World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,65
the Horde to order us about, but as a shaman seeking wisdom.”
“This is true.” Thrall forced down the righteous anger that bubbled up inside him. He had chided Garrosh for giving in to such things; he would follow his own advice and remain calm. “I have come to learn from my grandmother, Greatmother Geyah. Will you take me to her, please?”
His voice was courteous, but not subservient, and the orc girl seemed slightly—ever so slightly—mollified.
“I will,” she said. “And without a doubt you will learn much from her. But she has instructed that you will have another teacher for most of your lessons, as she tires easily.”
“Anyone Geyah thinks is fit to teach me, I will humbly learn from,” Thrall said with utter sincerity. “What is his name?”
“Her name is Aggra,” said the girl, turning away and striding off briskly, clearly expecting him to follow.
“I look forward to meeting this Aggra.”
She shot him a quick glance over her shoulder and smiled archly around her tusks. “You already have.”
Thrall stumbled slightly as her words registered. Ancestors give me strength, he thought.
The meal was a simple one: roast clefthoof, Mag’har grain bread, various fruits and vegetables, and pure, clear water to wash it down with. Thrall had never developed a taste for luxurious food, having spent most of his life eating the plain, albeit nutritious, fare served to the gladiators, and had no objection to the meal. Indeed, its lack of ostentation was reassuring, as was Geyah’s simple presence. She had been growing frail when he first met her, and the last year had taken its toll, but she was yet far from fragile in body, and her spirit was still vital and strong. Her mind, too, was clear and sharp, and Thrall could not help but contrast her with Drek’Thar. Sometimes fate seemed kinder to some than to others.
He could have wished that it was just the two of them at the meal. Aggra sat beside Geyah and was clearly, and to Thrall’s mind perplexingly, a favorite of the older woman. Aggra did not speak much, but when she did, the words were clipped and often barbed. Geyah seemed to not mind the apparent disrespect at all, and once when Aggra left to get more water for them, he leaned in to his grandmother and spoke quietly.
“This girl is not showing you the respect due to one of your rank, Grandmother,” he said.
“Some would say that you do not, calling me Grandmother and not Greatmother,” she replied.
“If you wish, I will happily do so.”
Geyah waved a hand dismissively. “I am your grandmother, Go’el. Why should you not address me as such?”
“But this … Aggra cuts off your sentences, she flat out says you are wrong, she—”
“Sneers at you, even though you are the great warchief of the Horde?” Geyah chuckled quietly. “Come, my grandson. Tell me you do not have those you trust to pull your head out of the clouds and hold your feet to the fire when you need it, and I will call you a liar. Because you are a fine leader, and fine leaders do not surround themselves with those who only fawn upon them. Aggra challenges me because she thinks for herself. Sometimes she is right, and I am the one who must change what I held to be true or correct. Sometimes she is not. But I have never attempted to silence her, and I have never regretted it. The day that I am unable to listen to others’ truths is the day I should pass to the ancestors, for all that I value in myself will have died.”
Thrall nodded, understanding her words, and thought about Eitrigg and Cairne. Just the other night Cairne had used a tone of voice and words that any bystander might have interpreted as disrespect—indeed, insult. But Thrall had known them for what they were—honest, if blunt, expressions of genuine concern. He shifted uneasily on the threadbare rug, which provided no padding at all from the ground beneath it. He had taken offense from Cairne, even though he knew better, and he did not like himself for that. He decided he would apologize to Cairne upon his return and thank the old bull for his blunt truth.
“Already the lessons begin with you, Grandmother,” Thrall said quietly.
“Oh, good,” said Aggra, returning with a filled pitcher. “You need lessons.”
Thrall took a deep, calming breath. Learning to work with Aggra, he thought, would be chief among the “lessons.”