EIGHTEEN

The weeks crawled past. Varian had insisted that Anduin remain in Ironforge.

“You have a chance to help the people of Ironforge now,” Varian had said. “You’ve made some good friends there. And the fact that the prince of Stormwind is staying there throughout this difficult period sends a strong signal about how highly we regard the dwarves. I know it’s not a very pleasant place to be right now, but not everything you do as king will be pleasant either.”

Anduin had nodded and returned to Ironforge within the hour of the conversation. He knew his father was right, and he did want to help.

Still, he knew it would be best for all involved if Muradin or Brann took up the role their brother had so tragically laid down.

Soon.

He continued to speak with Rohan and train with several of Magni’s personal guards. He was with the high priest one day when Wyll hastened up to him, limping a little from the run and out of breath.

“Your Highness! Come quickly!”

Anduin was on his feet instantly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I—I’m not sure,” panted the elderly servant. “You are both … wanted at the High Seat. …”

Rohan and Anduin exchanged glances, then rose and hurried off. Anduin wondered if Muradin or Brann had finally come to assume leadership. It was a thought that filled him with relief, but at the same time he felt a twinge that such a thing was necessary. Still, it would be what Magni wanted. He forced himself not to run.

He rounded the corner and couldn’t help himself; he broke into a trot the last few feet.

And slid to a halt, disbelieving what he saw.

Neither Muradin nor Brann Bronzebeard had answered the summons to return to Ironforge to take up the crown. But another Bronzebeard had come.

Advisor Belgrum stood looking as if he, like Magni, had been turned to diamond, except for his wide, alarmed eyes. The guards who had always stood protectively near Magni Bronzebeard now clustered over on one side, looking confused and distressed. Their positions were now being held by other dwarves with long black beards and skin as gray as their armor. They bristled with weapons. But Anduin only gave them the most cursory of glances. He stared, instead, at a young dwarf female.

She was pretty, with reddish-brown hair neatly pinned up in circular buns on either side of her head. She was dressed in fine but somewhat old-fashioned clothing and held a small toddler in her lap. Anduin knew he had never seen her before, but she looked strangely familiar to him.

And she was seated on Magni Bronzebeard’s throne.

“Ah, High Priest Rohan,” said the stranger in a mellifluous voice, smiling gently. “So very good to see you again. And this young human must be Prince Anduin Wrynn. How very courteous a young man you are, to come so promptly. Your father has done such a fine job of teaching you in the niceties. Oh, but we haven’t been properly introduced, have we?”

He smile widened, and her eyes glinted, ever so slightly. “I am Queen Moira Bronzebeard.”

Anduin couldn’t believe what he was hearing, or seeing. But now that Moira had announced her name, he could see the resemblance to her father. And he understood why there had been no challenge to her, even though she had clearly come with several dwarves whose glowing eyes and gray skin proclaimed them Dark Irons. Her claim was legitimate—she was the only surviving heir, and her child after that. There was nothing anyone could do.

And … did they want to do anything? Anduin wondered after the shock had worn off. This was Magni’s daughter, after all. A Bronzebeard was again sitting upon the throne to Ironforge. Anduin had by now recovered at least somewhat and bowed the proper deepness for a prince toward one of equal rank. Heir she might be, but she had not been crowned queen, despite what she had said. And until that time, she was a princess, and his equal.

She lifted a red-brown eyebrow and inclined her head. She did not bow. And that told Anduin all he needed to know.

“Far too long has it been since I have dwelt within these walls,” she said. “It was foolish for my dear, late father to have let things come between us. I married an emperor, surely no dishonor to the Bronzebeard name. This child—Dagran Thaurissan, named for his father, is Magni Bronzebeard’s grandson, and heir to two kingdoms.” She cradled the child, a smile of genuine love softening her brittle visage. “After so long, this little boy will bring unity between two proud peoples—the Dark Irons and the Bronzebeards.” She glanced up, and the peek into a mother’s heart was immediately replaced by a sly, false charm. “Isn’t it wonderful, Rohan? You are a dwarf of peace, a priest of the Light. Surely you must applaud this new era you are about to witness!”

Rohan replied politely, “Indeed, Your Highness. I—”

“Majesty.” Again, the brittle smile. Anduin felt a chill run down his spine.

Rohan hesitated just long enough to let his disapproval register. “Majesty. Peace certainly is a goal worth striving for.”

The old priest, it would seem, was also a politician. It was an artful reply.

Moira turned her gaze to Anduin, her smile widening. Anduin thought she looked like a fox ready to pounce on a rabbit.

“And Anduin,” she said, almost purring. “What great friends we shall doubtless become! Two children of royalty here in Ironforge. I am so very interested in getting to know you! You simply must stay for a while, so that we can become better acquainted.”

“My father asked me to stay in Ironforge until such time as the proper heir to the throne was found,” Anduin said, keeping his voice calm and polite. This much was true. “I have duties awaiting me at home, now that this solemn task is complete.”

Also true. But the implication—that he was being summoned home by his father—was all of his own making.

Her smile didn’t move. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of such a disappointing thing. I am certain that your father will understand.”

“I believe that—”

She held up an imperious hand. “I won’t hear of it, Prince Anduin. You are my guest, and you’ll not be leaving for Stormwind until we’ve had a good, long visit.” She smiled and nodded, as if everything was settled.

And with a clench in his gut, Anduin realized that everything was.

He murmured something polite and flattering, and she gave him a wave of dismissal. He, Belgrum, and Rohan moved out. Anduin was in a daze.

“Did … was that just … a coup?” he asked, pitching his voice very low.

“It’s perfectly legal an’ aboveboard,” Belgrum said. “In th’ absence of any male heir, th’ legitimate female heir has rights tae claim th’ throne. Moira even outranks Muradin an’ Brann, because she’s the direct heir. So it’s nae a coup if it’s a legitimate claim.”

“But … she and Magni were estranged. And they’re Dark Iron dwarves!” Anduin was struggling to make sense of it all.

“Well, Magni never disowned her, lad,” Rohan said. “He always wanted her tae come home. Even if he—well, that’s water under the bridge now. Though I’m sure he’d be all kinds o’ furious at seeing the Dark Irons in his city. But they are our cousins … perhaps this will turn out tae be a good th—”

He halted in midword. They had emerged from the High Seat into the Great Forge area. The forge had become operational again shortly after Magni’s funeral. And right over there was where the gryphons flew in and out of Ironforge.

Except … they were gone.

So were the flight masters. Only the empty roosts padded with straw remained at the site where several gryphons had previously waited to bear riders to various places around the Eastern Kingdoms. Anduin glanced around and saw a tufted tail and yellow, leonine hindquarters disappearing in the direction of the gates. Without thinking, Anduin broke into a run, ignoring the calls for him to stop.

He caught up with a flight master and one of the gryphons as they stepped out into the cold, snowy day. “Gryth!” he cried, laying a hand on the dwarf’s broad shoulder. “What’s going on? Why are the gryphons gone?”

Gryth Thurden turned to Anduin, scowling. “Better not get too close, lad, or ye might get sick!”

Ordinarily that would be a warning to cause some concern, but the way in which Gryth uttered it, it sounded more like a bad joke, so thick with sarcasm was his voice.

“What?” Anduin wasn’t sure if a prank was being played, and looked askance at the gryphon. “Well, this one’s wing looks injured, but he doesn’t look ill. …”

“Och, nay, nay, they’re terrible sick!” Gryth literally rolled his eyes. “At least, that’s what th’ new queen’s Dark Iron bruisers told us. They’re all very ill, it seems. And it’s catching! Tae everyone—imagine that! Dwarves, humans, elves, gnomes, even draenei, who aren’t even from this world! What a powerful disease! They’ll have to be quarantined fer months. No gryphon flights in or out. This one dinna like th’ Dark Irons and took a bite out o’ one. Got a nice wee injury tae his wing fer his trouble. The others have already flown tae their new pens. Light alone knows when they’ll be back.”

“But—you know that’s not true!” Anduin blurted.

Gryth turned slowly toward him. “Of course it’s nae true,” he said, his voice deep and angry. “An’ yon pretender queen is a fool tae think we’d believe it. But what am I supposed tae do? Moira doesna want th’ gryphons flying, and those Dark Iron bastards threatened to kill this beastie right on the spot when I protested. Better they’re alive and landbound fer a wee bit, until things can get set right again. Light willing, that’s soon.”

Anduin watched them continue down the road from Ironforge. He wondered distractedly if the animals would indeed be simply quarantined or if they’d be put down. He drew a trembling hand across his forehead, which was damp with sweat despite the cold air outside.

Belgrum and Rohan had caught up to him. They looked troubled. Another, a gnome wearing a bleak expression, was with them. “The gryphons are being quarantined,” Anduin said dully, turning to them. “Apparently they are quite sick, and the illness is contagious.”

“Oh, really?” Rohan said, scowling. “Perhaps it was a sick gryphon who damaged th’ Deeprun Tram, too, then?”

“What?” Anduin was shivering, and he folded his arms tight. He was pretty sure he was only shaking from the cold as they went back inside. At least he hoped so.

The gnome spoke up. “The tram. It’s been determined to be ‘unsafe’ and ordered closed until repairs can be made to it. But there’s nothing unsafe about it! It’s just fine! I work on that tram every day; I’d know if there was anything amiss!”

“Unsafe trams and unwell gryphons,” Anduin said, narrowing his eyes. “Ways to get out of the city …”

Rohan scowled. “Aye, we figured that out, too. But there are other ways to—”

“What do you think you’re doing, you brute?” came a shrill female gnome voice.

“Yes indeed!” echoed another gnome’s voice. “We’re fine, reputable citizens!”

A male gnome. Both voices sounded familiar to Anduin. He exchanged worried glances with his friends, and as one they picked up their pace to reach the Commons.

Four Dark Iron dwarves had firm grips on the arms of two gnomes, both of whom were wriggling in protest and voicing their distress loudly.

“Bink and Dink,” Anduin said, remembering the brother-sister mage pair.

“Let them go!” A handful of Ironforge guards were running up, axes and shields drawn.

“Orders from Her Majesty,” one of the Dark Irons snarled. “They’ll nae be harmed.” His voice was deep and sinister and made Anduin instantly think, Liar! “We’re just takin’ them away fer questioning about a few suspicious things, that’s all.”

No, they weren’t, and Anduin knew it. They were taking them in because they were magi … and magi were able to create portals out of Ironforge. And Moira didn’t want anyone getting out of Ironforge.

“She’s not our Majesty, not yet,” said the guard, his voice dangerous and soft. “Let. Them. Go.”

For answer, the Dark Iron who had spoken shoved Dink at another of his fellows, drew his sword, and attacked.

It happened so quickly. Dark Irons and Bronzebeards seemed to come from all directions, the simmering resentment and fear and anger boiling up all at once. The air was filled not with the ringing of hammer on anvil, but with angry shouts and the clash of steel. Anduin surged forward, but a powerful hand on his arm pulled him back.

“Nay, lad! This is dwarf business!” cried Rohan. He stepped forward and lifted his arms, uttering a prayer and emanating calm. “Hold yer weapons! Ironforge should never see dwarf against dwarf again!”

“Stand down, guards of Ironforge! Stand down!”

The voice was thickly accented, used to being obeyed, and thankfully belonged to Angus Stonehammer, the captain of the Ironforge guards. He was at the head of several of them, all with hard, angry eyes, all hastening toward the conflict.

The guards were well trained, and it only took a few seconds before they obeyed, leaping back and standing in a defensive position but nonetheless not attacking. The Dark Irons pressed the attack for a bit, but finally they, too, paused. In the confusion, the gnomes had been forgotten, and now they scurried up to Anduin and Belgrum, clinging to them in fright. Rohan quickly stepped in to heal the wounded while Stonehammer continued speaking. Anduin saw that there were indeed many, some of them quite seriously injured, Dark Iron and Bronzebeard alike. Despite the heat of the place, a chill swept through him, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking at the first bitter stirrings of a second dwarven civil war.

“Guardsmen!” the captain was bellowing. “Moira is th’ heir tae th’ throne until and unless a better claim can be made, ye will respect her an’ those she chooses to protect her as such! Do ye understand?”

There was a mumbled chorus of “ayes,” some of them sounding very reluctant.

“And ye!” Stonehammer stabbed a stubby finger at the Dark Irons. “Ye canna take proper citizens and just haul them off. There’s law tae be observed. I dinna think ye’ve even charged these wee ones. We guard the people of Ironforge an’ enforce its laws. No matter who is on th’ throne!”

The Dark Irons shifted uneasily. Anduin smiled bitterly, but with some hope. It was one thing to force a tram to close, or to kill or threaten animals in order to keep Ironforge isolated. It was another to lock up its citizens without cause and due process of law. Moira might be able to achieve some of her plans—and Anduin suspected that the mail and all other methods of communication with the outside world would be suspended—but she hadn’t bargained on the sheer guts and will of the dwarves of Ironforge.

Growling, the Dark Irons glared at the gnomes, and nodded. “If it’s the law ye want, then ye will have it,” one of them growled. “We’ll obey it. Because, ye see, Her Majesty is the legal heir. And ye’ll find out just what that means soon enough.”

He spat at the other dwarf’s feet, then he and his companions turned and marched away. Anduin watched them go. He should have felt relieved, but he did not. This conflict was far, far from over, and he feared that before it had all been settled, dwarven blood would flow in Ironforge as the hot metal flowed in the forge—freely, and in large quantities.