Michael Stackpole - Vol'jin - Shadows of the Horde

Sand hissed beneath the barge’s hull as it came gently to shore. She leaped down, her dark cloak flapping. Two warriors awaited her—Captain Nir’zan, and a larger hulking troll carrying a massive shield. They immediately snapped to attention and saluted crisply.

She returned the salute, fueling it with her displeasure. “You determined what happened?”

“With as much certainty as be possible, my lady.” Nir’zan faced inland. “Owing to previous infiltration an’ study, we inserted scouts through a cove to the west. A pair swam ashore, killed two pandaren fishing dere, and secured the heights. They remained on station as per their orders and been interrogated. At that point the scouts proceeded inland, and all was as planned.”

She swept a hand out, taking in the broken landscape. “The plan deteriorated.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Why?”

The Zandalari warrior’s eyes tightened. “The why be less important than the how, my lady. Come.”

She followed him into the village, to the wreckage of a house nearly fifty yards from the beach. At their approach, another warrior dropped to a knee and peeled back a reedy sleeping mat. It had preserved a single footprint.

Ice water trickled through her insides. “Not one of ours?”

“No. Definitely a troll, but too small for Zandalari.”

Khal’ak turned and looked back down to the shore. “Dis archer killed the pilot?”

“And another warrior on that boat.”

“A very good shot.”

Nir’zan pointed to the east. “Over there, where you be seein’ your lieutenant, there be another track. Human, using our arrows. He killed another pilot.”

She measured from where the far soldier stood to the bay. “And one of our bows, yes? A lucky shot?”

Nir’zan lifted his chin, exposing his throat. “I be liking to believe that, but can’t. Neither luck nor bow leaves a track.”

“Honesty. Good.” She slowly nodded. “What else?”

The warrior headed off out of the village and south along the road. “We be finding a few more bodies in town. The archers shot and moved quickly. They were buyin’ time for others to evacuate. Many tracks leading south. You’ll want to see this.”

Nir’zan brought her to where one of the pandaren lay, transfixed with two arrows. Even in death, even wearing armor emblazoned with a snarling tiger’s face, the creature looked ridiculously benign. Khal’ak dropped to a knee beside the body and prodded the thigh with her fingers. Despite the body’s stiffening from death, she could tell the pandaren was well muscled and quite compact.

She looked up. “I see no weapon. No belt.”

“The paws, my lady.”

She grasped a paw and ran her thumb over the pandaren’s knuckles. The fur had been worn away. The dark skin had callused over. The palm felt similarly rough. “These be not fisherfolk.”

“We found four more. Some had weapons.” The warrior hesitated. “All had killed.”

“Show me.”

They continued south and then veered east to the grassy bowl beside the road. Khal’ak had chosen that spot for the ambush. She’d meant the scouts to kill a few refugees and drive the rest back into the village. Once her troops had secured it, the pandaren would serve as bearers and haulers.

She surveyed the carnage. Her troops, albeit clad in light armor, with light weapons, meant to move fast, lay scattered and broken. Three dozen of them dead, and only a handful of pandaren to account for that destruction? That she could see two bodies here indicated that they’d made no attempt to remove their dead. And even if two or three had been wounded for every abandoned corpse…

“Have you any accounting for the number of pandaren?”

“South and a bit more east be where they staged. We found da man’s and troll’s footprints too, as well as tracks of other beasts.”

“The whole of the force, Nir’zan!”

“Twenty-one, near as we be making it.”

Khal’ak stood and strode to the center of the bowl where an exceptionally large body lay. It was Lieutenant Trag’kal. At least she thought it was. His face had been destroyed, but there was no mistaking his height. She’d handpicked him to lead the scouts.

And he failed me.

She kicked his corpse, then turned to Captain Nir’zan. “I want it all cataloged. I want to know their positions, their wounds, everything. I want all you know, not guesses or estimates. And I be wanting to know who dese pandaren are. We been told they have no army. They have no militia. They have no defenses. Our sources appear to be woefully misinformed.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And I want to be knowing where the villagers have gone.”

The Zandalari warrior nodded. “We be deployin’ a screening force forward. We tracked the archers, the man and the troll, heading east, away from da road, but all indications be that the refugees have withdrawn south. We found signs that dese beasts have returned to carry the old and wounded.”

“Yes, I need to know more about dem as well.” She stooped and pulled a bloody arrow from a dead troll’s neck. The slender shaft ended in a simple point. “This be not even suited to varminting. We brought an army, and they faced us with toys?”

“Dey took our supplies as quickly as they could, my lady.”

“And organized a retreat in good order.” Khal’ak pointed the arrow at the scouts’ bodies. “After you have cataloged everything, I be wantin’ them stripped an’ skinned. Fill their skins with straw and post dem on either side of the road. Throw their bodies in the sea.”

“Yes, my lady, but you realize there are no pandaren that sight gonna frighten.”

“I be not wanting to frighten pandaren. It be meant for the rest of us.” Khal’ak flung the arrow down. It bounced off armor and settled in the grasses. “Any Zandalari who believes empire be his birthright needs to remember that births be seldom easy and often are inclined to be bloody. Dis will not happen again, Nir’zan. See to it.”

Vol’jin woke with a start. It wasn’t because of his dream of being chased by Zandalari. He’d enjoyed that. To be hunted meant he was someone. They hunted him out of anger and fear, and to be able to inspire that gave him pleasure. Being able to inspire dread in his enemies had ever been a part of him, and it was a part he wanted to salvage.

His body ached, especially his thighs. He could still feel the stitch in his side, and his throat remained raw. His wounds had all closed, but permanent healing would take longer. He resented the lingering pains, not because of what they were but because they reminded him of how close his enemies had come to killing him.

He and the man had pulled back as planned. They found stores of arrows and bows where they’d told the monks to leave them. They also found food, which they consumed hurriedly, and lines of stones pointing them to the next cache. They scattered those before they moved on; without those indicators, they’d have been lost and doubtlessly killed.

The Zandalari had come after them, but both man and troll had known their business. They killed the archers first, which gave them the advantage in ranged combat. The Zandalari archers had not been bad—a bloodied rag tied around Vol’jin’s left thigh attested to that. Vol’jin and Tyrathan had just been better. The troll grudgingly admitted Tyrathan was much better. He’d killed one pesky Zandalari archer by arcing one arrow into a narrow crack between rocks, and had the second in the air—aimed at where the troll would draw himself back—even before the first had struck. Vol’jin told himself he’d seen equivalent displays of skill before, but never at a time when targets shot back.

The troll awoke with a start because of his surroundings. The Temple of the White Tiger, while by no means posh or opulent by any standard, was warm and filled with light. Vol’jin had been given a cell not much larger than the one he had at the Shado-pan Monastery, but the lighter color, and flashes of greenery through the windows, made it seem huge.