World of Warcraft: Vol'jin: Shadows of the Horde (26 page)

He raced on, giving the raptor its head. It knew where they were going, and Vol’jin didn’t care where. Just for that short time in the saddle, he forgot everything: his mission, the Horde, Garrosh, the monastery. With those burdens still back in the bloody dust of the Zandalari outpost, Vol’jin was able to breathe free. He couldn’t remember when it was that he’d last felt like that, only that it had been far too long ago.

“Dis way!”

Their course had been taking them toward Mogu’shan Palace, which was nearing the height of its nightly cycle. She reined her mount off to the east and down between two hills. Vol’jin followed, bringing his ride to an end at a long, low building with high-pitched roofs and wings that enclosed a courtyard in the back. He dismounted, tossing the reins to the groom who had taken the same from his hostess, then followed her through the front door.

Khal’ak clapped her hands loudly, and trolls scurried from doorways and halls, heads lowered. Gurubashi mostly, if the tattoos were correct, but clearly serving under a handful of Zandalari.

His hostess pointed at him. “This be Vol’jin of the Darkspears. If you be ignorant of who he be, I gonna break my fast with your heart at dawn. You gonna bathe him and then attire him appropriately.”

The foremost of the servants sniffed as she looked at Vol’jin.
“He be Darkspear, mistress. He should wallow with pigs and steal clothes from a swineherd.”

Vol’jin’s hostess moved so fast and struck her so hard that the backhanded slap couldn’t have been avoided even if the servant had a week to prepare. “He be shadow hunter. He be revered of the loa. You gonna see to it dat he shines like a god. Tomorrow, when the sun reaches its zenith, if he does not make the mogu weep for his beauty and the Zandalari wail in envy, you all gonna feel my wrath. Go!”

Save for the insensible crone stretched out on the floor, the servants scattered. His hostess turned and smiled slightly. “I trust your pandaren be serving you more faithfully. There be times I think even men like your archer might be more suited to serving. We gonna discuss these things, and others, when you have completed your ablutions and be properly attired.”

Vol’jin, though he had no love lost for the Zandalari as a general rule, found her intriguing. “And then you gonna help me remember your name.”

“No, my dear Vol’jin.” Her smile broadened. “You have no chance of rememberin’ because you’ve never heard it. But later I gonna tell it to you and be giving you good cause never to forget.”

•  •  •

Vol’jin would have refused to go along with her having him cleaned up, save that her minions so clearly hated tending to his needs that it tortured them far more than it ever would him. For Zandalari and Gurubashi to wash him, trim his hair and nails, rub unguents into his hands and feet, and then dress him in a fine silken kilt with a raptor-leather belt, their torment had to be all but unendurable. To make matters worse, they were forced to grant him the honor of wearing a small dagger, a ceremonial one, in a sheath bound to his upper-left arm. Such was his right as a shadow hunter. As much as they might like to dismiss him as being from
an ill-begotten and disobedient tribe of fallen mongrels, the lowest of them knew they never could have won the honors they now bestowed upon him.

The magic of the place also played on him, convincing him that, indeed, he was due honors and accolades. A small part of him welcomed his hostess’s attentions because he had earned consideration. The Gurubashi and Amani may have dismissed the Darkspear with a sneer, but when the Zandalari king Rastakhan had sought to unite all the trolls, Vol’jin had been summoned to represent the Darkspears. He had refused to join the other tribes, noting that the Horde was now his family, but the fact was that he’d still been invited.

Once he’d been prepared, a long-faced servant led him to the central courtyard. A fire blazed at its heart in a simple circle of stones. A small table with two golden goblets and a matching pitcher filled with dark wine stood beside it and back a bit. Two lounging mats had been placed between the table and fire, allowing easy access to refreshments.

She knelt on one mat, poking the fire with a stick, then stood as he entered. She’d changed from leather to silk, a darker blue that caught lighter tones from the Mogu’shan Palace display. A simple gold-linked belt gathered her sleeveless gown at the waist. It had been fashioned from coins minted throughout the known lands and in a variety of eras. The ends dangled as far down as her knees, and he assumed she would simply double-loop it when conquests added more links.

She pointed toward the wine with a hand. “I be offering you refreshment. You be choosing the cup. You pour. I gonna drink from whichever or both. I want you to be knowing I mean you no mischief or deception. You be my guest.”

Vol’jin nodded but kept the fire between them. “You pour and choose. You have done me this honor. I gonna trust you.”

She poured, but both cups remained untouched on the table. “I be Khal’ak, servant of Vilnak’dor. He be to King Rastakhan what you
be to Thrall, and more. He sees to the pandaren situation. Though he be not wholly aware of it, he owes you a great debt.”

“How would that be?”

Khal’ak smiled. “Some history first. I served Vilnak’dor and he served our king when Rastakhan allowed Zul to propose all trolls be uniting under one banner. Of all the leaders dere, only you, only Vol’jin of the Darkspears, refused the offer to be joining. As you turned away and stalked off, you walked right past me. I watched you leave. After you’d gone from sight, I be spending a long time studying your footprints in the sand. I wondered which would erode first: Zul’s dreams or your footprints.”

She glanced down into the fire for a moment. “So I found myself surprised, dere at Zouchin, when one of my warriors be showing me a footprint I recognized so easily. By that time, of course, our spies within the Horde had passed on stories of your disappearance. The rumors about you do you great credit. Most of the Horde believes dat you perished performin’ a secret mission of ultimate importance for their benefit. You be widely mourned. And, yet, dere be those who claim you’ve been murdered.”

Vol’jin raised an eyebrow. “No one be considering that I have survived?”

Khal’ak picked up the goblets and approached, offering him equal choice. “There be lunatics who suppose that, and the odd shaman who be claiming you have ascended to be one of the loa. A few pray to you, and some have had a tattoo of a dark spear inked into their flesh. Usually flank or inside of the biceps, since the orcs do not favor such displays.”

He accepted one of the goblets. “And your master be enjoying himself a ghost story? This be why he should thank me?”

“Oh, no, he owes you far more greatly.” She sipped her wine, then turned. She walked to her lounging mat casually, the muscles of her lean body fluid beneath the silk. She knelt, almost like a supplicant before a god, then drank. “Please, join me.”

Vol’jin did, returning his wine to the table before sitting. “Your master?”

“One thing, Vol’jin. I do you the honor of supposing you are not a fool. You gonna learn many things in our conversation, many important things. Understand that I be fully aware I am sharing them with you. I do have a purpose. I gonna treat with you honestly. Ask, and if I be able, I will respond.”

He took up his goblet again and drank. The dark wine tasted of fruit and spices, some from Kalimdor, but more from Pandaria. He liked it yet did not let it put him at ease. “You were saying . . .”

“The mogu be arrogant and disdainful. Their experience of trolls is based on stories from before their empire disintegrated. What dey have seen since be Zandalari who control a fraction of what we did before, and other trolls that they be viewing as degraded creatures. And those be the trolls who fight with us. The mogu’s experience of the few dat be fighting with the Horde only confirms their biases.

“And then there be Zouchin and you.” She sipped her wine, licking her lips after. “I didn’t know it was you, of course, and little dared hope after hearin’ of your death. I was assuming the more sinister rumors be true, given dat you refused Garrosh more robustly than you did my king. I was thinking only the Horde could kill you, and now I see dat I was wrong.”

Vol’jin did not answer her with words, but lifted his chin enough for her to see the scar at his throat.

“Yes. I wondered. Your voice be not as I be remembering it.” Khal’ak smiled. “Our Alliance guests have also heard of your death. Relieved they be, most of them. Many a nightmare of which you be the author be vanished. For now, at least.

“But, back to the mogu. For a troll and a man to have beset us, dis amused them greatly. And yet, your elusiveness be suggesting a power that impresses them. As I was settin’ the trap for this evening—and they greatly enjoyed the display, though your
pandaren underlings and their presence disturbed them—I hoped I might be catching you. If not with the group, then at least meeting you in exchange for the life of your pets.”

“Because?”

“Because I be wishin’ you to join us. This would be impressing the mogu and suggesting dat we have powerful influence within the rest of the world. In their view, all we have done be to awaken their sleeping king. They, in their arrogance, ignore the fact that this service be not one they’d managed in the millennia since their empire crumbled. To have a man and a troll beset us so reflected our weakness, the loss of vitality in our blood. For you to be joining us, this would be grand.”

Vol’jin frowned. “You were there. I already refused the Zandalari offer.”

“Dis be not the same offer, Shadow Hunter, nor be it the same world.” She reached out, a finger caressing the scar at his throat and again the one on his side. “Then you claimed the Horde be your family. They have rejected you. Garrosh, small-spirited and smaller-minded, slew the one troll who could have advised him through the maelstrom that be coming. You owe him no allegiance. Your people be the Darkspears, and we be willin’ to make them first among the tribes.

“Yes, the Gurubashi gonna moan. The Amani gonna wail. They gonna point to their histories, and I gonna point out their failures. For the Darkspears be the one tribe that has remained true to itself. That you have not risen to rule an empire be not because you could not but because you have not chosen dat course. Having strived and lost, as they have, does not sanctify the effort. Dey wish glory for work done centuries ago and work undone a short time later.”

She lifted her chin, her gaze meeting his, her eyes ablaze with the future’s promise. “So this be my offer to you, Vol’jin Darkspear of the Darkspears. Be to me what you were to Thrall. Assume your
full power as the shadow hunter your people need. Your people: the Darkspears and the trolls. Together we gonna show the world their folly and again bring order to lands which have languished in its absence.”

Vol’jin lifted his cup. “This be a great honor, and an offer that only a fool would refuse.”

“A
nd one only a fool would be acceptin’ on my words alone,” said Khal’ak.

“You be persuasive.”

“And you be kind.” She laughed easily. “I do have things I need to know, of course. How be it dat I be findin’ you in the company of pandaren, with a man helping you oppose us?”

Vol’jin watched her face for a moment. “Chen Stormstout you know of. He be a friend of long standing. He found me after the Horde was done with me. The monks, who your mogu allies hate, took me in and healed me. They had done the same with the man.”

He drank a bit more wine. “As for opposing you, when I saw an invasion, thinking on who be invading never occurred. I be just repaying a kindness to my benefactors.”

Khal’ak cocked her head. “ ‘When I saw,’ you said. Then the Silk Dancer gave you visions as well.”

Vol’jin nodded. “I thought it might be she.”

“Yes. Ever our patron, she be not pleased with our renewing our ties with the mogu. There were, in the past, I gather, some of our warriors who came to favor the mogu magic, so dey abandoned her. That cultus be long since gone, but she be robust in her remembering.” Khal’ak stared into her wine’s dark depths. “It does not
surprise me she be willing to stir up a little trouble now to avoid much trouble later.”

“You get the same visions I do, and you ignore them?”

“I be finding solutions to dem.”

“And I be such a solution?”

“You be more than a solution, Vol’jin.” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “You offer much, and your reward will be equal to your service. For example, right now your brave little band has shown our troops that being Zandalari does not make us arrow-proof. More important, it has reminded the mogu how deadly their former slaves can be. Dat we captured them be goin’ much to our credit. Again, thank you.”

The Darkspear sat back. “If I prove to be such a benefit, do you not fear that your master will be eliminating you and raising me in your place?”

“No. He fears you. He be lacking the spine you showed in refusing the king’s request. He gonna keep me to keep you under control.” She smiled shyly. “And I do not fear you betraying me because the way I gonna keep you under control is to control your friends. Chen Stormstout I do be recognizing. The man, no, but your regard for him be evident.”