Michael Stackpole - Vol'jin - Shadows of the Horde

She briefly shelved that idea and addressed her superior. “The damage done be insignificant, both in numbers and effect. Troops be already at much higher alert, which will carry over to operations in Pandaria. The loss of one ship be regrettable, but the fires were contained. Had the warehouse become involved, it might have been settin’ the invasion back a season. As it be, we gonna lose a fortnight in havin’ the quay repaired and harbor cleared of debris.”

Vilnak’dor smiled. “You see, Warlord Kao, we be sailin’ in two weeks. Your master gonna be pleased.”

The mogu shook his head. “You sail in two weeks. I sail inside a week. The Shado-pan must be destroyed. I will see to it, along with my bodyguards.”

Khal’ak frowned. Bodyguards? The only mogu with whom Kao had associated were the two who approached him with baton and cloak in the tomb. “How many do you have?”

“Two.” He brought his head up. “I will not need more.”

“You don’t know how many monks there be, Warlord.”

“It matters not. We will prevail.”

The troll general raised an eyebrow. “Don’t take dis as my being impolite, but you did not in the past.”

“This is not the past, General Vilnak’dor.”

No, it be the present. A present in which we pulled you from a tomb where your beloved master put you .

Vilnak’dor’s face closed. “I had hoped, my friend, to be surprising you with good news—that news bein’ of the elimination of the Shado-pan.”

“By what means?”

The troll nodded toward Khal’ak. “I be dispatchin’ my aide to deal with them. She gonna bring with her five hundred elite Zandalari warriors—over half from my own household troop. Upon your master’s arrival in Pandaria, they gonna present him with the heads of every Shado-pan—plus those of the Darkspear and his companions.”

The mogu’s eyes widened as he looked from the general to her and back again. “Her? The one who let this Darkspear slip away and create havoc? Have the Zandalari become senile over the centuries?”

“You fail to ask yourself, my friend, why I would be trustin’ her to bring Vol’jin here in the first place. A demonstration, if you don’t mind.”

Khal’ak nodded. She prodded the Gurubashi with a toe. “Get up.” A second kick and a sharper command roused him enough to reach his feet unsteadily.

She cuffed him hard over the left ear. “Run for the door. If you be makin’ it, you live. Now!”

His hand probing his ear, the troll spun and sprinted. Khal’ak brought her right hand up, filling it with a dagger that had lain hidden in her sleeve. She pulled her hand back, measuring the distance. The troll had picked up speed, urgency straightening his steps. He even reached out for the door.

She snapped her hand forward.

The troll staggered and clutched at his chest, gasping loudly. He crashed to his knees, then flopped heavily onto his side. His body shook with a spasmodic palsy, his palms squeaking against the polished stone floor. His back arched, and he cried out one last time. His eyes became almost instantly glassy.

The mogu stalked over, his footfalls vibrating through the floor. He stared hard but did not bend close for a thorough inspection. There could be no doubting the troll was dead, but no blade protruded from his chest, nor did he lie in a widening pool of blood.

Kao turned back, then nodded. “I shall still send my bodyguards. You will deal with the Shado-pan, but one caution.”

Khal’ak smiled indulgently. “Yes?”

“It would please my master if their demise was considerably more messy than this.”

Once the mogu had departed, Khal’ak bowed to Vilnak’dor. “Your confidence in me be heartening, my lord.”

“Expedient, more like. You have an enemy in Kao, and he gonna poison the Thunder King against you. You gonna deliver the heads as promised, or I gonna deliver your head.”

“Understood, my lord.” Khal’ak cocked her head. “How did you come to decide on five hundred?”

“At five hundred, those chosen will consider it an honor. More, and dey would be thinkin’ it a fool’s mission, or a forlorn hope. That impression would be takin’ the heart out of the entire force. But, really, a Darkspear, a man, and some pandaren trapped on a mountain? The monastery can’t be supporting more than a dozen dozen. Could you possibly need more?”

“You be quite right, my lord; dey should more than suffice.” She smiled. “I gonna take great pains that they do so.”

“Of course you gonna.” The general pointed at the dead Gurubashi. “I be commending your handiwork.”

“You’re welcome, my lord. I gonna send for him to be hauled away.” She bowed, then headed to the door. She stepped over the body without adjusting her stride, as if it were as much of a phantom as the knife she’d thrown.

The Gurubashi’s death had been a show for the mogu. The knife she’d drawn and feigned throwing had slipped back into the wrist sheath as Kao turned to watch its flight. The Gurubashi hadn’t died because of an invisible knife but because of the poison needle in a ring on the hand with which she’d cuffed him. Once she’d struck him, he had the count of ten before he died, and she the count of eight to throw her knife. Without using magic, she appeared to have killed with magic, which would give the mogu pause to wonder if the Zandalari had uncovered some new power while the mogu slept.

That sort of deception wasn’t just for the mogu. Khal’ak had the feeling that it would take all that and more to destroy the Shado-pan. After all, Vol’jin had abandoned her and the Zandalari to cast his lot with the pandaren. She assumed that he knew something she did not and that her enlightenment would be bought with blood.

Under Chen’s direction, Vol’jin and the others had put as much canvas on the ship’s masts as they could hold. Though not the world’s most accomplished sailor, the pandaren kept them running with the wind, south toward Pandaria. While tending to the ship and keeping watch for pursuit did demand attention, every so often one or another of them would laugh aloud, nervously, when thinking of their escape.

Vol’jin found himself amidships with Brother Cuo as the noon sun blazed overhead. The monk had been quiet, which was hardly uncharacteristic, but Vol’jin wondered if events during their escape further stilled his tongue.

“Brother Cuo, what I done with the Gurubashi soldier… . Cutting him that way be cruel, no denying, but I be not intending cruelty.”

The pandaren nodded. “Please, Master Vol’jin, I understand why you did what you did. I also understand that balance is not a matter of abundance opposed by poverty. In theory, peace is the balance of war, but in practice, violence is balanced not by a lack but by violence of an equal nature, moving in the opposite direction.”

Cuo opened his paws. “You think of the Shado-pan as isolated, perhaps provincial, because we have not seen what you have. But I do understand that violence is nuanced. What is the damage done by a sword stroke that cuts nothing? What you did in cutting that troll will distract the enemy so he strikes at nothing. Killing the soldiers means that the hand wielding the sword will be weak.”

Vol’jin shook his head. “What I did means he not gonna strike at nothing; he gonna strike at us. He gonna strike at the Shado-pan. What we did gonna terrify the mogu and be forcing the Zandalari to eliminate the Shado-pan. And you saw the armies assembled on that island.”

“They are formidable.” The pandaren smiled. “But your Zandalari see us as a bright light. The mogu feel us as searing heat. What they fail to perceive is that we are fire. This will be a mistake they will very much regret.”