all. Maybe Drella was with him, there in that cell, one beautiful blossom still thriving in the dark.
“You cannot think to leave me behind like some sack of rubbish!”
Valdread was in a rage and Makasa didn’t have time to indulge him. She had packed light for the day trip to the cave, only bringing water, a snack, Aram’s sketchbook for guidance, and a rough map of the area Robb Glade had been kind enough to provide her. Hackle and Murky shored up their weapons, packed their own fish and meat for the walk, and waited in the protective shadows of the trees behind the cottage. Galena waited, too, but inside the woodshed, where the sweet smell of drying cedar gave them at least some relief from Valdread’s persistent stench.
“Your words, not mine,” Makasa told him. “We’re not going far; can’t you put on your big boy pants and just wait here?”
Galena smothered a laugh with her hand, and Valdread shot her a withering look.
“No, child, I cannot put on any sort of pants because you still refuse to grant me my legs. It isn’t fair. I’ve been nothing but obedient. Practically a saint!”
“A saint?! You might have told me sooner that Greydon Thorne was still alive instead of springing it on me like that in front of Aram’s parents. If I’m to lead us, you can’t surprise me like that. I looked like a fool!”
“Fine. All right. One minor omission. It frankly slipped my mind until that moment.”
It was Makasa’s turn to glare.
“We are going to a strange cave that might have a dragon inside,” Galena pointed out. “Bringing him along might not be such a bad idea. If nothing else, he’s hard to kill.”
“Galena, of course!” Makasa dug through the pile of Hackle’s things next to the stacked wood, finding the body parts they had collected there. She found his legs and dragged them toward their natural place on Valdread’s body.
“Change of plans. You are coming with us. You can be our walking meat shield.”
“Meat … shield?” Valdread huffed with disgust, blowing a piece of dark hair out of his eyes. “Disgraceful. Ah well, I suppose it is better than staying here with all the creepy-crawlies nibbling on me at their leisure. I’m afraid at least one of you will need to assist.”
“I’ll try to help,” Galena said slowly, not looking at all pleased by the task. “I memorized the CCAMP chapters on staunching wounds. Will that give me any insight?”
“I don’t think anything will prepare you for reattaching my limbs, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.”
Makasa reminded them to use their cloaks, then left them to wait in the forest with the others. The sounds that came from the little woodshed would be burned into Makasa’s mind forever. It was over quickly, thank the Light, and soon Galena and Valdread scurried across the open grass to them, their faces and bodies hidden in cloaks. Robb Glade had been kind enough to lend some of his wardrobe, reluctantly, but his garments were the only ones big enough to conceal Galena and her charge. Galena had, in turn, promised to wash the cloaks thoroughly.
“Keep to the trees,” Makasa warned them. “We should be able to stay hidden if we follow the forest at the foot of the mountains.”
As they set out on their search, Makasa cradled the compass shard in her palm, watching it for any variations as they moved quietly through the underbrush, sheltered by the thick, leafy trees that hugged the village. Valdread kept pace, and it was unsettling to have him stalking along beside her, armless and swift, his head tilting this way and that as he searched all around them.
“Let’s pause here. We will be exposed on the road, but if we hike uphill through the woods we will soon be in gnoll country. Hackle should go on ahead and give things a sniff,” Valdread whispered, his eyes glowing in the shadows of the woods.
“How do you know that?” Makasa demanded.
“Use your eyes and ears, girl. Here’s your first SI:7 lesson: Everything is important. Everything is intelligence. Lakeshire’s outskirts are crawling with gnolls and murlocs, and where do gnolls like to live? In the hills. If they’re clever, and most gnolls rather are despite common belief, then they will stack patrols in any mountainous areas.”
“Stinky man right,” Hackle grumbled, moving quickly to the north and the tree break, where the mountains reared up sharply, covered in reddish-brown dust. “Hackle look for gnoll. Good wind today for sniff.”
He disappeared for a moment, crouched so low that Makasa lost track of him altogether.
“You have so much to learn,” Valdread whispered to her.
“And I suppose you’re going to teach me? Ha.”
“Why not? I’m along on this ride for good or ill, you may as well benefit from my expertise. I’ll make you a fine leader. King Varian Wrynn himself gave me my title. Baron. Years in SI:7 ought to be enough to convince you of my value. Yes, you’ll learn much, but only if you listen.” And here he chuckled, both of them watching Hackle return, his club resting over one shoulder.
“Clan move east, chasing boars. We go now!”
Hackle sprang forward, leading them through the underbrush, bringing them back into the brightness of the morning as they filed one by one up the shallowest part of the hill. Valdread struggled to keep his feet, but managed, and soon they found themselves in the midst of a sort of dish carved into the mountains, with steep rocks to the north and most of the south.
“No choice but to go east for a while,” Makasa said. “Keep your eyes open for movement. Those gnolls could return anytime.”
“Hackle sniff first. Gnoll no hide from Hackle.”
It took them the better part of an hour to pick their way across the rocky path east. Either gnol
ls or wild animals had flattened down the meager grass, making the track easier to follow. The shard in Makasa’s hand glowed brighter with each step. They traveled along a raised cliff, the view down to Lakeshire obstructed only by the occasional high, jutting stone.
“We’re getting close,” she told them. “It’s getting brighter in my hand.”
“Melllgl flerger, drgl nerp?”
“Hackle hope we see dragon, too, Murky.”
“Remember the last time we encountered one of those?” Makasa called over her shoulder, a little sweaty and cross.
“Mrksa flooooooooog!”
She understood that one. “Yes, Murky. Mrksa fly.”
“You know, that was my favorite bit of your story last night,” Valdread teased. “A real crowd-pleaser with the young ones, too.”
“If you ever want to see your arms again, I suggest you keep your mouth shut.” Makasa pushed on, convinced they were close, knowing that more than anything, they needed a morale boost. Finding another shard, bringing them that much closer to Aram, would do the trick. After that, only one piece remained, and then they could decide their plan of attack.
“There!” Galena trotted ahead, pointing toward a dark spot in the mountainside. “It looks like a cave.”
Her instincts proved right. It was a cave, a cave so dark and foreboding that Makasa found herself suddenly wishing for any excuse not to go inside.
“Here,” Galena said, closing her eyes and moving her hands over each other in a circle. Gradually, a glowing white orb of lunar energy formed in her hands, shining brightly enough to illuminate the darkness. She beamed around at her companions. “CCAMP procedure, obviously; every Cenarion Circle member knows a simple lighting spell.”
“Perfect! You can go first, then. Do watch for any sudden drops or snakes!” Valdread said.
Galena gulped. “I—I will. It’s … not so s-scary.”
“Why don’t you go right along with her, Baron? You are the meat shield, after all.”
After a brief bit of grousing, Valdread joined the druid, for once walking beside her and not bouncing along on her back. They pushed deeper into the cave, which was blessedly free of snakes, but full of twists and turns. Makasa consulted the shard at every forking path, and hoped she was divining its directions correctly. The air grew thinner and colder, the floor wet beneath their feet.
Galena summoned large thorny roots along the way to keep track of their path. And when they rounded a corner only to stumble upon one of those markers, Hackle growled in frustration.
“We go in circle! Nothing in stupid cave.”
“No, Hackle, it’s here,” Makasa murmured.
“Let’s go back. Maybe we missed a turn.” Galena led them through the tunnels, keeping the lunar orb in her hands burning bright.
“Stop.”
It was Valdread. He had noticed something at a fork in the passage, one of the deepest twists in the cave system.
“Everyone be silent.”
Nobody moved, and Valdread leaned forward, resting his armless body against the smooth surface of the cave wall, pressing his ear to the stones. “Water. There must be another passage somewhere.”
He hurled himself back, beckoning Galena forward with a nod of his head, then searched the cave floor, walls, and ceiling closely. A bit of leafy vine hung down from the ceiling, brushing the top of Valdread’s head. “Of course. Easy. Druid, pull that vine just there.”
Galena’s hands were full, so Makasa did it herself, then readied her harpoon in her free hand. The cave immediately began to rumble; then slowly a break in the wall appeared, a slab of stone moving to the side and revealing a wide-open cavern beyond. The sound of water rushed out to meet them. An underground spring. Strange blue lights floated along the air, throwing shadows up the curved cave walls.
The shard in Makasa’s palm began to steadily vibrate.
“It’s close now,” she whispered. “Everyone be on your guard.”
No sooner had she uttered those words than an ominous rumbling echoed throughout the cavern. It grew sharper, then deafening, a screech as bloodcurdling as the cries of the drakes that had attacked them in the Charred Vale. She shivered, squinting into the low azure light of the cavern, watching with her mouth open wide as the glassy pool below them rippled and then broke, a shimmering blue dragon rising from its watery depths.
Galena Stormspear felt her breath catch in her throat. Not since meeting Taryndrella had she felt such wonder, as if the combined years and effort of her training and study were colliding, the excitement so strong she could hardly keep from jumping in the air.
The excitement soon gave way to fear, however, as she realized this drake was not going to be as friendly as Drella. It was the size of two stags, perhaps, with smooth blue wings and a slender head, two horns curling back from its prominent brow. White vapor streamed from its nostrils, the rhythmic beating of its wings echoing in the cavern, magnifying the sound.
Its sharp white eyes found them at once, and just as quickly, it dove toward them, unleashing a high and piercing cry. Galena had seen the drakes circling over the Charred Vale, and asked Master Thal’darah about them, and he had explained that the ones she could see from the Overlook were far older and more grown than the smaller whelps that foraged along the ground. This, she reasoned, must be closer to a whelp, then, but its youth did not make it any less intimidating as it soared toward them, mouth dropping wide as if preparing to swallow Murky whole.
Galena dropped her lunar orb in a fright. Valdread called out for them to duck. Hackle raised his club, and Murky dove off the ledge, spearing into the water.
And Makasa, whom Galena had never seen shaken or hesitant in the heat of battle, did not raise her harpoon. It seemed to be the time for that, in Galena’s admittedly unexperienced opinion, but the weapon remained fixed to the human’s side. Instead, Makasa held up Aram’s journal, wielding it like some kind of magic shield.
“Wait!” she cried. “I know you. You guard a shard of the Diamond Blade. The Light sent me here to retrieve it, and my brother foresaw us coming. Look.”
It was a gutsy strategy, and the dragon did not seem interested, flattening Makasa’s short hair back with another scream. Galena clutched her ears, falling to her knees.
“Look! This is you! You’re—you’re not just a dragon,” she shouted. “You have another form. This form.” Makasa pointed desperately at the page.
The dragon drew up short, baring its razor-sharp teeth, its glowing white eyes now just a handbreadth from the book. And amazingly, miraculously, it fell quiet, hovering there, beating its great wings and staring at Aramar Thorne’s drawing.
Makasa whispered carefully, “We didn’t come here to harm you; we came here because my brother knew we were destined to find you.”
Galena peered up from where she had crumpled on the ledge, finding that the drake really did have a scar curving over one cheek.
The drake flashed its teeth again, perhaps unmoved, but then it circled, performing an incredible flip, before blowing a cone of frosty breath across the pool at the bottom of the cavern. The water froze instantly, sealing Murky beneath it. Then it landed and flapped its wings, conjuring a silvery veil around its entire body before the mist evaporated, leaving in its wake a young man.
“By the Earth Mother!” Galena gasped. “Aramar’s drawing—”
“It looks just like him,” Makasa agreed.
The young man—tall and thin, with ash-blond hair and pale, wintry eyes—cocked his head to the side, then strode across the ice to the ledge of the cavern, climbing until he stood face-to-face with Makasa. She continued holding out the sketchbook, and the young man leaned over to examine it.
“What sort of magic is this?” he asked. He had a soft, scholarly voice, one that Galena thought belonged in a library or mage’s college. In his human form, he wore a suit of trim blue scale mail, cinched at the waist with a belt. Six or so scrolls were tied neatly to his belt. “The likeness is sublime. Fau
ltless. The expression is mine exactly. But I don’t recall meeting any of you, much less sitting for a drawing in this form.”
Aramar had captured the young man’s quizzical look, the way his right eyebrow remained permanently lifted with curiosity, and of course, the scar on his cheek.
Good magic, she thought.
“A blue dragon!” Galena kept her distance but was desperate for a closer look. “Your kind are so rare! How did you come to be in a cave in Lakeshire?”
Galena was full of questions—she also wanted to know how he had transformed so seamlessly from dragon to human. There were legends, of course, of dragons that could take many forms, not a magic they learned like druids, but an innate ability. The young man did not meet her gaze, and instead took the sketchbook from Makasa, studying it from every angle.
“’Tis a protracted and tedious tale, one I may yet tell, but not before you explain this book to me. What manner of magic is it? That you could know me and not know me.”
Protracted and tedious? Galena could see he was grating on Makasa already.
“My brother drew all the pictures in that book, and he must have had some kind of vision of you. We’ve been trying to locate crystal shards; they belong to a sword, like this shard.” Makasa held up her palm with the glowing, needlelike splinter of the blade. “Aram’s sketch led us here.”
“And which of you is Aram?” the dragon asked.
“He’s not actually with us … He’s been kidnapped. We need to gather the missing sword shards before we can get him back.” Pointing to each of them in turn, she made quick introductions. “My name is Makasa Flintwill, and these are my companions, Galena and Hackle. The armless undead man is Reigol Valdread. The arms thing is also a protracted and tedious tale. And that’s …”
She had been so distracted that she had forgotten about Murky in the pool. Muted thumping came from under the ice, and the faint sounds of panicked burblings.
The Shining Blade Page 17