Michael Stackpole: Vol'jin: Shadows of the Horde

Vol’jin let himself sink back on the pillows. “Not. Without. Reason.”

Chen chuckled, and try as he might, Vol’jin could detect no hint of reproof. “There’s not an Alliance head that’s touched a pillow that’s not had a nightmare of meeting you. Not surprising the same is true of a few in the Horde.”

Vol’jin tried to smile and hoped he succeeded. “Never. You?”

“Me? No, never. People like me, like Rexxar, we’ve seen you in battle being fierce and terrible. We’ve also seen you mourning your father. You’ve been loyal to Thrall and the Horde and the Darkspear tribe. Thing is, those who can’t be loyal never believe when others are. I trust in your loyalty. Someone like Garrosh figures it’s a mask over treachery.”

Vol’jin nodded. He wished his voice worked enough that he could tell Chen of his threatening to kill Garrosh. It wouldn’t have mattered to the pandaren; of this the troll was certain. Chen’s loyalty would have led him to rationalize a dozen justifications for the threat. Vol’jin’s current state would prove each of them true.

Only thing proved by that be the depth of Chen’s friendship .

“How. Long?”

“Long enough for me to do a spring ale and be halfway into a late spring shandy. Or early summer. Pandaren are a bit looser about time, and those from Pandaria looser still. A month since we found you, two and a half weeks here. The healers poured a draught down your throat to make you sleep.” Chen raised his voice for the benefit of those who had begun to come closer. “I told them that I could brew you up a hot black tea with some kelp and berries that would have you up and about in no time, but they don’t think a brewmaster knows enough about healing or you. Still, they did pour nourishment into you, so they’re not completely without hope.”

Vol’jin made the effort to lick his lips, but even that seemed to exhaust him. Two and a half weeks and this be all I have mended. Bwonsamdi released me, but I be not progressing as I should.

Chen leaned in again, his voice dropping. “Lord Taran Zhu leads the Shado-pan. He has agreed to allow you to remain here to recuperate. There are conditions. Given that both the Alliance and Horde would be quite happy to see to your further care, each in its own ways…”

Vol’jin shrugged as much as he was able. “Helpless.”

“. . . and given that you’re on the mend, listening won’t hurt.” Chen nodded, holding a paw palm out in a calming gesture. “Lord Taran Zhu wishes you to learn of us. Well, not us really. Most pandaren from here see pandaren who grew up on Shen-zin Su as ‘wild dogs.’ We look like them, sound like them, smell like them, but we’re different. They aren’t sure what we are. Puzzled me, at first, all that, until it struck me that a lot of the other trolls might see the Darkspears the same way.”

“Not. Untrue.” Vol’jin closed his eyes for a moment. If Taran Zhu wishes me to learn of the pandaren and their ways, then he gonna study me. As I would be doing with him.

“He thinks you’re Tushui—more thoughtful and stable. I’ve told him a lot about you, and I think that, too. Tushui’s not a trait he’s seen in the Horde. He wants to understand why you’re different. But this means he wants you to learn the pandaren way. Some of our words, our customs. It’s not like he wants you to be one of those trolls who go to Thunder Bluff and become blue tauren. He wants you to understand.”

Vol’jin opened his eyes again and nodded. Then he caught a moment’s hesitation in Chen’s recitation. “What?”

Chen looked up and away, nervously tapping his fingertips together. “Well, see, Tushui is balanced by Huojin. That’s more impulsive, kind of kill them first, sort the hides out later. Like Garrosh deciding to kill you. Very Hordish thing to do these days. Not what the Alliance normally does.”

“And?”

“These things are in balance now. Taran Zhu talked to me about water and anchors and ships and everything. Very complicated, even without mentioning crews. But the important thing is balance. He really likes his balance, and, you see, until you got here, they were out of balance.”

Vol’jin, though the effort cost him mightily, arched an eyebrow.

“Well…” Chen glanced over his shoulder toward an empty bed. “About a month before I found you, I found a man wandering, hurt badly, his leg broken. And I brought him here too. He’s a bit further along than you are, but trolls heal faster. And the thing is that Lord Taran Zhu is putting you in his care.”

A jolt ran through Vol’jin’s mind, and though he was weak, he attempted to rise. “No!”

Chen reached out, pressing the troll down with both paws. “No, no, you don’t understand. He’s here under the same restrictions you are. He won’t—I know you’re not afraid of a man, Vol’jin. Lord Taran Zhu hopes that in helping you heal, this man will help heal himself. That is part of our way, my friend. Restore the balance and you encourage healing.”

Even though Chen kept his paws soft and strength gentle, Vol’jin could not struggle against him. For a heartbeat he imagined that the monks had made certain that whatever potion they’d poured down his throat would leave him this weak. That, however, would have required Chen to be part of the deception, and he never would have agreed to that.

Vol’jin forced his anger away and let frustration go with it. Lord Taran Zhu wanted to study not only him but also his dealings with a man. Vol’jin could have easily given him a long history of troll-human relations and why they pulsed with hatred. Vol’jin had killed more men than he cared to think about. Far from losing sleep over it, he slept better for it. And he was willing to bet the man in the monastery felt much the same way.

The troll realized that while Taran Zhu might have had access to all that history, those accounts would be tainted by the nature of the tellers. By putting troll and man together, he would watch, learn, and make his own judgments.

A wise course, I be thinking . Vol’jin reminded himself that no matter how much Chen had told Lord Taran Zhu about him, to the pandaren monk, Vol’jin was nothing more than a troll. Doubtless the man’s pedigree mattered little either. Who they were had nothing to do with how they reacted to each other. That was the information the pandaren wanted. Knowing that, and realizing he could control the information, gave Vol’jin power.

He looked up at Chen. “You. Approve?”

Surprise widened Chen’s eyes; then he smiled. “It is best for you and for him, for Tyrathan. The mists have hidden Pandaria for a long time. You and he share common bonds that the pandaren never will. You will heal better together.”

“To. Later. Kill.”

Chen’s brows arrowed down. “Likely enough. He is no more happy about this than you are, but he will abide so he can abide here.”

Vol’jin cocked his head. “Name?”

“Tyrathan Khort. You won’t know him. He’s not risen as high in the Alliance as you have in the Horde. But he was an important man. He was a leader among the Alliance forces here. And his wounds were not from the king’s assassins. I only know he was hurt in a battle that helped Pandaria. This is why Lord Taran Zhu agreed to tend to him. He has great sadness, which nothing seems to cure.”

“Not. Even. Brew?”

The pandaren shook his head, his eyes focusing distantly. “He drinks and holds his liquor well. But he’s not a boisterous drunk. Introspective and quiet. Another trait you two share.”

“Tushui, no?”

Chen threw his head back and roared with laughter. “They cut your body but could not hurt your mind. Yes, that would seem to be Tushui, which would cause the balance to be off. But every day, every day since he has been able to stand with crutches, he heads out to climb the mountain. Very Huojin. And then he stops. A hundred yards, two hundred, and returns, spent. Not physically, but in will. Very Huojin.”