World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,69
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.
NINETEEN
Thrall leaned forward and scratched the long, fawn-colored neck of the talbuk he rode. The animal bobbed its head in pleasure, but remained alert, ready to bear Thrall wherever he wished. He had come desiring to learn new things, and already he was doing so, sitting astride an animal he had only seen in glimpses before now. The Mag’har still rode wolves, as most orcs did, but the talbuk were dear to them, special creatures that only a chosen few were allowed to ride.
Aggra’s talbuk was a beautiful blue hue, and seemed feistier. Thrall’s was, as she had told him earlier, “A mount suitable for novices like you, Go’el.”