World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,68

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,