Michael Stackpole - Vol'jin - Shadows of the Horde

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.”