World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,88

had this particular rite that I am not learning what I have come here to learn?”

“The vision quest is about self-knowledge,” Aggra said. “Perhaps you need that before you are ready to accept other knowledge.”

It was hard not to take umbrage at her slightest word. “More than most I am self-made,” he said stiffly. “I think I have learned a great deal about myself already.”

“And yet the mighty Slave cannot find what he seeks,” said Aggra, tensing slightly.

“Peace, the two of you,” Geyah said mildly, though she was frowning. “The worlds are in enough chaos without two shaman sniping at one another. Aggra, you speak your mind, and that is well, but perhaps holding your tongue from time to time might be a good exercise for you. And, Go’el, surely you admit that anyone, even the warchief of the Horde, would benefit from knowing himself better.”

Thrall frowned slightly. “My apologies, Grandmother. Aggra. I am frustrated because the situation is dire, and I as of yet can do nothing to help. It serves no one to take my irritation out on you.”

Aggra nodded. She looked annoyed, but somehow Thrall sensed that—for once—it was not with him. She seemed annoyed with herself.

The young shaman confounded him, he had to admit. He did not know what to make of her. Thrall was not unaccustomed to dealing with intelligent, strong women. He had known two—Taretha Foxton and Jaina Proudmoore. But they were both human, and he was coming to realize that their strength came from a place that was very different from where orc females drew their strength. He had heard stories of his mother, Draka, who had been born sickly but through her own will and determination had become as strong physically as she was mentally and emotionally. “A warrior made,” he had once heard Geyah say of Draka with admiration. “It is easy to be a good warrior when the ancestors gift you with speed and strength and a strong heart. It is not so easy when you must wrest these things from a world that does not want to give them to you, as Draka did.”

Now she spoke to Thrall, though it was upon Aggra that her gaze was fixed. “Your mother’s spirit is within you, Thrall. Like her, everything you are, you have made of yourself. What you gave your people was not an easy thing—you had to fight for it. You are your mother’s son as well as your father’s, Go’el, son of Durotan—and Draka.”

“I came here to do whatever was necessary to learn how to help my world,” Thrall said. “But I would be about this vision quest as quickly as possible.”

“You will stay as long as it takes, and you know it,” Aggra said.

Growling slightly to himself, Thrall said nothing, because he did know it.

Anduin knew well that he was not “an honored guest.” He was, in fact, a hostage, and the single most valuable one Moira had.

The envelope, written in a flowing hand, was on the table of the main room when Anduin came back after an hour spent with Rohan four days after Moira and her Dark Iron dwarves had swept into the city. He gritted his teeth as he saw that the red wax was sealed with the royal seal of Ironforge. He opened it while Drukan, the “special guard” assigned to Anduin to “make sure he was well taken care of, as he was such an honored guest,” looked on sullenly.

The Pleasure of your Company is requested at Twilight this Evening. Formal Attire is required and Promptness is appreciated.

Anduin resisted the urge to crumple the letter and throw it away. Instead, he smiled politely at Drukan.

“Please tell Her Majesty that I shall be happy to attend. I’m sure she’ll want to hear from me as soon as possible.” At least, he thought, this would send off the watchdog for a few moments. He waited until Drukan determined he couldn’t get out of the errand. The dwarf scowled and stomped off.

Anduin realized he actually found Drukan’s lack of pretense, interest, and concern refreshing. At least Drukan wasn’t lying about his feelings.

Anduin bathed and dressed. Moira may have thought she was pulling the strings on a puppet by demanding his attendance, but by insisting on formal attire, she was giving Anduin permission to wear his crown and other regalia that marked him as her equal. Anduin was well aware of the power such subtleties could convey. Wyll helped him dress, adjusted his crown with about