Michael Stackpole - Vol'jin - Shadows of the Horde

Chen brought the small fishing boat into a tiny cove beneath the Peak of Serenity’s stone spire. They hauled the boat up onto the beach at the high-water mark and moored it there. They knew they’d never use it again, but letting it drift off or scuttling it seemed unworthy payment for the service it had done them.

They made their way up the rocky slope, at times having to climb nearly sheer cliff faces. Vol’jin imagined Zandalari swarming over the same rocks. In his mind they became an undulating black wave cresting over the cliff. He indulged himself with the fantasy of an avalanche sending boulders tumbling down among them. Crushed trolls bled between rocks, while others were blasted back into the ocean and sank slowly as air bubbled out of their lungs.

But that be not how this gonna happen .

The best-case scenario for the Zandalari was not to attack the monastery at all. What they needed to do was surround the mountain with two or three cordons of troops. They could prevent the monks from descending to aid in Pandaria’s defense. If the enemy included a company of pterrordax riders to counteract the cloud serpents, the Shado-pan would be helpless while the Zandalari and mogu occupied the Vale of Eternal Blossoms, the Jade Forest, and the Townlong Steppes. Once they had consolidated those areas, they could conquer the monastery at their leisure.

The problem for Vilnak’dor was that this strategy would not work. The mogu would demand the monks’ destruction. The Zandalari would not allow the mogu to accomplish this because the mogu had not done well before against the pandaren. If they actually succeeded in killing the Shado-pan, the mogu might come to question their need for the Zandalari at all. If the mogu failed, the Zandalari would have to clean up after them and deal with an upset Thunder King.

Moreover, the troll troops would know just how lethal a shadow hunter and a man had been on the island. Given the way rumors flowed through military camps, Vol’jin was certain the soldiers believed that he was a shadow hunter trained by the monks or that the monks had been given special shadow hunter training by him. Either way, suddenly Pandaria had a new threat that could move unseen through enemy camps, which meant every soldier was vulnerable. This would not be good for morale.

Vol’jin explained his thoughts to Taran Zhu after the escapees reached the monastery. The elder monk had been only mildly surprised to see them. He’d known they weren’t dead, since they’d not dropped from the mountain’s bones. Neither had the image of Sister Quan-li, which gave the travelers heart.

The Shado-pan leader stood studying a map of the Kun-Lai district with Vol’jin and Tyrathan. “Your assessment, then, would be that the Zandalari must throw elite troops at us? Only that will raise morale and appease the mogu.”

Vol’jin nodded. “I would be doing this along with a heavy push south from Zouchin. I would be sending one force straight south, and then one to the west, cutting you off from the Jade Forest and Townlong Steppes. Even if their elites did fail to kill you, you would be having no retreat.”

Tyrathan tapped a finger on the map’s southern edge. “If we move now and withdraw to the Valley of the Four Winds, we escape their trap. We leave a few people in place to make the monastery appear lived in, then have them escape at night by cloud serpent as the Zandalari close in.”

The elder monk clasped his paws at the small of his back and nodded thoughtfully. “It is a wise plan. I shall arrange for you to evacuate.”

Vol’jin’s eyes tightened. “You sound as if you not gonna come.”

“No Shado-pan will.”

The troll stared at him. “I pointed the Zandalari here. I made you a target. I did that thinking you would move and be leading the opposition from elsewhere.”

The pandaren slowly shook his head. “I appreciate your attempt to take responsibility for your actions, Vol’jin, but you did not make us a target. From this place pandaren planned the overthrow of the mogu. History is what made us a target. You may have provided more urgency, but they would have come for us. They must.

“And, for that same reason, we cannot leave.” The monk pointed to the map with an open paw. “From here we secured the freedom of Pandaria. This is the only place from which we can keep Pandaria free. If the Peak of Serenity falls, peace will forever vanish from our home. But this is our home, not yours. I do not expect you or Chen to remain here. You should go south. Your people have the power to oppose the invasion. Warn them. Make them see sense.”

Vol’jin shivered. “How many be you defending this place with?”

“With Brother Cuo’s return, we are thirty.”

“Thirty-one.” Tyrathan hooked thumbs through his belt. “And I’ll wager Chen’s not leaving.”

“Then I be thirty-three.”

Taran Zhu bowed to both of them. “Your gesture humbles us and does you honor, but I shall not hold you to it. Return to your people. There is no reason for you to die here.”

The troll lifted his chin. “Did you not carve us into this mountain’s bones?”

The monk nodded solemnly.

“Then the Shado-pan be our people. They be family.” Vol’jin smiled. “And I have no intention of dying here. That, my friends, be a job for the Zandalari.”

Vol’jin felt his father’s presence and dared not open his eyes. The shadow hunter had gone to his cell in the monastery and isolated himself despite the frenzy of activity going on in preparation for the coming assault. He firmly believed everything he’d said to Taran Zhu, about belonging there, about the monastery being a new home and the bond of his likeness having been carved into the mountain’s bones.

So strong had been his conviction that he felt the need to immediately communicate with the loa. Though what he was doing was right—of that he had no doubt—he could imagine the loa turning their backs on him. They might view what the Zandalari were doing as harmful, but his commitment to the pandaren cause might also be seen as hurtful to trolls.

The sense of his father reassured him, at least in that he felt no hostility. Vol’jin forced himself to breathe in and out evenly. He combined what he had learned in the monastery with older practices. He came to the loa as a shadow hunter should—certain and resolute. And yet, as an adult who had revered and treasured his father and his father’s dreams, he took youthful joy in Sen’jin having come first.

Vol’jin looked, seeing without opening his eyes. His father stood there, a bit more bent with age than Vol’jin liked to remember him but still bright of eye. His father wore a heavy, hooded cloak of blue wool, but the hood lay back against his shoulders. He appeared to be smiling.

The shadow hunter made no attempt at hiding his own smile, though it lasted for mere moments. Be this what you expected of me?

Opposing the Zandalari here, in a place where you must fall? Committing yourself to a battle that you cannot win, for the sake of a people who do not understand you and do not care to? Sen’jin, his shoulders slumping, shook his head. No, my son.

Vol’jin looked down, his heart aching. It felt as if a rusty chain, festooned with spikes, had been wrapped around his heart and pulled tight. If he had only one goal in life, it was to make his father proud. And yet, if I must be disappointing him, so be it .

His father’s voice came softly, with a hint of mirth beneath its gravity. This be not what I expected of you, Vol’jin, but what the loa be expecting of shadow hunters. While I did not expect it of you, I always knew you would be rising to this height when the time came.