Unity - Chapter 4
It's around this point in the story that the plot decided 'you know what? It's time for a plot twist or two'. Thanks. I'm being trolled by my own fanfiction. ~_~
Title: Unity
Part: 4 of ? (I have no idea. They won't stop talking)
Word Count: 5303 (of this part)
Warnings: Implied sex, actual sex, orc/human, mentioned death and suicide, angst. No specific warnings for this part, though there will be some for the next one.
Pairings: Mentioned Thrall/Others, primarily Thrall/Jaina. Mentioned past Arthas/Jaina and past one-sided Kael/Jaina.
Summary: Winter becomes Spring, and bad news arrives from Dustwallow.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3
Winter's turn into Spring saw Thrall receiving more reports from southern Durotar. When they had built Razor Hill, it had been close to a Quillboar den, and while they had made an effort to keep their building away from them, Razor Hill needed to expand, and it would only be logical to expand west along the road they'd carved out to the Barrens, but virtually any approach enraged the Quillboar, and only fully armed escorts for those traveling west protected them at all.
Naz'grel had urged Thrall to clear the Quillboar out, but he could not in good conscience agree, not when the Quillboar had been here first. Even the tauren had skirmishes with the Quillboar, but Thrall had followed Jaina's advice: expand further south where there was no native population, or populations that would always be directly hostile with the Horde, like the centaur. He met with her more frequently now, and each meeting brought more need to express frustration about what went on around them.
Jaina, as promised, had taught Thrall about other holidays, and Thrall had tried to incorporate them into orcish culture, with limited success. The orcs seemed to enjoy feasting holidays as a whole, while only the shamans truly enjoyed some of the quieter, more contemplative holidays.
Candle Day is coming up soon, Thrall thought absently. Perhaps Jaina would care to come and see the hog farms--
"Warchief," Garona said tersely. Thrall looked up. He'd sent his Spymistress south to perform extended surveillance on Tiragarde, making sure that the problem with the humans was truly gone.
"Garona, what is it?" Thrall asked.
"There's been an incident on the border," Garona began, and Thrall noticed disconcertingly that Garona was shaking. "You need... you need to come. Now."
"Garona, which border?" Thrall asked, standing immediately. He whistled sharply, and Snowsong raised her head, the blue eyes of his frostwolf keenly intelligent.
"The Barrens and Dustwallow," Garona said, and Thrall's heart sank. There were few orc settlements so far south in the Barrens, due both to a lack of significant resources in the south, and because Dustwallow Marsh bordered against it, and while much of the swamp was still uninhabited by humans, they had expanded using lookout towers all the way to the border, and wherever they could manage to build a road. They had one major settlement close to the Barrens, one that Jaina had spoken of with great pride in the past.
"Shady Rest," Thrall breathed. "Garona..."
"A mage is preparing to take us there directly," Garona replied. "Come."
Thrall nodded, and went with her. The Kor'Kron fell into place around them. He met Shandel'zare's eyes as the troll mage prepared the incantation. The runes that floated in the air were not quite the ones he was used to, but they were effective enough to take him where he needed to be.
The transition to the other side was abrupt: the air was thick with smoke, and there was a sound like a thin, persistent wail, which Thrall realized was the whine of wet-wood burning. He looked around, and was immediately horrified.
The town of Shady Rest had been a pet project of Jaina's: in the transition area between dusty plain and too-wet marsh, she had encouraged settlers who were up for a challenge to make their home here, on ground that was tentatively neither orc nor human. This audacious move had been to encourage both Horde and humans to come here. Shady Rest was a trading post between their people, and boasted a huge traveler's inn, innocuously named the Shady Rest Inn, run by a man named James Hyal and his family. Jaina had spoken glowingly of him-- Jaina.
The Shady Rest Inn was gone, a burned out ruin of what it had once been. Whole sections had collapsed under the weight of the fire. Weary, soot-streaked guards and investigators were poking through the ruins. There was a man being held back by two guards, murmuring something about "Lynn" and "Jimmy". With a sinking heart, Thrall looked for Jaina. She was standing by two of her advisors, speaking quietly to them.
"Jaina," Thrall called softly, and she looked up, her expression rigid and resolute.
"Thrall," she replied, and motioned for her advisors to back up.
"I'm sorry, Jaina," he said gently. "Can you tell me what happened?" Around him, the human and elven guards stiffened, moving into place to cover the Horde guards.
"Early this morning, James Hyal reported strange noises coming from the traveler's barn," Jaina said, keeping her voice steady. "When he went to investigate, he was assaulted and knocked out. When he awoke, the Inn was on fire." There was a faint tremor. "There were no guests at the time, but his wife and son were inside. They're dead, Thrall. We're investigating now."
"Do you know who could have done this?" Thrall asked, the news like a knife to the chest. This was a symbol of peace between us, and now it's been destroyed...
"No, but there are possibilities," Jaina admitted. "The suspicion of course lies on..."
"The Horde," Thrall finished. "Jaina, I would never order anything like this. This is beyond wrong."
"I know... Thrall, I..." She met his eyes, and her expression was twisted with pain and grief, and in an instant, he was at her side, and put his arms around her, holding her and slowly, the anguish that had wound its way around her soul poured out, and she wept into his arms.
I would cry too, but she needs me, Thrall thought, closing his eyes and letting the rest of the world fall away. I would protect you from the way the world hurts us, Jaina Proudmoore, forever, I--
"Warchief, do you want us to assist with the investigation?" Garona called softly, and Thrall nearly snapped at her. Instead, he carefully looked up, noticing that only Garona would look at him directly: everyone else was carefully watching elsewhere, the smouldering Inn, the man who'd lost everything and was too far gone to even properly grieve, the stand-off between humans and orcs, elves and trolls. A handful of gnomes and dwarves, operating some kind of pump that was an odd combination of gnomish ingenuity, dwarven practicality and magic, fussed over it unnecessarily.
I don't care, Thrall thought, and for an instant, he even meant it. He would have preferred to ignore them, but instead he touched Jaina's cheek lightly, tilting her head up. "Will you permit us to help you investigate? We have lost much with this, none the least of which is your trust."
"I... yes." Jaina straightened, wiping her eyes, and straining to return herself to a state of calm. "Let the Horde help you investigate, we need all the eyes we can if we're to find the true culprit." Thrall smiled at the strength in her voice. "And, Thrall?"
"Yes, Jaina?" Thrall asked.
"You never lost my trust."
~ * ~
Thrall insisted on remaining while the investigation took place, sending orders back through mages to the rest of his advisors. Garona, naturally, remained with him, harassing the investigators as they worked.
The information they found would have been damning were it not so utterly confusing. The main clues seemed to be heavy hoofprints, a charred shield, and a badge. The hoofprints had been meticulously recorded and preserved, the shield cleaned, and the badge examined. Most of the investigators had left, but Thrall wanted to stay. A brief word to Jaina's advisors -- Tesoran and Tervosh -- had let Thrall convince them to take Jaina to her tower to rest. Garona had, unsuccessfully, tried to convince him of the same.
"I'm not under the same emotional stress that she is," Thrall muttered, picking his way over the ruins. "I can stay."
"As you say, Warchief," Garona said, and pointed. "Look at that, see where the footprints go?"
Thrall nodded once. "They go behind the barn. It looks like the fire started there. There aren't any fire elementals around any more, and the water ones don't know as much."
"Try wind," Garona said absently, following the footprints. "There are different footprints here, human ones."
"That's not surprising, since they live and work here," Thrall pointed out, and called out to the spirits of air. It was often difficult to get a clear response from one, but they saw much.
"These ones are too deep." She moved her finger along the edge. "The tread here, and here, is too heavy, and the stride isn't as if someone was carrying something. The weight distribution is also wrong for an orc or an elf."
"Someone human, in heavy armor, came here," Thrall finished, following her reasoning. "Were the hoofprints their horse?"
"Maybe," Garona admitted. "It's hard to say without knowing more. Either way, if this was a human, this means the conspiracy comes from within Theramore's forces."
"Unless it's Tiragarde again," Thrall growled. "If they came all the way here for this..." The spirits of air felt his anger and swirled around him.
"Another possibility, it might be worth asking Jaina's forces if they've seen anything," Garona pointed out, watching him with an unreadable expression. "What do the spirits say?"
Thrall closed his eyes, letting his anger flow out of him, and opened himself to the spirits. The wind spoke to him, whispering about the elements of fire and water that had clashed here, and the one that had summoned fire in the first place. He closed his eyes, concentrating.
"Uh, L-- Mi-- Your--" he heard, as if from a great distance.
"Spit it out," Garona snapped. "You can call me whatever you like as long as you get to the point."
"Ma'am," the other voice decided on. "We've got a report about the hoofprints, and it's a little disturbing."
"What is it?" Garona asked.
"They're not hoof prints from a horse, Ma'am, they're from something else." Thrall opened his eyes to see a young human wearing Theramore's colours swallow nervously. "They're from a tauren."
"Are you absolutely certain?" Garona demanded, and Thrall raised a hand.
"He's almost certainly right, Garona. There's more to this than we thought. The fire was started by magic." Thrall sighed. "Shamanistic magic."
"Why would the tauren do something like that?" Garona wondered. "They're so peaceful most of the time that I'm surprised they don't wander around Mulgore grazing."
"Not all of them," Thrall replied. "Not the Grimtotem."
"This is a little out of their way, don't you think?" Garona asked, but she was already standing. "I'll go take a look."
"There's other news," the human interjected, and Warchief and Spymistress stared at him. He swallowed again. "It's about the badge we found. It belongs to a deserter named Paval Reethe and--"
"A deserter? From where?" Thrall demanded.
"Theramore's army," the human said nervously. "There have been some, um, people who've gotten dishonourably discharged due to their, um, behaviour. Inappropriate actions regarding the ogres. Things like that. Reethe was one of them..."
"We've been hearing about trouble, but we didn't think it was the humans," Garona said quietly. "I'm going to need to beat some intelligence into my agents."
"There must be some kind of connection between Reethe and the tauren, and I'm going to find it." Thrall straightened. "It's time to take the bull by the horns... and steer."
~ * ~
"You're certain you'll be alright?" Garona asked. Thrall gave her a very patient look, and indicated the Kor'Kron guard around him, as well as a rather annoying looking Shandel'zare.
"I've got enough of a guard to keep me safe for a few days while you ride south," Thrall said, letting none of his annoyance show. Really, she unveils one conspiracy that the spirits didn't catch and she acts as if I'm incompetent. "I'll be fine."
"You'd better be, or I'm going to find you and have a discussion about your failures," Garona said. She gave the harness of her riding worg a tug, and headed south. Thrall watched until even the spirits said they could not sense the half-orc assassin.
"What do we do now, Warchief?" Shandel'zare asked, her neutral, perfect orcish betraying no emotion.
"We help Jaina find out who did this," Thrall said. "Garona is investigating the tauren angle, and we should look into Reethe."
"It is unlikely that a human, particularly one hostile to Jaina's cause, will speak to us willingly," the troll mage pointed out.
"We don't need to have a conversation wherein he is willing," Thrall said, his voice low as he glanced over towards where Jaina was speaking to some heavily armed and armoured soldiers. "We just have to find him and get him to tell us what he knows."
"How very unethical of you," Shandel'zare said dryly, a wicked gleam to her eyes. "Where do we start?"
"That's a good question," Thrall said. "I intend to speak to the ogres at Brackenwall. They've lived here since Rexxar gave clan leadership to one of them, after he defeated their previous leader. They are... not the smartest, but they might know something."
"We'll have to travel afoot, I've never been there before," Shandel'zare replied, her expression making what she thought of dealing with ogres quite clear. "Where is your champion, anyway?"
"Patrolling Desolace," Thrall said. "We're scouting the coast for an appropriate place for a village. The trolls expressed some interest in expanding."
"It's a miserable hole that's full of demons and centaur," his advisor grumbled. "I don't know why."
"It doesn't matter. Kor'Kron, stay here. Shandel'zare and I will go to Brackenwall. Make sure nothing happens to Lady Proudmoore. This was a deliberate attack, we must not allow our alliance to falter." The Kor'Kron replied with an affirmative to the orc, and Thrall whistled to Snowsong. She'd been sniffing around the site of the arson, and Thrall wished that he could speak to her directly. I'm sure you've found something we've overlooked, but I wish I knew what it was.
Shandel'zare shook her head, and went over to her raptor, which looked forlornly at some of the wildlife, just out of reach of its picket. Thrall ignored her, and walked over to Jaina. He waited until she noticed him, and the sorceress made a gesture to silence the soldiers she was speaking to.
"We're going to Brackenwall," Thrall said, smiling gently. "We'll be back soon, but there's something we want to look into. Will you be alright?"
"Yes, I'll be fine," Jaina replied. "I have matters of my own I want to look into. Send me a message through the rune when you're finished?"
"Of course," Thrall said, tapping the rune lightly. "Good luck."
"You too," Jaina replied. "Light be with you."
"Spirits guide your path," Thrall said. Snowsong nuzzled at his hand, and he prepared her saddle, watching Jaina as he did so. She seemed much calmer now, but harder. There was a set to her jaw that he recognized from when Daelin Proudmoore had claimed Theramore as his base of operations. She knows something is going on, and she doesn't like it. We'll find whoever did this, I promise.
"At your leisure, Warchief," Shandel'zare cut in. Thrall nodded, and mounted his frostwolf, clucking to her. Snowsong rode off eagerly, and his advisor followed. For a short time, there was simply the sky, the road, and his frostwolf.
One could almost forget that two innocent people lost their lives recently. He shook his head slightly. They will not be forgotten. Lynn and Jimmy Hyal. Focusing on his mission, he continued to ride. Brackenwall Village was less of a village and more of a loose collection of mud huts and walls, though the village itself was primarily built around a cave. It was the second ogre village -- or mound, as they called them -- within Dustwallow: the first being the Stonemaul mound, where Rexxar had encountered them.
Thrall rode up to the village, and was surprised by the rather large number of ogres there. I though this was a small village...
"Who goes?" demanded a large ogre. Thrall was not a small orc by any stretch of the imagination, and the ogre loomed over him, even astride Snowsong.
"I am Warchief Thrall of the Horde," he replied, letting the spirits give his voice strength. "I want to speak to Chieftain Mok'Morokk."
"Mok'Morokk busy. He no care for Warchief or Horde," the guard said, and Thrall frowned, looking over at Shandel'zare.
"Someone should speak to Rexxar about the exceptionally short memories of ogres," she grumbled. "Hopefully he didn't inherit it."
"Don't be racist," Thrall said quietly. More loudly, he continued. "If Mok'Morokk won't speak to us, perhaps someone else--"
"You have a rock for a brain," said a deep voice, and Thrall turned. The speaker was a not-quite-as-tall, blue-skinned ogre with two heads. Unlike the ogres speaking to him now, this ogre spoke in complete, cultured sentences. "This is Rexxar's chieftain. You recall what he freed us from, do you not?"
"Bad ogre chieftain," one agreed, scuffing a huge foot against the ground. Thrall would almost have found it endearing. Almost. He could understand why the humans had found Horde troops so intimidating, since ogres like this one and his smarter brethren had once composed a small but powerful part of first Blackhand, then Doomhammer's army.
"You are not entirely stupid. Go back to watching for crocolisks." The two-headed ogre gestured imperiously. "If you would come this way, Warchief Thrall. We will discuss why you are here."
Thrall nodded once, and decided not to quibble about mounts. Shandel'zare simply picketed hers on the outside of the wall, away from where it could potentially bite anyone, and Thrall took off Snowsong's saddle, and carried it with him, his frostwolf close on his heels. The ogre led them both to the cave. Within was a scattering of tanned hides in various locations, and Thrall noticed there were various arcane symbols written on them in some kind of dark substance.
"You're a mage," Thrall realized, and the ogre nodded pleasantly, with both heads.
"I am," he said. "It is an honour to meet you, Warchief. Despite what those meatheads said, we have not all forgotten you or your deeds. Please, sit down, and we may discuss this."
"Can we take him back to Orgrimmar with us?" Shandel'zare muttered. "He'd make an excellent addition to the council. We can send Naz'grel to Tanaris to make nice with the goblins instead."
Thrall hushed her. "I will admit to my surprise at meeting such an eloquent ogre, though I know many humans express the same sentiment about me."
"Indeed," the ogre said. "My name is Draz'Zilb. I do recall your predecessor, Orgrim Doomhammer. I am sorry to hear of his passing, though we left the Eastern Lands long ago."
It shames me that a race that still defecates outdoors on the ground can make warships to travel away from Azeroth and we cannot, Thrall thought ruefully. Orcs are not, and will never be, sailors. The journey to Kalimdor was proof enough of that. "Thank you, I miss him a great deal. What I came to ask you is unrelated to my first question... what happened here? It seems like there are many more ogres in this village than we were led to believe."
Draz'Zilb's second head pulled a face, but remained silent. "We have come under attack by a terrible, dangerous enemy. They've been very active lately, and after we were defeated, the survivors of the Stonemaul mound came here."
"Enemy?" Thrall frowned. "Did they have hooves, and horns?"
"No," Draz'Zilb replied, surprising them both. "They were not tauren. They were dragons."
"Dragons," Shandel'zare interjected, sounding incredulous. "What are dragons doing here--"
"In this miserable mudhole?" the ogre mage finished dryly. "I do not know. What I do know is that our Chieftain, Mok'Morokk is a lazy, indolent coward that is too incapable to even go back there and get the tobacco he whines constantly about, since he no longer has it to smoke." His second head snorted. "It is not enough Brackenwall is raided by the humans inhabitants for what few supplies we have, but Mok'Morokk actually expects people to try and get his things back. Do not let him talk you into it."
Thrall and Shandel'zare exchanged another, startled, look. "You've been raided by humans? Why was word not sent to Orgrimmar? We have a treaty with the humans, and this village is protected by it, like any other Horde holding."
"Aside from the fact I feel that Mok'Morokk is not fit to wipe your frostwolf's behind--" at this, Snowsong yipped in annoyance "--your pardon. Mok'Morokk is not worthy of the power Rexxar granted him. We also felt that..." He seemed to search for words. "That to admit that we were defeated would be humiliating. I'm sure you understand. Humans are soft. Weak. Their skulls are easily crushed by our weapons, but these humans were swift and clever, coming under the cover of darkness and the bad weather that plagues this place. They took the supplies that we hadn't bothered to guard because we simply assumed no one would be foolish enough to steal from us. We were wrong. They have not come again, though if that has something to do with our security measures, or because something happened to those thieves, it's difficult to say."
"Security measures?" Shandel'zare asked curiously. The ogre considered her.
"We dug a very large hole, put our supplies in it, and covered it with a rock. My people often feel that simple, straightforward solutions are the best ones."
"I don't doubt it," Thrall said, his mind racing. Jaina mentioned nothing about this, but she did mention dissent within the ranks of her soldiers. There could be a connection. "Could anyone here identify the humans? Either visually, or from something they overheard..?"
"You will find that many of my kin are extremely stupid, and that extends to their ability to describe what they refer to as 'puny men'. However, I did myself hear some of their conversation. There was a name mentioned." He paused.
"A name?" Thrall pressed.
"I believe the name was Reethe. He was called 'Lieutenant' by one of the others."
"Paval Reethe," Thrall said, sitting back. It doesn't quite make sense yet, but it may yet. We need to talk to Jaina. Why didn't she tell me there was this kind of trouble?
"The name disturbs you," Draz'Zilb observed. "You came here for a purpose, and I do not believe it was to help us fight the dragons."
"You're right, I didn't, but I'll see what can be done to help you regain your home," Thrall admitted. "There was an incident within a human settlement, one that was open to members of the Horde as well. An inn was destroyed, and two people died. We're trying to find out who might have been responsible, and Paval Reethe's badge was found on site, as well as some other, unusual things. Footprints of tauren, and a very large shield."
"Hrm," the ogre said, thinking. Thrall wished he could claim it was the oddest thing he had seen, but strangely, he felt comfortable with this ogre who was as odd amongst his own people as Thrall had once been in regards to his own.
At least he speaks their language, Thrall reflected, recalling some of his earliest memories.
"There have been tauren within Dustwallow relatively recently," Draz'Zilb said finally. "They settled further north, and they are exceptionally secretive. Not that most of my fellows are interested in such things, but the tauren tend to elude our patrols, or any efforts to speak to them."
"Have you seen these tauren?" Thrall asked, making mental notes so that he could contact Garona through communication crystal.
"I have interpreted the reports of the others, who report them to be very dark: they dress in dark leathers and furs, they have dark fur themselves, and have dark manes, though I am given to understand this is not unusual."
"The Grimtotem are very dark," Shandel'zare pointed out. "They seem to be intent to live up to their name."
"So are the Ragetotem," Thrall argued. "It's unfair to judge based on appearance, but this is the second time they've been mentioned. It could be coincidence."
"For now," Shandel'zare said darkly. "If you believe in coincidence, you aren't paranoid enough."
"Indeed," the ogre mage interjected, calling their attention back to him. "I can give you the location of their village if you wish to investigate."
"Subtlety isn't my strong suit, but I will commune with the spirits and see if they recognize any of them," Thrall said, and stood. "Thank you for your time. I'll send a force south to help clear out the black dragons."
"Actually, I would prefer it if you didn't." Thrall raised an eyebrow, and the ogre mage continued. "Mok'Morokk only proves his weakness by being so reluctant to retake his home. He is a coward, and a fool. It is my hope that enough of this will rally a champion. I have my eye on a scout named Ogron. He is not as physically strong or large, but he is clever, and mastered the human gun with great speed. It's simply a matter of motivation."
"If that's what you prefer," Thrall replied. "If you have a map..."
"I do indeed," Draz'Zilb said, and from amongst the painted skins, the ogre mage took out a particular map. It was not poorly detailed considering the medium, and Thrall took it. "They are this way." He tapped north of Brackenwall, along the mountain range. "I wish you good luck, and that your spirits serve you well."
"May the spirits guide your path," Thrall replied, and left his cave. Off to one side of the village, Thrall could see a very large, well-armoured ogre, speaking to a 'captive' audience. That must be Mok'Morokk. He doesn't seem weak at first glance, but it's dangerous to judge someone by looks alone.
"You see, he gossips while he could be killing dragons," Draz'Zilb said from behind him. "I suggest leaving before he removes his head from between his own legs and notices you. He is still fierce when he doesn't have to leave home."
Thrall nodded, and they slipped out, going back to Shandel'zare's mount, who'd finally managed to catch something, and chewed on it happily. Shandel'zare whacked it on the snout, frowning disapprovingly.
"No eating between meals, you. Behave yourself."
Thrall could have sworn that it whined in reply. He looked down at Snowsong, who gave him a doleful look. Sighing, he slipped her some meat, and then went to saddle her again while she gnawed happily.
First we look into this tauren encampment, then we ask Jaina why she didn't tell me of any of this. There was a sick, worried feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn't abating.
~ * ~
"Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?" Shandel'zare asked. "I do have spells that may get me past their defenses."
"You also said that the Invisibility spell has a high rate of failure," Thrall pointed out. He added more herbs to the fire, taking in their heady scent. "Just guard my body while I spirit walk, and everything will be fine."
"As you say, Warchief," the troll mage replied. "The perimeter is secure."
In this case, secure meant that Shandel'zare's raptor had been given permission to hunt anything that came near the glowing arcane runes drawn around Thrall and the fire. At the moment, Thrall watched it chase a swamp rat gleefully through some rushes, and was glad that they had chosen a very remote location to do this.
Thrall nodded once, and sat cross-legged in front of the fire. It helped to have as few distractions as possible, so his armor had come off, one piece at a time, then his shirt, and finally his shoes. He could feel the wind against his skin, and the moistness that came with being in a marsh. There was always the hint of rain in the air, and the two elements whispered to him. Earth was solid beneath his feet, and Snowsong's warm presence was close enough to feel, but not enough to distract him. In front of him, of course, was fire.
Breathe in. Spirits of Fire, I call to you. Breathe out. I present myself before you, a humble student of your arts. Breathe in. I ask of you a favour. Sprinkling herbs again over the fire, he waited. I offer you a gift, to show my respect for your power. He waited. The fire flickered, and no wind touched it, his breath still held.
We are listening, Son of Durotan, the spirits replied. We accept your gift. Nourish us with your breath, and we will hear the favour you ask of us.
Thrall breathed out slowly, letting the air within his lungs feed fire instead of destroying it. There is a location I need to go. I must walk as a spirit. I ask that you guide me. He took the map that Draz'Zilb had given him, and placed it over the fire.
We will guide you, follow our light. The fire brightened, and then extinguished. Thrall closed his eyes, and then opened them again.
Everything has a spirit, Thrall reflected, standing up as he left his body, and began to walk. In the distance, he could see winking torches, and each flame held a spirit of fire. As he walked, he could feel the spirit of earth beneath his feet. It supported fire, though it could smother it as well, and was worn away by water, or gave it form, and stood against air. Air nourished or destroyed fire, and shaped water, and water extinguished fire. Life needed all four elements to function. And while there is much death in the cycle of life, there are some things that even the spirits will not bear.
Carefully, he continued to follow the torches. He could sense the lives he passed as he walked into the village. There were not too many here, and many of them had lives that felt hardened by time and by experience. If that makes any sense at all, Thrall thought. Looking around, he attempted to locate a large hut, but it seemed as if there was nothing, just smaller homes. He frowned, looking around again, and still his gaze found nothing, sliding from one small hut to the next.
I'll simply have to find what I'm looking for in another one of these huts, he thought, and went to each one, letting the tiny hearth guide him. The spirits of the wind carried commentary and gossip, but nothing useful. These were Grimtotem, and they had come from further south, that much was certain, but to what end it was impossible to say. It would be far too simple if people simply discussed their plans at a time when it was convenient for me to hear. Still, perhaps he could at least find some proof of what had happened. He continued on, looking through each hut while fire encouraged him, and air brought more whispered. There was some kind of conversation going on, but what the air brought was scattered, only half of a conversation.
Odd, even air isn't usually this vague, Thrall thought, and called out to the air spirits. Can you take me to where you heard this?
We can, but there is badness there, the air spirits replied. We don't want to go.
Thrall frowned. You don't have to, just get me close so I can listen. As he felt them hesitate, he added, Please. I will offer you sweet-smelling gifts when I return to my body.
Very well, they replied. But we won't go very close.
Thrall nodded his assent, and the air spirits guided him. There was a large building, and even as the spirits guided him, he wanted to look away from it. Finally, he got in close.
"--and our other problem?" ----- "You know where Reethe is? Why wasn't this taken care of earlier?" ----- "I don't care what that human does, they're not welcome here. Kalimdor belongs to the races of the Earthmother, not some puny pink things. Do your duty, Ansolm."
Thrall stilled. He could not see who the voice was talking to. He couldn't hear their replies. It was almost as if, in the spirit world, not only did they not exist at all, but the spirits themselves rejected what they saw, meaning he could not see them directly. As far as Thrall was concerned, that meant only one thing, and it was one of the last things he wanted to believe.
Forsaken.
Chapter 5
Title: Unity
Part: 4 of ? (I have no idea. They won't stop talking)
Word Count: 5303 (of this part)
Warnings: Implied sex, actual sex, orc/human, mentioned death and suicide, angst. No specific warnings for this part, though there will be some for the next one.
Pairings: Mentioned Thrall/Others, primarily Thrall/Jaina. Mentioned past Arthas/Jaina and past one-sided Kael/Jaina.
Summary: Winter becomes Spring, and bad news arrives from Dustwallow.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3
Winter's turn into Spring saw Thrall receiving more reports from southern Durotar. When they had built Razor Hill, it had been close to a Quillboar den, and while they had made an effort to keep their building away from them, Razor Hill needed to expand, and it would only be logical to expand west along the road they'd carved out to the Barrens, but virtually any approach enraged the Quillboar, and only fully armed escorts for those traveling west protected them at all.
Naz'grel had urged Thrall to clear the Quillboar out, but he could not in good conscience agree, not when the Quillboar had been here first. Even the tauren had skirmishes with the Quillboar, but Thrall had followed Jaina's advice: expand further south where there was no native population, or populations that would always be directly hostile with the Horde, like the centaur. He met with her more frequently now, and each meeting brought more need to express frustration about what went on around them.
Jaina, as promised, had taught Thrall about other holidays, and Thrall had tried to incorporate them into orcish culture, with limited success. The orcs seemed to enjoy feasting holidays as a whole, while only the shamans truly enjoyed some of the quieter, more contemplative holidays.
Candle Day is coming up soon, Thrall thought absently. Perhaps Jaina would care to come and see the hog farms--
"Warchief," Garona said tersely. Thrall looked up. He'd sent his Spymistress south to perform extended surveillance on Tiragarde, making sure that the problem with the humans was truly gone.
"Garona, what is it?" Thrall asked.
"There's been an incident on the border," Garona began, and Thrall noticed disconcertingly that Garona was shaking. "You need... you need to come. Now."
"Garona, which border?" Thrall asked, standing immediately. He whistled sharply, and Snowsong raised her head, the blue eyes of his frostwolf keenly intelligent.
"The Barrens and Dustwallow," Garona said, and Thrall's heart sank. There were few orc settlements so far south in the Barrens, due both to a lack of significant resources in the south, and because Dustwallow Marsh bordered against it, and while much of the swamp was still uninhabited by humans, they had expanded using lookout towers all the way to the border, and wherever they could manage to build a road. They had one major settlement close to the Barrens, one that Jaina had spoken of with great pride in the past.
"Shady Rest," Thrall breathed. "Garona..."
"A mage is preparing to take us there directly," Garona replied. "Come."
Thrall nodded, and went with her. The Kor'Kron fell into place around them. He met Shandel'zare's eyes as the troll mage prepared the incantation. The runes that floated in the air were not quite the ones he was used to, but they were effective enough to take him where he needed to be.
The transition to the other side was abrupt: the air was thick with smoke, and there was a sound like a thin, persistent wail, which Thrall realized was the whine of wet-wood burning. He looked around, and was immediately horrified.
The town of Shady Rest had been a pet project of Jaina's: in the transition area between dusty plain and too-wet marsh, she had encouraged settlers who were up for a challenge to make their home here, on ground that was tentatively neither orc nor human. This audacious move had been to encourage both Horde and humans to come here. Shady Rest was a trading post between their people, and boasted a huge traveler's inn, innocuously named the Shady Rest Inn, run by a man named James Hyal and his family. Jaina had spoken glowingly of him-- Jaina.
The Shady Rest Inn was gone, a burned out ruin of what it had once been. Whole sections had collapsed under the weight of the fire. Weary, soot-streaked guards and investigators were poking through the ruins. There was a man being held back by two guards, murmuring something about "Lynn" and "Jimmy". With a sinking heart, Thrall looked for Jaina. She was standing by two of her advisors, speaking quietly to them.
"Jaina," Thrall called softly, and she looked up, her expression rigid and resolute.
"Thrall," she replied, and motioned for her advisors to back up.
"I'm sorry, Jaina," he said gently. "Can you tell me what happened?" Around him, the human and elven guards stiffened, moving into place to cover the Horde guards.
"Early this morning, James Hyal reported strange noises coming from the traveler's barn," Jaina said, keeping her voice steady. "When he went to investigate, he was assaulted and knocked out. When he awoke, the Inn was on fire." There was a faint tremor. "There were no guests at the time, but his wife and son were inside. They're dead, Thrall. We're investigating now."
"Do you know who could have done this?" Thrall asked, the news like a knife to the chest. This was a symbol of peace between us, and now it's been destroyed...
"No, but there are possibilities," Jaina admitted. "The suspicion of course lies on..."
"The Horde," Thrall finished. "Jaina, I would never order anything like this. This is beyond wrong."
"I know... Thrall, I..." She met his eyes, and her expression was twisted with pain and grief, and in an instant, he was at her side, and put his arms around her, holding her and slowly, the anguish that had wound its way around her soul poured out, and she wept into his arms.
I would cry too, but she needs me, Thrall thought, closing his eyes and letting the rest of the world fall away. I would protect you from the way the world hurts us, Jaina Proudmoore, forever, I--
"Warchief, do you want us to assist with the investigation?" Garona called softly, and Thrall nearly snapped at her. Instead, he carefully looked up, noticing that only Garona would look at him directly: everyone else was carefully watching elsewhere, the smouldering Inn, the man who'd lost everything and was too far gone to even properly grieve, the stand-off between humans and orcs, elves and trolls. A handful of gnomes and dwarves, operating some kind of pump that was an odd combination of gnomish ingenuity, dwarven practicality and magic, fussed over it unnecessarily.
I don't care, Thrall thought, and for an instant, he even meant it. He would have preferred to ignore them, but instead he touched Jaina's cheek lightly, tilting her head up. "Will you permit us to help you investigate? We have lost much with this, none the least of which is your trust."
"I... yes." Jaina straightened, wiping her eyes, and straining to return herself to a state of calm. "Let the Horde help you investigate, we need all the eyes we can if we're to find the true culprit." Thrall smiled at the strength in her voice. "And, Thrall?"
"Yes, Jaina?" Thrall asked.
"You never lost my trust."
~ * ~
Thrall insisted on remaining while the investigation took place, sending orders back through mages to the rest of his advisors. Garona, naturally, remained with him, harassing the investigators as they worked.
The information they found would have been damning were it not so utterly confusing. The main clues seemed to be heavy hoofprints, a charred shield, and a badge. The hoofprints had been meticulously recorded and preserved, the shield cleaned, and the badge examined. Most of the investigators had left, but Thrall wanted to stay. A brief word to Jaina's advisors -- Tesoran and Tervosh -- had let Thrall convince them to take Jaina to her tower to rest. Garona had, unsuccessfully, tried to convince him of the same.
"I'm not under the same emotional stress that she is," Thrall muttered, picking his way over the ruins. "I can stay."
"As you say, Warchief," Garona said, and pointed. "Look at that, see where the footprints go?"
Thrall nodded once. "They go behind the barn. It looks like the fire started there. There aren't any fire elementals around any more, and the water ones don't know as much."
"Try wind," Garona said absently, following the footprints. "There are different footprints here, human ones."
"That's not surprising, since they live and work here," Thrall pointed out, and called out to the spirits of air. It was often difficult to get a clear response from one, but they saw much.
"These ones are too deep." She moved her finger along the edge. "The tread here, and here, is too heavy, and the stride isn't as if someone was carrying something. The weight distribution is also wrong for an orc or an elf."
"Someone human, in heavy armor, came here," Thrall finished, following her reasoning. "Were the hoofprints their horse?"
"Maybe," Garona admitted. "It's hard to say without knowing more. Either way, if this was a human, this means the conspiracy comes from within Theramore's forces."
"Unless it's Tiragarde again," Thrall growled. "If they came all the way here for this..." The spirits of air felt his anger and swirled around him.
"Another possibility, it might be worth asking Jaina's forces if they've seen anything," Garona pointed out, watching him with an unreadable expression. "What do the spirits say?"
Thrall closed his eyes, letting his anger flow out of him, and opened himself to the spirits. The wind spoke to him, whispering about the elements of fire and water that had clashed here, and the one that had summoned fire in the first place. He closed his eyes, concentrating.
"Uh, L-- Mi-- Your--" he heard, as if from a great distance.
"Spit it out," Garona snapped. "You can call me whatever you like as long as you get to the point."
"Ma'am," the other voice decided on. "We've got a report about the hoofprints, and it's a little disturbing."
"What is it?" Garona asked.
"They're not hoof prints from a horse, Ma'am, they're from something else." Thrall opened his eyes to see a young human wearing Theramore's colours swallow nervously. "They're from a tauren."
"Are you absolutely certain?" Garona demanded, and Thrall raised a hand.
"He's almost certainly right, Garona. There's more to this than we thought. The fire was started by magic." Thrall sighed. "Shamanistic magic."
"Why would the tauren do something like that?" Garona wondered. "They're so peaceful most of the time that I'm surprised they don't wander around Mulgore grazing."
"Not all of them," Thrall replied. "Not the Grimtotem."
"This is a little out of their way, don't you think?" Garona asked, but she was already standing. "I'll go take a look."
"There's other news," the human interjected, and Warchief and Spymistress stared at him. He swallowed again. "It's about the badge we found. It belongs to a deserter named Paval Reethe and--"
"A deserter? From where?" Thrall demanded.
"Theramore's army," the human said nervously. "There have been some, um, people who've gotten dishonourably discharged due to their, um, behaviour. Inappropriate actions regarding the ogres. Things like that. Reethe was one of them..."
"We've been hearing about trouble, but we didn't think it was the humans," Garona said quietly. "I'm going to need to beat some intelligence into my agents."
"There must be some kind of connection between Reethe and the tauren, and I'm going to find it." Thrall straightened. "It's time to take the bull by the horns... and steer."
~ * ~
"You're certain you'll be alright?" Garona asked. Thrall gave her a very patient look, and indicated the Kor'Kron guard around him, as well as a rather annoying looking Shandel'zare.
"I've got enough of a guard to keep me safe for a few days while you ride south," Thrall said, letting none of his annoyance show. Really, she unveils one conspiracy that the spirits didn't catch and she acts as if I'm incompetent. "I'll be fine."
"You'd better be, or I'm going to find you and have a discussion about your failures," Garona said. She gave the harness of her riding worg a tug, and headed south. Thrall watched until even the spirits said they could not sense the half-orc assassin.
"What do we do now, Warchief?" Shandel'zare asked, her neutral, perfect orcish betraying no emotion.
"We help Jaina find out who did this," Thrall said. "Garona is investigating the tauren angle, and we should look into Reethe."
"It is unlikely that a human, particularly one hostile to Jaina's cause, will speak to us willingly," the troll mage pointed out.
"We don't need to have a conversation wherein he is willing," Thrall said, his voice low as he glanced over towards where Jaina was speaking to some heavily armed and armoured soldiers. "We just have to find him and get him to tell us what he knows."
"How very unethical of you," Shandel'zare said dryly, a wicked gleam to her eyes. "Where do we start?"
"That's a good question," Thrall said. "I intend to speak to the ogres at Brackenwall. They've lived here since Rexxar gave clan leadership to one of them, after he defeated their previous leader. They are... not the smartest, but they might know something."
"We'll have to travel afoot, I've never been there before," Shandel'zare replied, her expression making what she thought of dealing with ogres quite clear. "Where is your champion, anyway?"
"Patrolling Desolace," Thrall said. "We're scouting the coast for an appropriate place for a village. The trolls expressed some interest in expanding."
"It's a miserable hole that's full of demons and centaur," his advisor grumbled. "I don't know why."
"It doesn't matter. Kor'Kron, stay here. Shandel'zare and I will go to Brackenwall. Make sure nothing happens to Lady Proudmoore. This was a deliberate attack, we must not allow our alliance to falter." The Kor'Kron replied with an affirmative to the orc, and Thrall whistled to Snowsong. She'd been sniffing around the site of the arson, and Thrall wished that he could speak to her directly. I'm sure you've found something we've overlooked, but I wish I knew what it was.
Shandel'zare shook her head, and went over to her raptor, which looked forlornly at some of the wildlife, just out of reach of its picket. Thrall ignored her, and walked over to Jaina. He waited until she noticed him, and the sorceress made a gesture to silence the soldiers she was speaking to.
"We're going to Brackenwall," Thrall said, smiling gently. "We'll be back soon, but there's something we want to look into. Will you be alright?"
"Yes, I'll be fine," Jaina replied. "I have matters of my own I want to look into. Send me a message through the rune when you're finished?"
"Of course," Thrall said, tapping the rune lightly. "Good luck."
"You too," Jaina replied. "Light be with you."
"Spirits guide your path," Thrall said. Snowsong nuzzled at his hand, and he prepared her saddle, watching Jaina as he did so. She seemed much calmer now, but harder. There was a set to her jaw that he recognized from when Daelin Proudmoore had claimed Theramore as his base of operations. She knows something is going on, and she doesn't like it. We'll find whoever did this, I promise.
"At your leisure, Warchief," Shandel'zare cut in. Thrall nodded, and mounted his frostwolf, clucking to her. Snowsong rode off eagerly, and his advisor followed. For a short time, there was simply the sky, the road, and his frostwolf.
One could almost forget that two innocent people lost their lives recently. He shook his head slightly. They will not be forgotten. Lynn and Jimmy Hyal. Focusing on his mission, he continued to ride. Brackenwall Village was less of a village and more of a loose collection of mud huts and walls, though the village itself was primarily built around a cave. It was the second ogre village -- or mound, as they called them -- within Dustwallow: the first being the Stonemaul mound, where Rexxar had encountered them.
Thrall rode up to the village, and was surprised by the rather large number of ogres there. I though this was a small village...
"Who goes?" demanded a large ogre. Thrall was not a small orc by any stretch of the imagination, and the ogre loomed over him, even astride Snowsong.
"I am Warchief Thrall of the Horde," he replied, letting the spirits give his voice strength. "I want to speak to Chieftain Mok'Morokk."
"Mok'Morokk busy. He no care for Warchief or Horde," the guard said, and Thrall frowned, looking over at Shandel'zare.
"Someone should speak to Rexxar about the exceptionally short memories of ogres," she grumbled. "Hopefully he didn't inherit it."
"Don't be racist," Thrall said quietly. More loudly, he continued. "If Mok'Morokk won't speak to us, perhaps someone else--"
"You have a rock for a brain," said a deep voice, and Thrall turned. The speaker was a not-quite-as-tall, blue-skinned ogre with two heads. Unlike the ogres speaking to him now, this ogre spoke in complete, cultured sentences. "This is Rexxar's chieftain. You recall what he freed us from, do you not?"
"Bad ogre chieftain," one agreed, scuffing a huge foot against the ground. Thrall would almost have found it endearing. Almost. He could understand why the humans had found Horde troops so intimidating, since ogres like this one and his smarter brethren had once composed a small but powerful part of first Blackhand, then Doomhammer's army.
"You are not entirely stupid. Go back to watching for crocolisks." The two-headed ogre gestured imperiously. "If you would come this way, Warchief Thrall. We will discuss why you are here."
Thrall nodded once, and decided not to quibble about mounts. Shandel'zare simply picketed hers on the outside of the wall, away from where it could potentially bite anyone, and Thrall took off Snowsong's saddle, and carried it with him, his frostwolf close on his heels. The ogre led them both to the cave. Within was a scattering of tanned hides in various locations, and Thrall noticed there were various arcane symbols written on them in some kind of dark substance.
"You're a mage," Thrall realized, and the ogre nodded pleasantly, with both heads.
"I am," he said. "It is an honour to meet you, Warchief. Despite what those meatheads said, we have not all forgotten you or your deeds. Please, sit down, and we may discuss this."
"Can we take him back to Orgrimmar with us?" Shandel'zare muttered. "He'd make an excellent addition to the council. We can send Naz'grel to Tanaris to make nice with the goblins instead."
Thrall hushed her. "I will admit to my surprise at meeting such an eloquent ogre, though I know many humans express the same sentiment about me."
"Indeed," the ogre said. "My name is Draz'Zilb. I do recall your predecessor, Orgrim Doomhammer. I am sorry to hear of his passing, though we left the Eastern Lands long ago."
It shames me that a race that still defecates outdoors on the ground can make warships to travel away from Azeroth and we cannot, Thrall thought ruefully. Orcs are not, and will never be, sailors. The journey to Kalimdor was proof enough of that. "Thank you, I miss him a great deal. What I came to ask you is unrelated to my first question... what happened here? It seems like there are many more ogres in this village than we were led to believe."
Draz'Zilb's second head pulled a face, but remained silent. "We have come under attack by a terrible, dangerous enemy. They've been very active lately, and after we were defeated, the survivors of the Stonemaul mound came here."
"Enemy?" Thrall frowned. "Did they have hooves, and horns?"
"No," Draz'Zilb replied, surprising them both. "They were not tauren. They were dragons."
"Dragons," Shandel'zare interjected, sounding incredulous. "What are dragons doing here--"
"In this miserable mudhole?" the ogre mage finished dryly. "I do not know. What I do know is that our Chieftain, Mok'Morokk is a lazy, indolent coward that is too incapable to even go back there and get the tobacco he whines constantly about, since he no longer has it to smoke." His second head snorted. "It is not enough Brackenwall is raided by the humans inhabitants for what few supplies we have, but Mok'Morokk actually expects people to try and get his things back. Do not let him talk you into it."
Thrall and Shandel'zare exchanged another, startled, look. "You've been raided by humans? Why was word not sent to Orgrimmar? We have a treaty with the humans, and this village is protected by it, like any other Horde holding."
"Aside from the fact I feel that Mok'Morokk is not fit to wipe your frostwolf's behind--" at this, Snowsong yipped in annoyance "--your pardon. Mok'Morokk is not worthy of the power Rexxar granted him. We also felt that..." He seemed to search for words. "That to admit that we were defeated would be humiliating. I'm sure you understand. Humans are soft. Weak. Their skulls are easily crushed by our weapons, but these humans were swift and clever, coming under the cover of darkness and the bad weather that plagues this place. They took the supplies that we hadn't bothered to guard because we simply assumed no one would be foolish enough to steal from us. We were wrong. They have not come again, though if that has something to do with our security measures, or because something happened to those thieves, it's difficult to say."
"Security measures?" Shandel'zare asked curiously. The ogre considered her.
"We dug a very large hole, put our supplies in it, and covered it with a rock. My people often feel that simple, straightforward solutions are the best ones."
"I don't doubt it," Thrall said, his mind racing. Jaina mentioned nothing about this, but she did mention dissent within the ranks of her soldiers. There could be a connection. "Could anyone here identify the humans? Either visually, or from something they overheard..?"
"You will find that many of my kin are extremely stupid, and that extends to their ability to describe what they refer to as 'puny men'. However, I did myself hear some of their conversation. There was a name mentioned." He paused.
"A name?" Thrall pressed.
"I believe the name was Reethe. He was called 'Lieutenant' by one of the others."
"Paval Reethe," Thrall said, sitting back. It doesn't quite make sense yet, but it may yet. We need to talk to Jaina. Why didn't she tell me there was this kind of trouble?
"The name disturbs you," Draz'Zilb observed. "You came here for a purpose, and I do not believe it was to help us fight the dragons."
"You're right, I didn't, but I'll see what can be done to help you regain your home," Thrall admitted. "There was an incident within a human settlement, one that was open to members of the Horde as well. An inn was destroyed, and two people died. We're trying to find out who might have been responsible, and Paval Reethe's badge was found on site, as well as some other, unusual things. Footprints of tauren, and a very large shield."
"Hrm," the ogre said, thinking. Thrall wished he could claim it was the oddest thing he had seen, but strangely, he felt comfortable with this ogre who was as odd amongst his own people as Thrall had once been in regards to his own.
At least he speaks their language, Thrall reflected, recalling some of his earliest memories.
"There have been tauren within Dustwallow relatively recently," Draz'Zilb said finally. "They settled further north, and they are exceptionally secretive. Not that most of my fellows are interested in such things, but the tauren tend to elude our patrols, or any efforts to speak to them."
"Have you seen these tauren?" Thrall asked, making mental notes so that he could contact Garona through communication crystal.
"I have interpreted the reports of the others, who report them to be very dark: they dress in dark leathers and furs, they have dark fur themselves, and have dark manes, though I am given to understand this is not unusual."
"The Grimtotem are very dark," Shandel'zare pointed out. "They seem to be intent to live up to their name."
"So are the Ragetotem," Thrall argued. "It's unfair to judge based on appearance, but this is the second time they've been mentioned. It could be coincidence."
"For now," Shandel'zare said darkly. "If you believe in coincidence, you aren't paranoid enough."
"Indeed," the ogre mage interjected, calling their attention back to him. "I can give you the location of their village if you wish to investigate."
"Subtlety isn't my strong suit, but I will commune with the spirits and see if they recognize any of them," Thrall said, and stood. "Thank you for your time. I'll send a force south to help clear out the black dragons."
"Actually, I would prefer it if you didn't." Thrall raised an eyebrow, and the ogre mage continued. "Mok'Morokk only proves his weakness by being so reluctant to retake his home. He is a coward, and a fool. It is my hope that enough of this will rally a champion. I have my eye on a scout named Ogron. He is not as physically strong or large, but he is clever, and mastered the human gun with great speed. It's simply a matter of motivation."
"If that's what you prefer," Thrall replied. "If you have a map..."
"I do indeed," Draz'Zilb said, and from amongst the painted skins, the ogre mage took out a particular map. It was not poorly detailed considering the medium, and Thrall took it. "They are this way." He tapped north of Brackenwall, along the mountain range. "I wish you good luck, and that your spirits serve you well."
"May the spirits guide your path," Thrall replied, and left his cave. Off to one side of the village, Thrall could see a very large, well-armoured ogre, speaking to a 'captive' audience. That must be Mok'Morokk. He doesn't seem weak at first glance, but it's dangerous to judge someone by looks alone.
"You see, he gossips while he could be killing dragons," Draz'Zilb said from behind him. "I suggest leaving before he removes his head from between his own legs and notices you. He is still fierce when he doesn't have to leave home."
Thrall nodded, and they slipped out, going back to Shandel'zare's mount, who'd finally managed to catch something, and chewed on it happily. Shandel'zare whacked it on the snout, frowning disapprovingly.
"No eating between meals, you. Behave yourself."
Thrall could have sworn that it whined in reply. He looked down at Snowsong, who gave him a doleful look. Sighing, he slipped her some meat, and then went to saddle her again while she gnawed happily.
First we look into this tauren encampment, then we ask Jaina why she didn't tell me of any of this. There was a sick, worried feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn't abating.
~ * ~
"Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?" Shandel'zare asked. "I do have spells that may get me past their defenses."
"You also said that the Invisibility spell has a high rate of failure," Thrall pointed out. He added more herbs to the fire, taking in their heady scent. "Just guard my body while I spirit walk, and everything will be fine."
"As you say, Warchief," the troll mage replied. "The perimeter is secure."
In this case, secure meant that Shandel'zare's raptor had been given permission to hunt anything that came near the glowing arcane runes drawn around Thrall and the fire. At the moment, Thrall watched it chase a swamp rat gleefully through some rushes, and was glad that they had chosen a very remote location to do this.
Thrall nodded once, and sat cross-legged in front of the fire. It helped to have as few distractions as possible, so his armor had come off, one piece at a time, then his shirt, and finally his shoes. He could feel the wind against his skin, and the moistness that came with being in a marsh. There was always the hint of rain in the air, and the two elements whispered to him. Earth was solid beneath his feet, and Snowsong's warm presence was close enough to feel, but not enough to distract him. In front of him, of course, was fire.
Breathe in. Spirits of Fire, I call to you. Breathe out. I present myself before you, a humble student of your arts. Breathe in. I ask of you a favour. Sprinkling herbs again over the fire, he waited. I offer you a gift, to show my respect for your power. He waited. The fire flickered, and no wind touched it, his breath still held.
We are listening, Son of Durotan, the spirits replied. We accept your gift. Nourish us with your breath, and we will hear the favour you ask of us.
Thrall breathed out slowly, letting the air within his lungs feed fire instead of destroying it. There is a location I need to go. I must walk as a spirit. I ask that you guide me. He took the map that Draz'Zilb had given him, and placed it over the fire.
We will guide you, follow our light. The fire brightened, and then extinguished. Thrall closed his eyes, and then opened them again.
Everything has a spirit, Thrall reflected, standing up as he left his body, and began to walk. In the distance, he could see winking torches, and each flame held a spirit of fire. As he walked, he could feel the spirit of earth beneath his feet. It supported fire, though it could smother it as well, and was worn away by water, or gave it form, and stood against air. Air nourished or destroyed fire, and shaped water, and water extinguished fire. Life needed all four elements to function. And while there is much death in the cycle of life, there are some things that even the spirits will not bear.
Carefully, he continued to follow the torches. He could sense the lives he passed as he walked into the village. There were not too many here, and many of them had lives that felt hardened by time and by experience. If that makes any sense at all, Thrall thought. Looking around, he attempted to locate a large hut, but it seemed as if there was nothing, just smaller homes. He frowned, looking around again, and still his gaze found nothing, sliding from one small hut to the next.
I'll simply have to find what I'm looking for in another one of these huts, he thought, and went to each one, letting the tiny hearth guide him. The spirits of the wind carried commentary and gossip, but nothing useful. These were Grimtotem, and they had come from further south, that much was certain, but to what end it was impossible to say. It would be far too simple if people simply discussed their plans at a time when it was convenient for me to hear. Still, perhaps he could at least find some proof of what had happened. He continued on, looking through each hut while fire encouraged him, and air brought more whispered. There was some kind of conversation going on, but what the air brought was scattered, only half of a conversation.
Odd, even air isn't usually this vague, Thrall thought, and called out to the air spirits. Can you take me to where you heard this?
We can, but there is badness there, the air spirits replied. We don't want to go.
Thrall frowned. You don't have to, just get me close so I can listen. As he felt them hesitate, he added, Please. I will offer you sweet-smelling gifts when I return to my body.
Very well, they replied. But we won't go very close.
Thrall nodded his assent, and the air spirits guided him. There was a large building, and even as the spirits guided him, he wanted to look away from it. Finally, he got in close.
"--and our other problem?" ----- "You know where Reethe is? Why wasn't this taken care of earlier?" ----- "I don't care what that human does, they're not welcome here. Kalimdor belongs to the races of the Earthmother, not some puny pink things. Do your duty, Ansolm."
Thrall stilled. He could not see who the voice was talking to. He couldn't hear their replies. It was almost as if, in the spirit world, not only did they not exist at all, but the spirits themselves rejected what they saw, meaning he could not see them directly. As far as Thrall was concerned, that meant only one thing, and it was one of the last things he wanted to believe.
Forsaken.
Chapter 5