TWELVE

Drek’Thar tossed and turned in his sleep. Visions plucked at him, pinched and teased and tormented him. Half-glimpsed, uncertain, unclear; visions both of peace and prosperity and disaster and ruination playing out simultaneously in the theater of his mind.

He could see in this vision. He stood, and yet there was nothing beneath his feet. All around him were stars and inky black sky, above and below. Images of the Spirits of Earth, Air, Fire, Water—all angry, all unhappy, all raging at him. They reached out to him, pleading, and yet when he turned to them, heart open and trying to understand, rebuffed him with fury so profound he staggered. If they had been children, they would have wept.

Water crashed around him, whipped by Air manifesting as wind. Storms, strong and powerful, catching up ships and snapping them like child’s toys. Cairne and Grom’s boys were on such a ship … no, no, it was Thrall … then it did not matter who was on the ship, for it had been smashed to sodden kindling.

Fire was next, its sparks diving at Drek’Thar like birds protecting a nest. He was powerless under the onslaught, crying out as his clothing caught and burned. He beat at it frantically, but the flame refused to be extinguished.

Just as it seemed that Drek’Thar would succumb to Fire’s attack, it ceased. He was whole and sound. Drek’Thar breathed heavily, trembling. The moments stretched out. Nothing happened, yet the vision continued.

And that was when he felt the rumbling beneath his feet. And he knew, somehow, that Air and Water and Fire had already voiced their pain. And while they might yet again, this trembling of a sobbing Earth beneath his feet was, Drek’Thar knew, yet to come. And he sensed it would be terrible. Images flashed through his mind—a place of snow, a place of forests—

He shouted and bolted upright, blinking eyes that once again, mercifully, saw only darkness. His reaching hands met those of Palkar, as they always did.

“What is it, Greatfather?” asked the younger orc. His voice was clear, strong, untroubled by all that haunted Drek’Thar.

Drek’Thar opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly his thoughts were as dark as his eyes. He had dreamed—something. Something important. Something he needed to share—

“I … I don’t know,” he whispered. “Something terrible is about to happen, Palkar. But … I don’t know what. I don’t know!”

He shook with frustrated, fearful sobs.

The tears that streamed down his face were warm.

Anduin developed a routine as the days unfolded. Mornings were spent training with the seemingly inexhaustible and eternally chipper Aerin. When they were not sparring, she and Anduin went for rides out in the countryside. While rams would never be his favorite mounts, Anduin loved the chance to get outside; the clear air made him feel almost giddy, and the snowy land was so very different from the temperate clime of Stormwind. He grew to become very fond of Aerin. He could trust her to not pull a punch, physically or verbally, and found that very refreshing. Once, he asked about Moira.

“Och, that’s a convoluted business, that,” she said.

“Sounds straightforward to me. She got kidnapped, was enchanted, and broke Magni’s heart.”

“I’ll certainly agree that he misses her,” Aerin said, “but he was no the best daddy tae her either.”

Anduin was stunned. He’d always imagined the bluff dwarf as the perfect father. Surely he would appreciate someone for who they were, not who he wanted them to be.

“Not cruel, or anything, mind. But … well, Her Highness was the wrong gender. Magni always wanted a son tae rule after him. Felt that a female just wouldna do th’ job right.”

“Jaina Proudmoore is a wonderful leader of her people,” Anduin said.

“Aye, and it wasn’t long after Moira disappeared that His Majesty put me an’ a few others in his elite guard,” Aerin said. “I think he finally understood that he’d been a bit unfair. ’Tis my hope that one day, father an’ daughter will have a chance tae make things right.”

Anduin hoped so, too. It would seem that father–child difficulties were not limited to humans.

As they rode together, he got to know the people of the neighboring areas of Kharanos and Steelgrill’s Depot. Once they even rode as far as Thelsamar in Loch Modan, where they broke for lunch and Anduin, exhausted, fell asleep by the loch and awoke two hours later to an exquisitely painful sunburn.

“Och, ye humans, not smart enough tae come in out o’ the sun,” quipped Aerin.

“How come you aren’t burned?” asked Anduin crossly. Ninety percent of the time he saw her, Aerin was in full armor, and the rest of the time she lived underground. What skin was now revealed was even paler than his own.

“I went and napped in the shade o’ yon rock outcropping,” she said.

He gaped at her. “Why didn’t you suggest that to me?”

“Thought ye’d figure it out for yerself. Ye will in the future, won’t ye?” She smiled placidly at him, and although he was in terrible pain and the color of a crab when it was boiled, he found he could not be angry at her. He hissed as he put his shirt back on; the fine runecloth fabric, soft as a feather, was agony. Aerin was right. He would never let himself drift off on a sunny day without making damned sure he was well protected by the shade.

He returned to his quarters to find a letter waiting for him. It was in Magni Bronzebeard’s own bold handwriting:

He’d hoped to ask High Priest Rohan for some help with his sunburn, but Magni’s summons clearly brooked no delay. He showed the letter to Aerin, whose eyes widened. She nodded, and as one they turned and hastened to the High Seat. Despite the pain of his sunburn, Anduin broke into a trot. Worry flooded him. Had something happened to his father? Had war finally broken out between the Horde and the Alliance?

Magni was there, leaning over a table. Two other dwarves, their garb travel stained, were on either side of him. A third dwarf looked on eagerly. Anduin recognized him as High Explorer Muninn Magellas, the head of the Explorers’ League, a dashing dwarf with red hair and beard who liked to sport goggles most of the time. On the table were three stone tablets. Anduin skidded to a halt, exchanging a quick, confused glance with Aerin, who shrugged, clearly just as confused as he.

“Ah, Anduin, lad, come here, come here! Ye’ll want tae see this!” Magni waved him forward, his eyes alight with excitement. Relief filled Anduin, leaving him feeling momentarily drained, and then he felt a twinge of annoyance.

“Your message sounded urgent, Your M—Uncle Magni,” he said, moving forward, feeling the sunburn with renewed awareness.

“Och, not urgent, but most intriguing! Come take a look for yerself!”

One of the dwarves nodded and stepped out of the way so Anduin could stand beside Magni and Magellas. He looked at the tablets, realizing now that there were not three, but only one, which had been broken into pieces. There was writing on each part of the shattered tablet. Anduin knew several languages, but this was unfamiliar to him.

“Me brother Brann sent this tae me,” Magni said. He pulled off one of his gloves and ran bare, powerful fingers over the texts with a startlingly light touch. “He was intrigued and thought I might be as well.” He glanced at Anduin. “And as soon as I saw these, I sent for ye. I imagine ye’ve no idea what ye’re looking at.”

Anduin laughed a little and shook his head. “I’ve never seen this before.”

“I’m not sure anyone has, at least not in a long, long time. This writing … it is of the earthen.”

Anduin’s skin erupted in gooseflesh and he stared at the broken pieces with new respect. The earthen were creations of the titans, long, long ago. And it was from the earthen that the current dwarves were descended. The stone in front of him was unspeakably old, perhaps as old as ten thousand years—maybe even older. He, too, reached a trembling hand to touch it, lightly, as Magni had, with profound respect.

“Do you know what it says?”

“Nay, I’m not schooled in such things. Even Brann had a wee bit o’ trouble with this. That’s why he sent it here, to the experts at the hall. He got something … let me see …” Magni picked up a piece of paper that lay on the table. “Something about … becoming one with the earth.”

“Hmph,” said Aerin. She was, as Anduin was learning, all about practical matters. She did not have much in the way of imagination and had gotten so bored with the repeated visits to the Hall of Explorers that Anduin had officially relieved her of duty when he spent time there. “Becoming one with the earth? Sounds like bein’ buried in it tae me.”

Anduin shot her a glare that had no malice in it and returned his attention to the tablet. “What do you think it means? That’s kind of vague.”

“Indeed, and one must have clarity in such things,” Magni said, nodding. He eyed Anduin speculatively. “Ye’re a right sharp lad, Anduin. Have ye been paying attention to what’s been going on in th’ world?”

Anduin was confused. “I know there’s a lot of tension between the Alliance and the Horde,” he said, wondering if that was what Magni was getting at. “That the Horde has been stirring up trouble because its supplies are depleted on account of the war.”

“Good, good.” Magni nodded approvingly. “But not just because of the war. Follow the chain, lad.”

Anduin furrowed his brow. “Well … because Durotar is a pretty harsh land,” he said. “There were never many supplies to begin with.”

“And there are fewer now because … ?”

“Because of the war and …” Anduin’s eyes widened as comprehension dawned. “Because of the unusual droughts.”

“Exactly.”

“Now that we’re talking about it … Aunt Jaina said there had been a violent storm right before I visited her. Even she said it was one of the worst she’d seen. And there were reports of a strange hurricane that damaged many ships trying to come home from Northrend.”

“Yes!” Magni almost cheered in his excitement. “Ferocious storms, floods in some places, droughts in the other … Something’s wrong, lad. I’m no shaman, but th’ elements are definitely not happy these days. This tablet could possibly hold th’ key tae what’s wrong wi’ them.”

“Do—really? You really think something that old can help us today?”

“Anything’s possible, lad. And at the very least …” Magni said in an exaggeratedly conspiratorial whisper, “we’ve gotten our hands on something that’s not seen the light o’ day in a while, eh?”

He clapped Anduin on the back. Right on the sunburn.

The translation process was slow and painful, with many false starts. It didn’t help matters that the translators struck Anduin as a touch self-important and unwilling to admit they might be wrong—and each one had a slightly different interpretation.

High Explorer Magellas kept insisting it was a metaphysical union. “‘Become one with th’ earth,’” he repeated. “Tae join wi’ it. Tae sense its pain.”

Advisor Belgrum, a wizened elder with hands that trembled but a voice that, when raised, could be heard almost throughout all of Ironforge, scoffed. “Bah,” he said. “Muninn, ye’re too taken wi’ the lasses. Ye see ‘becoming one’ in everything.”

Magellas, who had been casting sidelong glances at the comely Aerin the whole time, laughed boisterously. “Just because ye’ve nae been wi’ a lass in decades, Belgrum, doesna mean—”

“Now, now, all this salty talk’s not fit fer young royal ears!” chided Aerin, who was completely unruffled by the conversation.

Anduin, however, colored slightly. “It’s okay,” he said. “I mean … I know about these things.”

Unable to resist, Aerin winked at him. “Do ye now?”

Anduin quickly turned to Belgrum. “What do you think it means?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Well, I think we canna really know until we get all of it translated. Th’ interpretation of a phrase is often dependent upon what else is around it. Fer instance, take … ‘I am hungry.’ If ye put it in a paragraph like, ‘Me wife is cooking dinner in th’ other room. I can smell th’ beer-basted boar ribs. I am hungry,’ well, that’s a literal hunger, isn’t it?”

“Belgrum, ye’re toying with me. It’s past lunchtime,” Aerin said.

“But if the paragraph is more like, ‘I have been imprisoned fer four years. All I see are the gray walls. I dream o’ open spaces and sunlight. I am hungry.’ That’s quite a different thing.”

“Goodness, ye’re a poet,” said Aerin, impressed. Anduin was, too.

“I see what you mean,” he said. “I’ve never thought of it that way. What—”

A deep rumbling interrupted him. Anduin gasped as the floor beneath him vibrated ever so subtly, as if he were standing on a giant purring animal, except it signaled nothing so benevolent. Another sound came from above—Anduin glanced up to see the hundreds of books trembling as they slowly moved out from their shelves.

Three thoughts struck him simultaneously. One, that he suspected all those books, and all the priceless knowledge they contained, were about to topple unceremoniously from tremendous heights to almost certain damage, if not destruction. Two, that the books that were about to topple unceremoniously were about to fall from tremendous heights on top of their heads. And finally, if the tablet pieces were to slide off the shaking table, they would shatter. He lunged forward and grabbed them, pressing the irreplaceable pieces of knowledge close to his heart.

“Look out!” Aerin cried, grabbing the arms of both Anduin and Belgrum and dragging them along to the large archway that separated the library from the main display hall. Anduin misunderstood and thought she meant for them to flee the hall completely, and he kept going until, with a grunt, Aerin flung herself bodily on him. Frantically he twisted and landed hard on his hip, Aerin at his back, the tablet protected still.

“Nay, Anduin! Not out there! Stay in th’ archway!”

The warning came not a second too soon. He had fallen directly under the pteradon skeleton. It was rattling violently, the chain suspending it swinging and making the bony wings flap as if it had suddenly come to unlife. The bindings that positioned it in such a pose had never been meant to hold against anything more demanding than gravity, and even as Anduin watched, the wiring snapped and the skeletal wings crashed down. For a long, slow, horrified moment he simply watched as death toppled toward him.

Then stout, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and his face was pressed into cold plate as Aerin draped herself atop him. She uttered a pained “oof!” as one of the fossilized bones clanged against her armor and forced the wind out of her lungs.

A heartbeat later, it was all over. Aerin leaned back, her face drawn in pain but otherwise seemingly all right. Anduin sat up and looked around cautiously. The books, as he had expected, were on the floor, as were most of what had adorned the tables.

“The tablet!” cried Belgrum, hurrying to his feet.

“I have it,” Anduin said.

“Good lad!” exclaimed Magellas.

Aerin got to her feet, wincing slightly. Anduin followed, his legs shaking, clutching the tablet pieces to his chest still. He stared at her.

“You saved my life,” he said quietly.

“Och,” she said, waving it aside. “Ye’d have done the same. Besides, I’d be a poor bodyguard if I wasna prepared to save yer life when I needed to, now wouldn’t I?”

He nodded, grateful, and gave her a smile. She winked back playfully.

“Everyone else all right?” Anduin asked, handing the tablet over to Belgrum.

“Looks like … och, the poor books,” Magellas said, real pain in his voice. Anduin nodded solemnly.

“I should see if anyone else needs help,” Aerin said.

“Good idea. Let’s go.”

“I’m nae takin’ ye into danger,” Aerin said.

“Well, you have to stick with me, so you can’t really go off alone, can you?” He had her there, and she gave him a scowl. “Let’s go to the Hall of Mysteries,” Anduin continued. “If anyone’s hurt, they’re going to need healers.”

He left the Hall of Explorers and went quickly to the Hall of Mysteries, Aerin, seemingly completely recovered, trotting along beside him. They slowed as they approached.

Dozens of people were clustered about the hall. Some were walking on their own. Others were being carried, or were borne on the backs of rams. Some were lying on the cold stone floor while their loved ones wept frantically, calling for the priests, who seemed very scarce and were murmuring healing prayers at a rapid rate.

“Oh, dear,” Aerin said. “Looks like we were lucky.”

Anduin nodded. “Rohan’s not here,” he said. “That means there’s a worse situation somewhere else.” He gently grabbed ahold of one priestess as she scurried past. “Excuse me, but where is High Priest Rohan?”

“He’s been called away,” she said.

“Where?”

“Kharanos. It hit harder there. Now please, let me tend tae these people!”

“Come on,” Anduin said to Aerin.

“What?”

“We’re going to Kharanos. I’ve been taught how to help in emergency situations,” Anduin said. “I can tend wounds, set bones, bandage—help until the real healers can get to people.”

“And how many bones have ye actually set?”

“Um … none. But I know how to!” At her uncertain look, he grabbed her arms and shook her. “Aerin, listen! I can help! I can’t just stand around here and watch!”

“Help these fine folk, then,” Aerin said practically.

Anduin glanced around. Now that he looked at them, he realized that what he was seeing was the blood left by a healed injury, not an injury itself. Most of those still actually injured were mobile, upright, and talking. This was not an emergency site, although it was clear that the priests were being kept busy and would be for some time.

“They don’t need it,” he said quietly. “I want to help those that really do. Please—let’s go to Kharanos.”

Her eyes searched his and she sighed. “All right. But I’m nae letting ye wander into danger, got that?”

He smiled. “Fine, but let’s hurry, all right?”