Michael Stackpole: Vol'jin: Shadows of the Horde

“I be wishing you needed to recover two dozen.”

Tyrathan nodded. “So do I. When I went down there, I never thought I’d see the light of day again.”

Khal’ak’s elite troops had broken through into the tunnels beneath the monastery and overwhelmed the monks in the Snowdrift Dojo. Their initial drive into the building had bypassed Tyrathan. He’d entered the tunnels, and Vol’jin had seen his handiwork. The man had gone after the Zandalari who were meant to get into the Sealed Chambers and had stopped many of them. Arrows were useless down in the dark, so the man had killed with sword and dagger and rocks as big as his head. The troll was certain that some of his victims were yet to be found because they’d crawled off to die.

“I be very glad you made it out. You saved my life.”

“And you, mine.” Tyrathan glanced down, the ghost of a smile twisting his lips. “What I said, about letting me go…”

“That be the pain talking.”

“It was, but not the physical pain.” The man looked at his own hands lying open and benign against his thighs. “I think I liked the idea of being dead because it meant I could run from pain—the pain of my family situation. What you said about family, however, in making your decision to refuse the Zandalari, that has stuck with me. Our decision to stay and to fight was born out of courage and honor and a sense of family.”

“A lot of foolishness too, many would be saying.”

“They’d be right, but for the wrong reasons.” Tyrathan sighed. “My willingness to die wasn’t courageous. And no matter who I am, I don’t want to live without courage or honor.”

Vol’jin nodded. “I agree. There be much work to be done that will require both of those qualities—and more. Including a marksman’s eye.”

“I know. And I will be fletching you that arrow for Garrosh.”

“But you have things you have to be doing before then.”

“You learned too much of me when you were in my mind.”

Vol’jin shook his head, then rested both hands on the man’s shoulders. “I be learning more while in your company.”

Tyrathan smiled. “I’ll stay here for a bit, recovering, helping out. Then I honor that oath to see the valleys of my homeland again. While my vanishing might have been best for me, I’m lying to myself if I think it is best for my family. My children need to know me. My wife needs to know I understand. I may not be able to fix things, but to let a lie suggest things are not broken isn’t good. Not for them. Not for me. It’s not a door I want to travel through.”

“I understand. You be braver than most in doing this.” Vol’jin stepped back, folding his arms over his chest. “And I trust you gonna be there with that arrow when I be ready to use it.”

“Just as I trust you’ll get the one who gets me.” The man levered himself unsteadily to his feet. “And I am hoping your discharge of that obligation will yet be many years coming.”

Vol’jin stood on the island where he’d slain the mogu, and looked out toward the Grove of Falling Blossoms. Snow blanketed everything. He couldn’t be certain if lumps were rocks or frozen corpses. It didn’t matter. The white flakes, some of which rose on swirling winds, hid everything with their innocence.

Vol’jin willingly let them seduce him into believing the world, at least for a moment, was at peace.

Taran Zhu appeared at his side. “Peace is a natural state. You may enjoy it here for as long as you wish.”

“You be very kind, Lord Taran Zhu.”

The pandaren smiled. “But you will not enjoy it for as long as you should.”

“To be doing so would be selfish.” Vol’jin turned toward him. “The peace you be offering me, though welcome be it, would be as much a trap as a skull or a helmet.”

Taran Zhu’s head came up. “Do you really understand?”

“Yes. The parable be not about skulls or helmets; it be about the limitations one accepts when you define yourself. A crab that sees itself as a crab be defined not by the shelter it seeks but by its very need to seek shelter. I be not a crab. My future be not depending on what I can find to act as a shell. I have many more choices.”

“And many more obligations.”

“Very true.” The troll drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Garrosh had betrayed the Horde and would continue to do so. That was in his nature. He allowed himself to be defined by his selfish desires and fears. He would never change, and would resort to many things, terrible things, to solidify his position. In doing so, he would shed rivers of blood and get washed away in the resulting flood.

“You, Lord Taran Zhu, have your family to care for here. So does Chen. Tyrathan gonna return to his family.” Vol’jin’s eyes tightened. “The Horde be my family. Just as Tyrathan can’t let his family believe he be dead, nor can I do that to the Horde. They deserve peace, too, and my accepting it here would deny it to them.”

“This a shadow hunter cannot do?”

“Can or cannot doesn’t matter. Shadow hunter or troll doesn’t matter.” Vol’jin slowly nodded. “Vol’jin Darkspear not gonna do it. That be not who I am. Time come that I be reminding my enemies of that fact and making them pay for the evil they’ve wrought.”

The author would like to thank the following people for their contributions to this book. Without them, this never would have been done. Paul Arena, for suggesting I do a World of Warcraft novel; Scott Gaeta of Cryptozoic, for making introductions; Jerry Chu of Blizzard, for asking Scott to make the introduction; Micky Neilson, Dave Kosak, Cameron Dayton, Joshua Horst, Justin Parker, and Cate Gary of Blizzard, for working so hard to keep my coloring within the lines; Ed Schlesinger, my editor, who has the patience of a saint; Howard Morhaim, my agent, for making the deal work; and my friends Kat Klaybourne, Paul Garabedian, and Jami Kupperman, who conspired to keep me sane through the process of writing. (Which wasn’t that bad. After all, when I needed a break, I could drop into Azeroth and consider it research.)