The Shattering

by Christie Golden

  “Aye, and I’m also an Ironforge native, born an’ bred,” Aerin said with pride. “I’ll be happy to be yer guide while ye’re here as well, Yer Highness.”

  “Thank you,” Anduin said. “And please—call me Anduin.” While the dwarves were fiercely devoted to their royal family, there was a pleasant ease in their attitude toward them that Anduin liked.

  “All right then,” Aerin agreed, “Anduin it is.”

  “Let’s go to yer quarters an’ get ye settled in,” Magni said, turning and striding off at so brisk a pace that Anduin was hard put to keep up with him. “I think ye’ll like what I’ve picked out for ye,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Would you mind if we visit the Great Forge first?” asked Anduin. “I’d like to see it again.”

  “O’ course not!” said Magni. “Always proud tae show it off.”

  Ironforge was, quite literally, centered around a giant forge. The air was thick and almost stiflingly hot, a contrast to the cold freshness of the snowy environment right outside the dwarven capital’s towering gateway. But the harsh scent was different and not evocative of human cities in any way, and Anduin loved it. As they approached the forge, Anduin winced a little at the oppressive heat rolling off it in waves and removed his jacket. He glanced down at Aerin furtively. He was wearing only a light linen shirt and breeches, carrying the jacket slung over his shoulder, and he was drenched with sweat. Aerin and Magni were in full armor and seemed completely unaffected. Such was the constitution of the dwarves.

  The discomfort was quickly forgotten at the powerful sight of the forge, with its streams of molten metal splashing like water and glowing in shades of red and yellow and orange. It was so overwhelmingly vast, the mind almost couldn’t grasp it. At least his had a hard time with it.

  “Aye, that’s a grand sight,” Magni said. Anduin agreed. After a while the heat was too much, and he was grateful to continue on through the relative cool of a corridor. Several dwarves and gnomes moved about purposefully, and the guards posted here and there nodded polite greetings to their liege.

  Anduin slowed, confused at the direction they were taking. He had assumed that he would be staying in the royal quarters located near the High Seat. He was, after all, a prince, and such would be expected of him. He had wondered if he’d be able to get any sleep, as the High Seat was located right next to the forge. Which, in addition to being incredibly hot, was also active day and night. But it looked as though they were going away from that part of Ironforge.

  He opened his mouth to ask about this when he came to a dead stop, mouth still hanging open. Not at the structure that was before him—from the outside it looked like merely another part of Ironforge architecture. There was nothing remarkable about the arched doorways. It was what he glimpsed inside that made Anduin’s heart skip a beat.

  It was the skeleton of a giant winged reptile, held together by wiring and suspended from the ceiling. Enraptured, Anduin walked toward it. “What is it?”

  “It’s a pteradon,” Aerin said. “Unearthed in Un’Goro Crater. Nasty place. Spent too much time there meself.”

  “Now, now, lad, we’ve got to go tae yer quarters afore ye can do much sightseeing,” Magni chided. His eyes were bright, as if he were in on some joke that Anduin wasn’t quite getting.

  Anduin sighed and cast a final wistful glance at the pteradon and nodded. “Of course, sir. I’ll be here for several weeks at least. Plenty of time for amusement later. Let’s go to my quarters.”

  “All right,” Magni said. He didn’t move.

  “Your Majesty? My quarters?” Now Aerin was smothering a grin. What was going on?

  Slowly Magni lifted a finger and pointed to his left. “We’re already there!” He threw back his head and laughed. Aerin joined in, and Anduin felt a foolish grin spread across his face. “I’ve arranged for ye and yer folk to have apartments right here. Directly across from the library. I thought ye might be a wee bit tired o’ living in royal dwellings. And I know summat o’ what ye’re interested in.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty!”

  “Psssh,” Magni said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve known ye since ye were a wee bairn. This is me home. And here, ye can call me Uncle, if ye’d like.”

  A fleeting expression of sorrow, old and well-worn, danced across his face. For a moment, Anduin thought it related to the term uncle, but realized at once it was another term of affection that Magni Bronzebeard was missing: Father.

  Magni had only one child, a daughter, Moira. A few years ago, servants of the Dark Iron emperor, Dagran Thaurissan, had spirited Moira away. Magni believed that Dagran had seduced his daughter through magical means, enchanting her so that she thought she was in love with him. When Magni sent in a team to kill Thaurissan and retrieve the ensorcelled Moira, she had refused to come home. She had announced that she was pregnant, and that the murder of her husband had created a terrible, fiery rage within her heart. Magni had been devastated. Nothing had been heard of Moira or her child—heir to two kingdoms—since.

  Becoming a grandfather should have been an occasion for rejoicing. Magni should have had his daughter with him here in Ironforge, his grandchild—Anduin didn’t even know if it was a boy or a girl, and he was not about to ask if Magni knew—playing on his knee. Instead, child and grandchild were estranged from him, still caught in the throes of what Magni firmly believed was the emperor’s dark spell even from beyond the grave.

  The somber moment passed quickly, and Magni smiled again, although the mischievous glint had gone from his eyes. “Dinner’s at eight sharp, mind. Dun be late. Ye’re training with Aerin first thing on the morrow.”

  Anduin was surprised. Fighting? His shoulders sagged slightly. He supposed that he should have expected his father to set up something like this. Well, at least Aerin seemed like good company, and there should still be time to investigate the library and learn more about the Explorers’ League.

  “Yes, Uncle.” Anduin smiled at the dwarf, pleased to see that the term eased Magni’s taut features, at least a little. Magni nodded, patted Anduin’s arm, and turned and strode back toward the High Seat. Anduin watched him go, then turned to Aerin.

  “So, my attendants are all settled in?”

  “Och, aye, some time ago.”

  He grinned. “Then I’m going to the library!”

  * * *

  The following morning Anduin was lying on his back, staring at the ceilings of an out-of-the-way area of the High Seat, bruised and filled with both great pain and a fresh admiration for the fighting abilities of the dwarves.

  “Down again, li’l lion?” A tsk-tsk of disapproval. “That’s three times in a row.”

  Every muscle aching with the effort, Anduin lifted his arm and grasped Aerin’s smaller but stronger one. She hauled him to his feet as if he weighed nothing at all. His left arm dangled at his side, the shield still strapped to it. His sword was at least two yards away on the floor. Sighing, Anduin lumbered over to pick it up. He closed his hand painfully around the hilt and with great effort lifted the sword.

  Aerin’s blue eyes darted to the shield, and she raised her eyebrows meaningfully. It still hung down.

  “I, uh … can’t lift it,” Anduin said, feeling the hot color rushing into his cheeks.

  Aerin looked exasperated for just an instant, then smiled cheerily. “No matter, li’l lion. Today was just about checkin’ yer strength an’ judging yer skills. Ye’ll be with us for a while. We’ll send ye back tae yer father all properly dwarf-tempered, ye’ll see!”

  She had started calling him “li’l lion” yesterday afternoon when they had been ambling around Ironforge together, and he hadn’t minded. And he knew her comment just now was intended to be encouraging. Instead, he winced inwardly.

  He knew his father did not think he was “warrior material,” knew that one of the reasons Varian had sent him here at all was to “toughen him up” and have the dwarves “make a man out of him.” Anduin was painfully aware—now
literally—that he really wasn’t warrior material. He was good at archery and knife throwing, because he had a keen eye and a steady hand, but when it came to the heavier weapons, his slight build just couldn’t seem to manage it. But that was not all there was to it. The swords and polearms never seemed to feel comfortable in his hands. And no matter how hard he trained, no matter how many hours he sparred with this stout, cheerful female dwarf, despite her words, he was not going to become “all properly dwarf-tempered.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re a fine trainer, Aerin. I’m sure I’ll improve.”

  “Och, I ken ye will,” she said, winking at him, and for the first time he realized that she was really quite pretty. He smiled back, sorry to have lied to her. He wasn’t at all sure he would improve, and he felt his mood darken as he anticipated disappointing Aerin. But she had already begun putting things away, whistling and bustling about industriously. He assisted her, hanging up the training weapons and shrugging out of the padded armor, trying not to gasp as overly strained muscles protested.

  “I think I’ll go back to my quarters and take a bath,” he said, dragging a hand across his sweaty forehead.

  “Aye, I was going to say something,” she said bluntly. He stared at her for a full half a minute, mortified, before a telltale smile curved her lips and he realized she was just teasing him—again. He laughed sheepishly. “Let me know if ye need anything,” Aerin said. “I’ll be happy tae take ye out for a ride later.”

  The thought of bouncing around on one of the giant rams that the dwarves favored as mounts made Anduin turn pale. “No, I may just stay inside for a bit, keep up with my studies.”

  “Well, if ye want some fresh air, simply send fer me.”

  “I will. Thank you again.”

  “O’ course, any time!” She bustled off cheerily. Anduin could not help but notice that she hadn’t even really broken a good sweat. He sighed and went back to his quarters.

  A good hot bath and a change of clothes later, his mood much improved, he decided to take a walk to the Mystic Ward. He was feeling in need of a little Light.

  He knew he’d made a good decision when he felt the constriction around his chest ease as he approached. Somehow, whether it was a trick of the light or the actual materials used in construction, the Mystic Ward seemed brighter to him. Too, the softly lapping pool in the ward was soothing. He wasn’t sure exactly what its purpose was, if indeed it had any other than decorative. He fished out a coin, made a wish, and tossed it in, watching the gold glint in the light for an instant before slowly sinking downward. He was reassured when he peered into the depths and saw that it had many monetary companions. There were stairs—was the pool for swimming, or ritual bathing? He’d have to ask Aerin. For now he was not going to commit any kind of social error.

  He walked through the open doorway into the Hall of Mysteries, smiling gently as blue-purple-white light fell upon him. Five pillars, each adorned with a repeating geometric pattern wrought in gold and blue, supported an upper story and a ceiling. Now that he was inside, he found the place not quite as sacred-feeling as the cathedral—but the Light was still there. It had seemed to him yesterday and earlier today that everyone in Ironforge wore plate armor even going about day-to-day tasks. It was a relief to see rooms filled with gnomes and dwarves in soft, flowing robes.

  Something small and hard and moving fast slammed into his thigh, and he stumbled backward. “What—”

  “Dear me!” came a small squeak. “Dink, look out for—”

  “Ouch!” A second something small and hard and moving fast slammed into Anduin’s thigh, causing his legs—already weak from the training he’d received earlier—to buckle. Before he could recover, he’d fallen on his knees on the cold stone floor. He winced, but did not utter a cry as he slowly rose.

  “Terribly sorry about that!” Anduin peered down at two gnomes. They looked like brother and sister. Both had white hair and blue eyes that were now wide with embarrassment. They both wore robes in shades of yellow and blue. The female was holding a book and starting to blush. “I’m afraid I got caught up in this. Wasn’t looking where I was going. Don’t know what Dink’s excuse is!”

  “I was following you, Bink!” said the male, who was apparently named Dink. “Sorry, young fellow. Sometimes we get a little too focused around here for our own good!”

  “Our good and others,” Bink said, smiling winningly. She attempted to brush the dust off Anduin’s knees solicitously. Anduin winced and stepped back, forcing a smile. “So terribly sorry!”

  “That’s all right,” he said. “I should be more careful, too.”

  They both beamed up at him at the same instant, then bowed and scurried off. Amused but hurting, Anduin watched them go.

  “Here now, lad,” came a deep, kindly voice. “Let me take care o’ that for ye.”

  A sudden pleasant warmth seeped gently through Anduin, and he turned to see an elderly dwarf chanting softly while moving his hands. His long, white beard had two braids and a third ponytail. The top of his head was quite bald, with a ponytail in back and long fringes on the side. His green eyes crinkled in a smile. A heartbeat later, Anduin realized all the pain was gone—the stinging of his bumped knees, the aches and stiffness of his training. He felt rested, refreshed, as if he’d just awoken from a good night’s sleep.

  “Thank you.”

  “Ye’re welcome, lad. Might ye be th’ young prince o’ Stormwind we’ve been told tae expect?”

  Anduin nodded and stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you … ?”

  “High Priest Rohan. Light’s blessing be on ye. How do ye find our glorious city?”

  “By taking the Deeprun Tram,” Anduin quipped, the old joke escaping before he realized it. His eyes widened, and his cheeks reddened. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  To his surprise and relief, the high priest threw back his balding head and laughed heartily. “Och, I’ve not heard that one in far too long. I walked ri’ into it, did I not?” The guffaw subsided to a chuckle.

  Anduin relaxed, grinning a little himself. “It’s a really bad joke. I apologize.”

  “Well, I’ll fergive ye if ye can come up with some better ones,” Rohan said.

  “I’ll try. …”

  “Far too little laughter these days, says I. Och, the Light’s serious business, but then again, ye cannot be Lighthearted without a little humor, can ye?”

  Anduin eyed him dubiously, wondering if it would be disrespectful if he groaned at the pun. His expression did not go unnoticed, but Rohan only smiled the more. “Aye, I ken, ’tis a poor joke, which is why I hope ye’ll teach me some new ones. In the meantime, what brings ye to the Hall of Mysteries?”

  Suddenly serious, Anduin said, “I just … I just missed the Light.”

  The old dwarf smiled gently, and this time his voice was soft and serious, though no less full of joy. “It is never far, lad. We carry it in ourselves, although ’tis true, seeking the company of others in a special place feeds th’ soul. Ye are welcome here any time, Anduin Wrynn.”

  No title. Anduin knew he did not have one before the Light, and neither did Rohan. He remembered his father saying once, after he had been home for a time, that if it were not for Anduin, and for the people of Stormwind who relied upon him, Varian would have been content to remain Lo’Gosh, fighting in the ring. It was an uncomplicated and straightforward, if short and brutish, existence, lacking all the complexities of royal life.

  As he walked up the curving stairway to the quieter rooms above, the soft blue light augmented by the glowing orange of the braziers here and there, he realized that he understood his father’s longing. Not for the violence of the ring and the threat of sudden death each day: his father might crave the fight, but not he. No, what Anduin longed for was the seemingly elusive luxury of peace. Peace to sit in quiet contemplation, to study, to help people. A priestess brushed past him, smiling gently, her face calm.

  Anduin sighed. It was not hi
s fate. He was born a prince, not a priest, and no doubt his destiny included more war, more violence, and would demand of him politicking and maneuvering.

  But for now, here in the Hall of Mysteries, Anduin Wrynn—no title at the moment—sat quietly and thought not of his father, or Thrall, or even Jaina, but of a world where anyone could walk into any city and be welcomed there with open arms.

  TWELVE

  Drek’Thar tossed and turned in his sleep. Visions plucked at him, pinched and teased and tormented him. Half-glimpsed, uncertain, unclear; visions both of peace and prosperity and disaster and ruination playing out simultaneously in the theater of his mind.

  He could see in this vision. He stood, and yet there was nothing beneath his feet. All around him were stars and inky black sky, above and below. Images of the Spirits of Earth, Air, Fire, Water—all angry, all unhappy, all raging at him. They reached out to him, pleading, and yet when he turned to them, heart open and trying to understand, rebuffed him with fury so profound he staggered. If they had been children, they would have wept.

  Water crashed around him, whipped by Air manifesting as wind. Storms, strong and powerful, catching up ships and snapping them like child’s toys. Cairne and Grom’s boys were on such a ship … no, no, it was Thrall … then it did not matter who was on the ship, for it had been smashed to sodden kindling.

  Fire was next, its sparks diving at Drek’Thar like birds protecting a nest. He was powerless under the onslaught, crying out as his clothing caught and burned. He beat at it frantically, but the flame refused to be extinguished.

  Just as it seemed that Drek’Thar would succumb to Fire’s attack, it ceased. He was whole and sound. Drek’Thar breathed heavily, trembling. The moments stretched out. Nothing happened, yet the vision continued.